A Friday The 13th Bride

The large bedroom was filled with a rosy scent that emanated from the dozens of rose petals that covered the floor. Expensive furniture covered the spacious room, intricate art sat on the walls. One that stood out from the rest was a huge painting of a man and a woman.

At first glance, it was easy to stare, for both their looks were equally breathtaking. The woman that sat on the settee had smooth, pale skin and wore emerald jewellery that sat contrasting her pale, fair complexion beautifully so. She was wrapped up in a stunning ball gown of red that fell off her shoulders, allowing the right amount of her breasts over it’s bodice. The dress tapered inwards at the small of her waist, before falling down around her hips. Her face was most striking, with soft features and a delicately small mouth that had a naturally rosy colour. Her eyes, sharp and the colour of her jewellery, had an underlying intelligence to them. A calmness that made her graceful and regal, especially with her soft blonde dresses tied into an elegant chignon.

The man that stood behind the settee, was fetching in a black coat, a waistcoat and breeches. He was tall, a lazy smile stretching over his face. His features were hard, his gaze like that of a hawk; sharp, missing nothing. His eyes were shadowed by two straight black brows and had lashes that were terribly long for a man. His jaw was sharp, and a moustache sat below his sharp nose. The two made a most-dashing sight, their love for each other unmistakably clear in their gazes.

A large and strong four poster bed took up most of the victorian room. Heavy drapes covered the posters from corner to corner, making for an intimate scene. The softest, most expensive, smooth silk sheets of a deep shade of red barely covered the occupants who laid on the bed skin to skin in twisted limbs, utterly sated after one of their incessant heated sessions of love-making.

The woman laid her head on his bare chest and drew circles on his hard stomach. “We need to stop doing this,” she murmured reluctantly.

The man smiled and draped his hand over her naked body. “You don’t sound very convincing, my love.”

“That’s because I can’t get enough of you, my Lord. It is most obvious that I have been corrupted by you.”

“In as much as I find your innocence endearing, I was counting on my sinful ways to finally corrupt you,” he drawled, skilfully drawing her beneath him. “As a matter fact, I’m feeling very sinful right now.”

She swatted his bicep playfully, a giggle exiting her lips. “Oh, stop it!” She exclaimed, her hair spread around her head like paint splattered over a canvas.

The man kissed her then settled back on the bed, easily gathering her into his arms again. A pleasant silence followed, the couple drowning in the moment.

“I love…” the profession of his undying love for her was never heard as the words never exited his mouth. Suddenly, the woman was violently torn from from his arms and the room seemed to stretch out until she was a good distance away from him. Blood gushed down her legs. He called out her name, the only thing he could do because his entire body had been frozen, completely still as if a force was holding him in place. She looked at him as her tears slowly turned crimson and she cupped her abdomen protectively; her eyes telling of a secret that she hadn’t whispered to him yet.

His heart broke as she collapsed and he couldn’t even touch her and soothe her pain away. His voice disappeared and his screams blended with the silence and the darkness. The darkness pulled him in and oddly, he welcomed it and allowed it to consume him. Except, it didn’t fully consume him. It became a part of him and he thrived on it. He became it’s master; the prince of darkness.