Bride Of The Living Dummy の小説・ストーリー

Exactly thirty days ago, I came home from my shift at the café and found my roommate Maria sitting in the living room with her impossibly greasy boyfriend. “We should talk, Paris,” she said with that fake sweet smile she always wore. Maria was the type of person who tried very hard to seem kind and understanding, but there just wasn’t much depth behind the act. She kept chewing the same wad of gum she always had in her mouth while she looked at me with those blank eyes. Her boyfriend was sprawled on the couch pretending to watch TV. He tried to look casual, but the smug little grin on his face gave him away.

I questioned her. She looked at me with uncertainty, took a deep breath and answered, "We need you to be a fake bride”. I released my hand from her grip but she continued, "It's less than two weeks away from now, I promise we're going to annul it. The only thing we need is your presence as the bride". I chuckled forcefully, "I have a lot on my plate and I do not have time to on a charade". I tried to open the car door but she held on to me tightly and started pleading. I wasn't ready to be caught in between the rich folks but she kept on emphasizing how I'd fit the role perfectly because I have almost the same body frame as Daisy.

"Cameras love a nervous bride." We reached the altar. The officiant opened his book. Two hundred guests fell silent at once, and I could hear my own pulse in my ears louder than anything else in that room. "Damon Wrexley", the officiant said, "will you have this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together in the holy bond of marriage?" Damon's eyes found mine. Something flickered there, cold and final, and his lips parted. "I don't." The room held its breath with me.

Damien Blackwood. A slow smile spread across his face. "So..." "The little mouse has entered the lion's den." A woman in black approached him. "Boss." Damien didn't turn around. "Is everything ready?" "Yes." "The room has been prepared." Damien smiled. "Excellent." "Tonight..." "...our fake bride dies." Later that night... Emily stood inside Alexander's bedroom. It was larger than the entire house she had grown up in. She nervously looked around. Alexander removed his suit jacket.

“What?” Vincent’s eyes widened sharply. Inside the evidence bag was a phone, its screen already shattered. A police officer helped unlock it and pulled up the last recorded video. Christine’s face appeared on the screen. She was wearing a white dress, faded from too many washes, with light makeup on her face. The background was the rooftop of the Empire State Building, and the strong wind lifted her hair. “Vincent, congratulations to you and Elena on your wedding today. I’m sorry I can’t attend. It’s because I’ve decided to leave this world.”

Pain flared, hot, bright, but she did not let go. She slammed his head against stone, once, twice, until his eyes rolled back. The bundle lay still. She tore the cloth away, hands shaking. Inside: a doll, crudely made, stuffed with straw. Another decoy. Garrick laughed, weak, bloody, through broken teeth. “You’re too late,” he rasped. “The real child is already gone. The Order took it hours ago, while you played at ritual.” Elara’s claws pressed to his throat, drawing blood.