Emily Corpse Bride Aesthetic Novels & Stories

She crushed it un‌der he‌r design⁠er h‌eel, grindin​g it into t​he dirt until it was n​othing but plastic dus⁠t. "Now," she sa‌id,⁠ lo​oking‍ at h‍er gua⁠rd‌s. "Finish‍ it.‌ Make it look‌ lik⁠e a murder-⁠suicide. The broken​-h⁠earted bride kills the billionaire⁠ and then h⁠ers​elf.‌ A tragic end to a tragi‍c s‍tory."

The groom mounting the bride on a throne of corpses. My hand moved faster than my mind. I dipped the brush deeper, harder, tearing at the canvas like I was cutting flesh. I mixed the reds and blacks until they bled together, thick and viscous. The eyes I painted stared back, wide and lifeless. The flowers were rotting. The sky dripped gore. A massacre. And I smiled. They wanted a masterpiece? I’d give them one they’d never forget.

She had this way of looking up at him through her eyelashes that made her seem vulnerable and trusting and I practiced that expression in the mirror until I could do it without thinking. I also practiced changing my voice to be softer and less assertive and I worked on my body language to be more closed off and less confident. It felt wrong pretending to be someone I was not but I kept reminding myself that this was just a role I was playing and once Marco was dead I could go back to being myself.

"Don't look! This is fake! It's all fabricated!" But document after document appeared, each one stamped with official seals and signed in ink—undeniable proof, laid bare for everyone to see. Everyone knew that this was the end of the Poole family. Daphne and Quinn stood several feet apart, staring at each other. Quinn raised his glass toward her in a mock toast. "Daphy, do you like your wedding gift? Oh, and Maurice, this one's for you, too." Daphne's face turned ghostly pale. She rushed forward, grabbing Quinn's hand, pleading desperately.

"Of course, Kat is a very fashionable person, so I don't think I have to worry and I have no intention of trying to put effort into this." "I see," Emily said with a nod but then shook her head almost immediately. "I think you need to be a little more invested in this; it's your wedding. You need to at least like what you see in the pictures and what if you later fall for him and have to keep the wedding pictures? Wouldn't you want something you will like?"

“Apologize. Never talk back. Never look him in the eye. Never show resistance. Always show fear. Let him know you’re scared.” His breathing grew heavier, and after a moment, he finally pushed the door open. The smell of rot hit him immediately, thick and suffocating, making his stomach twist. He was used to it by now, but still, the pungent stench made him want to gag. His eyes flicked instinctively to the bed. And there she was. A female corpse with long red hair, dressed in a white wedding gown. Her face painted heavily with makeup, as though it could somehow mask the slow decay beneath.

The man did not force himself on her, yet she knows that she still doesn't want what is happening right now. Everyone was looking at her. Those red eyes that seem to judge her regardless of her origins and goals She could feel herself trembling in place as she held a bouquet of flowers in her hands, wilting the petals of the blossoms. It was both majestic and creepy at the same time. The corpse bride, as they call her. Her hair was curled into big waves, bouncing at her back as she walked through the rough path of black carpet. Althea could not feel a sense of affection or any emotions at all. She only sees herself walking through the altar, about to be wed with the devil.

Rainier standing tall in the distance. Our photographer, a talented young woman with a keen eye for capturing candid moments, was positioning us for the next shot. Emily, wearing a bridal gown that enhanced her curves and highlighted her fair complexion, looked ethereal. I'd chosen a bespoke charcoal suit, which Emily had mentioned made me look "dapper."