Emily Corpse Bride Aesthetic Novels & Stories

“Other level. Like, black, masses of tulle, a train that takes fifteen hundred bridesmaids to keep under control, and a f-king princess carriage to arrive in. Your wedding dress shouldn’t be an apology of politeness, like, I am so sorry, is my lace too loud? Your dress should be a declaration, a trumpet flare, a f–k this shit, stand back and admire the rock glory.” Emily laughed. “Oh, Meg.” “Like you didn’t love every second of your time with Vice and Victor. I have seen the photos, little sis, and they know you, even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself. The OTT hair, the thigh high boots, and the plastered-on clothing… I don’t know how they clued into you so quickly, given your I’m so

My young mistress's betrothed was dying, and she ordered me to marry him in her place to turn his luck. People believed the joy of a wedding could drive out sickness and misfortune, and that a dying man might be pulled back from the grave by it. "The royal physicians all say Lord Blackwell won't live past seven days! Why should I marry him only to be buried at his side? "He's never even seen me. You can marry him instead. "You're nothing but a lowborn maid. Being allowed to marry the regent is the luck of a lifetime." Before I could react, the glowing words appeared before my eyes again. [Celeste is such an idiot. What does she mean, he won't live past seven days? Lord Blackwell has the

Emeralda glided into the booth, sliding right next to Victoria. “Ah, it is so deeply lovely to see you, our beautiful little bride!” Emy exclaimed, her green eyes locking onto me with a twinkle. “I am entirely thrilled to design your bridal gown, darling. I promise you, I will create a masterpiece the likes of which the entire Trifang pack region has never seen.” Victoria tilted her head, a sudden flare of competitive arrogance tightening her features. “But tell me, Emy... will it actually be grand enough to beat the legendary gown I wore when I married Zayn?”

The world was not made of stone or earth. It was made of black ice. Emily stood at the altar, her bare feet numb against the frozen floor. Above her, a sky the color of a bruised plum swirled with silent lightning. Around her, faceless guests in charcoal robes watched, their empty hoods turned toward the dais. She looked down at herself. She was wearing a wedding dress. It was magnificent—lace as intricate as frost patterns, silk that pooled around her like mist. But the hem was soaked. Heavy, wet, and crimson. The blood wasn't old; it was fresh, wicking up the fabric with every breath she took.

Purpose. They filled the hollow spaces inside her, dulled the sharp edges of rage and grief just enough for her to breathe. She knew she would never truly feel whole—not until every enemy had tasted their own undoing—but Vera had learned patience. Revenge didn’t have to be rushed. It only had to be precise. And, oddly enough, making a wedding outfit for her ex–best friend—who also happened to be marrying her ex-husband—was proving surprisingly therapeutic. “This material keeps pulling, Ms. Vera. I swear they lied when they said it was the original.” Maya grumbled, tossing another length of fabric into the growing heap of rejected material. It wasn’t the first one she’d discarded that morning

They push me down to sit in front of a vanity table and begin to work on my hair. They brush through my tangled hair and I wince, feeling my scalp burn. My hair is styled perfectly in a bun with the stray curls framing my face. My bushy brows are trimmed perfectly and kohl is applied under my eyes. Red blush tints my cheeks giving them some sort of color. My reflection stares back at me. This isn't me. The woman in the mirror looks like a corpse bride with her sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. Still this is the most beautiful I have ever felt.

"But trauma doesn't give you a free pass to terrorize other people. And it definitely doesn't entitle you to your married friend's husband." We spent the next hour browsing through Bergdorf's, with Emily maintaining a running commentary about the various shoppers and their obvious attempts to outdo each other with designer everything. Her wit was sharp enough to make me laugh despite everything, and I found myself relaxing for the first time in weeks. "Oh, this would be perfect for you," Emily said, holding up a midnight blue evening gown that probably cost more than most people's cars. "Very Grace Kelly meets femme fatale." "I'm not sure I'm ready for femme fatale," I admitted, though I had

Even I felt sick to the stomach seeing the uneven, dark red body on the autopsy table. Officer Wright's face went as white as a sheet. "What monsters! They'd better not let me catch them!" "They're worse than monsters!" Zack trembled as his tone filled with rage. "From the condition of the body, the victim likely had her bones shattered and flesh dug out when she was still alive. Not only that—her teeth, eyes, and nails were all pulled out." His words drained the color from everyone's faces, and the atmosphere turned heavy in an instant.

Emory announced, walking into my bedroom with a bunch of women in heels and high ponytails, all carrying makeup kits, curling wands, and smiling like this was the happiest day of my life. I stood frozen in front of the mirror. My reflection didn’t look like me anymore. The silk robe they’d dressed me in clung to my frame like it was trying to keep me together, like it knew I was falling apart inside. My eyes looked dull. My face was pale. I wasn’t glowing. I wasn’t nervous-excited. I wasn’t anything they expected a bride to be. I was numb. Emory clapped her hands, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she paced. “Let’s go, people. This wedding needs to be flawless. I want nothing but p

"Oh, she's still bluffing. Fine. If she's really dead, then call the priest for a ritual. Toss her corpse into the sea and let her see where playing dead gets her." His cruelty sickened me. I desperately sought to elevate my soul, to distance myself from him. However, an unseen tether held me fast, dragging me inexorably back. And then I realized—the force binding me wasn't Connor himself, but the wolf-spirit bracelet he wore. The bracelet, woven from wolf bone and silver thread, was an ancient relic of my father. More than that, it was the token of love I had once given Connor. I used to be like Cinderella, that pitiful girl.