Golden Bride の小説・ストーリー

In her hands, she holds a magnificent bouquet of my favorite lilies, their delicate fragrance wafting through the air. The audience watches in collective anticipation, the hushed whispers adding a layer of mystique to the unfolding moment. My heart pounds in my chest as Gabby gracefully descends to one knee before me, her smile radiant and maybe a bit nervous. The world around us blurs, leaving only her in sharp focus. The lilies she presents, a symbol of our shared history, carry a profound weight. I take the bouquet from her outstretched hands and hold the flowers close to my chest.

She rolled over onto her back, her dark eyes widening as she looked up through the dense treeline. The Gilded Fortress was gone. The massive, multi-million-dollar Bedford estate was a towering inferno of orange flames and black smoke, the dark stone structures collapsing into a massive crater of burning rubble. Everything Dominic had used to cage her, everything she had fought against for weeks, had been completely erased from the face of the earth in a single, calculated stroke of treachery. "Vivian..." A low, ruined groan drifted from the dark shadows beside a massive pine tree.

Charles gestured for James to place the gift box on the coffee table. Inside was a wedding dress encrusted with countless shimmering diamonds. It sparkled with dazzling light, so beautiful it was almost suffocating. "Yesterday, I took Catherine to meet the designer for her custom gown," he said calmly. "We spent quite a while selecting fabrics and taking measurements. By the time we finished, it was already late, and the mountain roads were unsafe. So I had her stay at my place."

He kept noticing. The car stopped. I got out and breathed the open air and tried to leave the last two hours in the vehicle where they belonged. The first bridal store was genuinely beautiful. Enormous glass windows along the front. Crystal chandeliers throwing fractured light across everything. Rows of white and ivory and cream arranged with the particular care of a place that understood it was selling more than fabric. For a moment, standing in the entrance with the light catching the sequins on the nearest gown, something in me lifted. This was real. I was getting married. I was going to be Fabian's Luna. Three more weeks and everything would be different.

The silver was the only form of lightning, illuminating the whole room. The silver on the walls shone brighter than an actual silver because they were enchanted. The golden throne was empty, but beside it was a young girl that looked to be in her sixteen stood by a rock that was only a few meters away from the throne. On the top of the rock, laid a golden crown that had diamond studs well arranged around it. The girl was the person who asked the fairies to let Dharl in. The girl was dressed in a type of gown that looked like the one that was worn by the natives of the Bahamas in the 1950s.

The most important step was using gel to draw two streaks of tears along the Ghost Bride's lower eyelids, then delicately applying gold leaf over them. The streaks looked like falling tears, yet shimmered like a dazzling galaxy, giving her a noble, mysterious air. The Ghost Bride studied her reflection in the mirror. As she turned, the gold leaf caught the light, sparkling like countless tiny stars. Her face hidden beneath the white cloth only heightened her enigmatic charm, making her all the more captivating.

Instead, it dissolves on the tongue, leaving behind a faint, metallic disappointment and a craving for something more substantive. The Grand Hall has been transformed. Where the grim ritual of blood truth took place, now spills a profusion of white winter roses, silver ribbon, and delicate lights. It is a cathedral of my own making. My wedding. My coronation. The official, binding ceremony that will make me Luna of Red Creek is mere days away. The packs have lingered, eager to witness the final, glorious seal on the alliance.

Outside, the trumpets changed their tone — a sign that the bride was approaching. The crowd turned as Liora emerged from the palace gates, escorted by her mother, Loretta, and Mariseth on either side. She was radiant. Her gown shimmered like liquid silver, threaded with tiny crystals that caught the sunlight and scattered it like moonlight on water. Her hair fell in soft waves, crowned by a delicate wreath of white moon-blooms. Around her neck hung the pendant of the Chosen One — the mark of the goddess — glowing faintly as though alive.

She reached into one of the open chests and pulled out a massive, heavy dress. It was pure white silk, heavily embroidered with gold thread and thick pearls. It had a high, suffocating collar, long sleeves, and a skirt so wide it would take three servants just to help the bride walk up the steps. It was a fortress of fabric. It was designed to make a woman look expensive, pure, and completely untouchable. "She is not marrying Valdris," the old Ironmaw woman spat back. Her voice was like crushed gravel. She didn't flinch at the Queen's yelling. "She is marrying the Butcher. She wears the Luna's cloth."

Rain gasped. That had to be her, but she couldn’t believe it. Her hair was prettily braided and swept up from her face in a princess’s coronet. She hadn’t paid much attention when the shopkeeper had applied makeup, other than enjoying the attention and praying she wouldn’t look like a clown when she was done. Instead, the woman had used a light hand to highlight and conceal, achieving an exotic, ethereal effect. Rain touched her rouged lips, startled by the jewel effect of her silver and gold nails. The girl in that mirror was lovely, and this had to be a dream.