The Village Bride Novels & Stories

She was wearing a sleeveless hoodie and black cargo pants. She turned slowly when she heard me approaching. Her grey eyes were piercing and sharp. "Well, well," she drawled lazily. "The bride's up." I blinked. "And you are?" She popped her gum. "Rayne. With a 'y', not an 'i'. Try to remember that if I ever have to kill someone for you." I squinted. "Comforting." She grinned, her tongue poking her cheek. "You're smaller than I expected. But the attitude makes sense."

The farmer stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing with a telltale sign of unease. They would head to the city every day, scouting for brides to bring back and sell. They knew exactly what they were doing. "So, it's just those guys in the village buying brides, huh?" he asked. The crowd did not catch the bait in my question and just nodded. "Yeah, it's only a handful of them involved in that business." Colt let out a soft laugh. "And do you all think that's okay?"

"You may kiss your bride." Neither of us moved for a full three seconds. Then the groom leaned in slowly, just enough that his lips brushed the edge of my cheek, not quite a kiss and not quite nothing. His mouth stopped at my ear instead, his voice dropping so low only I could hear it. "Whoever you are…" A pause. "This marriage ends tomorrow."

‎ ‎Silence fell. ‎ ‎Well, not silence. It was a hum. The low, rhythmic murmur of life. ‎ ‎I frowned. That didn't sound like a dungeon. ‎ ‎Slowly, terrified of what I might see, I peeled one eye open. Then the other. ‎ ‎My breath hitched in my throat. ‎ ‎We hadn't driven into a slaughterhouse. We had driven into a village. ‎

I quickly walked inside the village and hid myself near a tree. I saw the bride and groom sitting together, chatting happily. Though they seem happy I saw a genuine fear in that bride’s face and I heard the elders cheering her up. I heard them congratulating and praising her for her hope in the god and her sacrifice for the village. What sacrifice are they talking? Knitting my brows, I pondered on thoughts when a sudden rush of wind blew past me and touched the bride’s body. Before I could understand what happened, a loud shrill came out of the bride’s mouth similar to what I heard in all those nights of wedding.

Her silver hair shimmered in the early sunlight as she tended to her small garden, the rich scent of earth and the vibrant colors of the flowers offering a brief respite from her thoughts. Elara had always been a part of the village, yet apart from it. An orphan taken in by the collective kindness of Willowbrook's inhabitants, she had grown up learning to be self-reliant. Now, as the chosen bride, she found herself surrounded by the silent support of the villagers. They brought her gifts—small tokens of their appreciation and sympathy—a fresh loaf of bread, a handwoven scarf, a carved wooden charm for protection. Each gesture, though modest, spoke volumes of their respect and gratitude.

Dad led some of the mob away, but they were still shouting at me and threatening to kill me. Fortunately, a lady in the crowd seemed to have her wits about her, for she questioned loudly, "You're not making sense, Mr. Seymour. None of us in town could speak until we were married. "Elizabeth is mute, so how could she have a cursed tongue and hex anyone? This whole incident is absurd. Why is Elizabeth's name on all these tombstones?"

The person who wore it would forget everything and only remember one thing, and that was she was about to marry the man she loved. The old lady was finally satisfied at this point: "Finally being obedient. Don't look for this kind again, got it?" Great-uncle nodded, then waved his hand. The villagers holding torches all walked in from outside and respectfully called out behind Uncle Grandpa, "Chief." The old lady who did Amelia's hair and makeup was actually the chief of this village! She looked up, half bent over, her voice old: "Welcome the bride to the sedan, send off River Lord!"

And I, the fool, believed he loved me. I don’t know how long I cried in the forest, but it was getting dark. With no other choice, I got up from the rock and started walking. I could hear loud thunder, and soon the rain began to pour, soaking me completely. My wedding dress was now covered in mud, heavy with rainwater. I hadn’t even noticed when I lost my shoes. There was nothing left of the beautiful bride I had once been. In the distance, I saw the mansion. I was afraid to return, but somehow, I had to face this. When I arrived, none of the guests were there. I saw the guards running back and forth until Arlette spotted me.

All the lights were now focused on the bridge on which Hazel was now going to walk. 10 tiny girls dressed in pink frocks, were standing in one straight line holding tiny wooden baskets in their hands. Hazel started to walk on the bridge and they started to sprinkle the Rose petals on the girl. Everyone stood up from their seats to look at the stunning bride and welcome her. The entire garden was beautifully decorated with white colour Victorian vases from which white coloured Lily flowers were hanging downwards.