𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎
— 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓃𝒹 —

     𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 against her dying waves, tainted by aged soil and ripped with the brutality of her death. Lennon did not mind that the wedding dress would forever adorn her own corpse — when in moments that she felt as though her living memory was slipping from her fingertips, the sentiment of her mother's gown brought back even the smallest amount of comfort. And on the darkest nights when she believed that her true love would never come, she would clutch to the material as if it offered a power that no other could understand. But to all who awaited their peace six feet underground, their fate was never too far behind. Perhaps Edward would stay for her, trapped in the underworld that she considers her safe haven, with the knowledge that he could never return to what his life once was. As the woman admires his profile with the eyes of a doe, she believes that she could do this forever — bask in a moment that should mean nothing while considering it her lifeline. His high cheekbones and sharp lips, calculating eyes that seem to grow darker than their original honey tone, with a kind aura that could match the gentleness of any of the gods that stare down from the heavens.

Her beloved was far more simple than her current beau . . . and yet she still finds that his memory, tainted by aggression and hatred, haunts her even in the afterlife. But she refuses to think of him as she reaches out to take Edward's firm hand into her soft one. Their skin, as if crafted for one another, molds seamlessly as she smiles to him.

"What was your life like?" Lennon questions the pale man, noticing how he tenses when their fingers intertwine. The young woman frowns, tugging her hand away in an effort to avoid making him uncomfortable. "I apologize," she murmurs softly, averting her eyes to the limitless buildings in the distance.

Though the vampire knows he would feel his heart clench in guilt if he were still alive, Edward feels nothing when he glances back to the corpse. "It's alright," he assures her — although her touch was more soothing than anything he could have ever imagined, he despised that she was so easily drawn to him. He hated himself for allowing her to believe in such falsities: that he had the potential to stay, that he is living. Having only been here for a few minutes, Edward has already dug himself into a grave that he will one day have to climb free of . . . and when the time comes, he will have to break her heart in the process. "I have an adoptive family that can be trying at times, but I enjoy their company. Two brothers, Emmett and Jasper; two sisters, Rosalie and Alice; and my parents, Carlisle and Esme."

Despite having been rejected, Lennon grins at his soft words and tugs the train of her dress as they continue on their stroll. "I imagine that I would get along with them well. You were adopted?"

"I would consider it an adoption," he chuckles under his breath, noticing her intrigued eyes. "But they're just as much my family as the one that came before them."

A smile tugs at her lips when she remembers her life in the above — when she had a family to cherish, but misled them by disobeying their wishes. But a frown never hinges her contentment because she knows within her beating heart (for whatever short period of time it will remain so) that she was always meant for this. And for Edward, perhaps, or for whomever may follow him. The broken pieces she left behind in the land of the living will be brought together again one day.

Lennon halts in her steps when they reach a small diner, fashioned with decorative coffin tables and outdated bar stools. "I come here occasionally for the atmosphere," she opens the translucent door, gesturing for him to step inside, "and when I miss my home." As Edward takes in his surroundings, he finds the bruised glow of the room calming: purple and blue hues lighting the open bar, a cobweb-adorned chandelier, and a pianist — all the while with an axe lodged deep within his chest cavity — plays a wavering song in the corner of the confined space. Just as before, their minds are as clear as the pedestrians in the street.

Edward looks to her expectantly, "I don't mean to sound rude, but can the deceased . . . eat?" Maybe he is oblivious: he himself has been wrapped in the arms of death for a century, and should know the answer. But in this situation, the corpse bride is not immortal, nor does she lust for the blood of innocents. The conditions of the underworld are different than what he expected — there is no darkness or never-ending out of nothingness that burns to the touch. There is only a fitting reality, a temporary waiting period that assures the completion of fate for all of those that thrive here.

"We do as we please," she smiles, settling into a cushioned seat and gazing upon his features when he rests opposite of her. "Our bodies do not function. No beating hearts, no breathing, sleep, or digestion. I suppose I should have warned you that outhouses and pots do not exist here — though my companion has told me that they are now referred to as a restroom." The word seems foreign on her tongue as Lennon chuckles, placing a hand under her chin. "But for your temporary stay as a living being, we can make arrangements to acquaint your needs."

He listens closely to the soft rhythm that reverberates from her chest, his words momentarily stifled. "And yet you have a heartbeat and you breathe as if you're required to in order to survive," Edward claims, clasping his hands together while ignoring the unfitting grasp of the wedding band. "What makes you different from the others?" He wishes so desperately that he could tell her of his misfortune; relay to the young woman that, though she is kind, he is immortal, and has no place here. He has no place in her heart, either.

Perhaps he will have to break it in order to escape.

Her sharp intake of breath is refreshing in the room full of the dead, and Lennon touches the fabric of her dress so lightly, as if feeling the heart that rests beneath her flesh with exposed palms. "You can hear my heart?" She questions, leaning forward with furrowed brows.

The corner of Edward's lips twitch upward with the hint of a smile as he peaks her curiosity. "If you give me answers," he meets her inquisitive, entrancing eyes that expand for all of eternity, "I will do the same for you."

The corpse hums to herself, seemingly satisfied with the guarantee of a response. "I wish I could understand the reasoning behind it, but I have yet to find an explanation. Before I visited the land of the living, I was the same as all the others. But when I burst from the soil, something changed . . . " The young woman studies the tiled floor, "I became mortal once again."

"Your wounds became scars, you healed," Edward's voice in incredulous, "but when we descended, they returned."

With a sigh, she admits, "I believe it has a deeper meaning, so my hope is that you will help me discover it."

Perhaps Lennon has a chance at a normal life, and she has yet to realize it — but would she trade her companions and home in the underneath for an opportunity of a new life on the topside? Is she truly living again, raised from the grave and destined for a second chance? "You are alive," Edward concludes, his eyes subconsciously focusing on the gash in her jaw. "Maybe you weren't supposed to come back here. Your place could be on earth, with the living."

Lennon places her hand over the gash, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. When Edward looked at her, what did he notice first; her radiant aura, or the wounds that killed her? "I am not so sure," she sinks into her spot, no longer leaning forward to be closer to her betrothed. "I am long past deceased. No one is returned from the hands of death. Besides, I belong here, with my friends."

Determined to change the tide of their heavy conversation, Edward changes the subject when he lightly brushes her arm with his fingertips and averts her attention. "Who I have yet to meet," he mentions. "I'm sure your friends are lovely, and meeting them won't scare me away."

"You are avoiding my earlier question," Lennon realizes, "how do you know my heart is beating?" Her eyes narrow, though containing no trace of hostility. Instead, they withhold the grace of curiosity.

He can no longer keep the truth from the corpse bride, Edward Cullen finally admits to himself. If he does, he will only hurt her more when he says goodbye. His intentions, though odd, are pure: he doesn't wish to hurt the woman who searches for her lover. "I haven't been completely honest with you."

Lennon's smile falls, cracking into a million pieces as she faces her biggest fear . . . the untruths of the man that she is determined to marry. "Do I even want to hear it?" Her voice fails her, quivering under the pressure of the lively café and winding music. "Or will it break my heart?" His silent, apologetic eyes of ember and honey are warm and desolate, breaking an unmade promise to her. A promise to never hurt her the way that her fiancé had, so brutal and unexpected. But perhaps this instance is worse — he had traveled below the soil, knowing that he would never be her own. Perhaps her fiancé had loved her once, and had found riches to be more valuable.

But Edward Cullen had ruined her from the start.

"It may change things. The way you perceive me, and how your fate will unfold. I don't believe our destinies were meant to intertwine." Edward swallows, his throat tight. He suddenly feels as though his stomach is empty, deprived of the blood he had ingested in the early morning hours. But Lennon's pink tinged cheeks do not make him wish for more, nor does he feel the urge to rip her throat out. Her blood, though blackening over her scabbed jaw, is on display for the underworld to see, and yet he feels nothing, wants nothing from her. Not even blood.

A bartender, laden in a modern suit with his own severed head resting within a single hand, approaches the couple, swaying with the rhythm of the music. "Is there anything I could get for the two of you?" His eyes linger on Lennon, and the corner of his lips tug into a relieved smile. The body pushes his detached head forward, his voice barely a whisper between the couple, "I heard you were called to the land of the living," he rumors. "And what was it for, if I may ask?" He places his head upon the tabletop and lies a stable hand next to it, enveloped by the mystery.

"Summoned would describe it," Lennon waves away his interest with a chuckle. "My soulmate found the ring that was meant for my husband. He placed it upon his finger, and I was brought to the topside to bring him back with me." The man is entranced within every word until he notices the shift in her gaze — until he suddenly realizes Edward, too, is seated there, and he is seeing him in a new light. "And so he did." She smiles at the vampire, forgetting about his earlier warning.

The wind outside of the shop twirls in an attempt to alert Lennon: leave, the breeze tells her, leave before he breaks you. And surely Edward will: with his confession being withheld, the corpse bride will see no reason to protect her own heart.

Perhaps demons can be disguised as angels.

"The name is Blythe, but I'm known as the Headless Horseman," he winks at Edward, his relaxed body patting the indestructible porcelain skin of Edward's shoulder. "I've long since retired, but my son has a stagecoach business around the block if you'd ever enjoy a midnight ride to see the city."

Before Edward can raise a brow with a silent question, Lennon provides the answer he searches for. "Blythe is awaiting the arrival of his wife," she smiles, lovingly placing a hand upon the horseman's shoulder. "And their son is longing for his mother. When the time comes, they will cross over together. It is quite a beautiful story, actually. But in the meantime, they are following the dreams that were never possible in the land of the living."

"I always wanted my own restaurant—" his hands gesture to the dimly lit room around them, "and I got it. Six feet underground makes the perfect spot for an undead diner." The headless horseman chuckles, his head being lifted back into the safety of his own hands. "Lennon helped me with the interior decorating after I arrived," he boasts, earning a blush from the bride, "and I never expected to be so welcomed! She's a kind one, young man, and I am so glad that she finally found you. But I must admit how odd it is that you have yet to cross over together."

The corpse bride clears her throat uncomfortably, and Blythe realizes the boundary that he has crossed. "My lover is still living," she explains to him lightly, "and he has yet to decide if he wishes to stay here. I will respect his wishes, no matter the choice he makes."

Edward's guilty conscience nearly eats his immortal body from the inside out, tearing apart the industrial columns that are his bones and seething at his empty veins. Although he does not utter a word, he doesn't need to — Blythe bites his lip, his fingers mindlessly twirling his stringy hair. "I see," he murmurs, his voice thick with suspicion. "How long do you have before his body decays? The living, my dear bride, do not belong here and their bodies cannot atone to these conditions." His sympathetic eyes find Edward, though they grow darker with a heaviness. "I wish the best for both of you, no matter the outcome."

"Thank you." And Edward has never been more sincere in his century of living. Could he be happy here? He knows the answer without thinking. But if he stays, will he and Lennon remain here forever? Or will they fade into a place far beyond this one? Will he be damned while she rises to the heavens? Perhaps this gamble has too heavy of a cost.

Lennon nudges the horseman, desperate to ease the tension that lies like a thick blanket, smothering her hopes for the future. "Enough of the dreary talk," she grins. "I would love to have the special today, and Edward will have the same." She glances to him, a sparkle in her eye as she forgets about what they previously chatted about, "You will adore his talents, I guarantee it."

"Now I have expectations to uphold," Blythe sighs, but his expression insists that he is only teasing. "I will return with the best food you have ever tasted."

When he leaves the two behind, a dreary silence follows him with light footsteps. Edward wonders what Lennon is thinking in those moments of nothingness, when there is nothing more to focus on than soft melodies and the distinct smell of a tomato and basil soup that even the most bland of humans could place. Could she be pondering his awareness of her heartbeat? Is she debating, in this single second, if she should surrender him back to the land of the living and wait for another to find her ring? Or does she not care that he is immortal, a creature of the night whom has murdered before and will surely do it again?

But when she looks at him, he knows that she has forgotten. "Tell me about yourself, the brutal details of your happiness and the desperate tragedies. I want to hear everything, not a memory spared."

The vampire chuckles lightly, his thumb brushing so slightly over the band that he is growing accustomed to with each passing minute. Will his hand feel cold when he finally pries it off? When he throws it to the rotting soil so carelessly, and sends with it his memories of the corpse bride? "You may be shocked to learn that I prefer classical music over jazz, or that I hold an endurance for education like no other you will ever meet."

Her breath is light as she tucks those pieces of information deep into her heart. "You enjoy learning?" Lennon arches a brow, "what about literature, play-writes, or poetry? Do you read any?"

"In my free time," he nods. "Believe me, I have far too much of it, so I always need something to keep me occupied."

"Romeo and Juliet is breathtaking." She places a gentle hand upon her scarred abdomen, as if feeling the pain of her death again. "I loved it once; the tragedy of a young couple taking their own lives to avoid being separated. But now I suppose that some lovers will not always die for one another. And perhaps that is the greatest tragedy of all . . . some love stories are only a performance."

He instinctually takes her hand within his chilled one, pulling her fat away from the past and bringing her to the present. His eyes cave deep within hers, "You deserve a love that will be more than a play-write for someone's entertainment. And you will receive it, that I know for sure."

As Edward Cullen stares into the eyes of the corpse bride as she smiles so kindly, he does not notice the gentle poison that lies there.

Perhaps the poison will convince him to stay — to abandon his family and die with the young woman who only ever wished to be loved. Maybe fate, as she spoke before, truly did mean to bring them together. But fate is a cruel thing, deceiving, manipulating: it would never allow them their peace. Someday in the future, if the vampire returns to his life in Forks, Washington, Bella Swan will read Shakespeare aloud to Edward Cullen, unknowing that the corpse bride once loved such poetry. But she would never know that, like Edward fears, some lovers are only meant to be together six feet underground.

Perhaps it will be too late when he realizes that the piece of literature was not referring to the human who wished so badly to become immortal, but to the corpse who would love him forever in the underground — never wishing that he could give her anything more than his heart.

Perhaps even the poison of Lennon's love will not be strong enough to make him stay.

❝ i'm so sorry that this took so long,
i've been so stressed out lately! but i'm glad
i got this written, i love it :) ❞