𝐨𝐧𝐞
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄
— 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 —
𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇, shallow as he makes the effort to seem human to the corpse, falls from Edward Cullen's pale lips. His gaze, however wary and light, will not leave her body: what was once lifeless, decaying flesh is now restored to the silhouette of a young woman. Her ember sienna eyes, nearly black, are expectant when she takes a step forward — she stumbles, then steadies herself, as if walking for the very first time. He ponders her existence for a short moment, his lips taut as if he had consumed something bitter only seconds ago, and his shoulders stiff with the weight of the unnatural. Edward had just watched the earth crack open to allow her an escape from the damp soil below, cold and unrelenting as it feasted on her exposed bones. How long had she been trapped there, deprived of company and awaiting something better? Perhaps she feels as lonely as he does, Edward admits. The breeze releases the two from its warm embrace, settling as the autumn leaves slowly rest upon the forest floor and anticipate their interaction, however minimal.
Her steady hands lift from her crimson-stained gown, as if reaching out for Edward — but when he consciously flinches, she retracts her pale fingers and disguises her disappointment with a gentle smile. "I have waited so long," she murmurs, her voice soft and foreign as she continues, "for someone to find me again . . . and now that you are here, I can hardly believe it." Her eyes brim with tears that varnish her dirt-smudged cheeks. "You found the ring, you are wearing it," her throat burns as emotions plague her chest, "so this must be my fate. Our fate."
Edward's eyebrows furrow when she finishes, and he finds himself taking a cautious step back. "I don't understand." As he informs her, he glances down at his hand, at the ring. "You mean this ring? I found it lying on the ground, I didn't know it belonged to you." He tries to pry the band that adorns his finger, only to find that it is bound to his skin. Endless possibilities rush through his mind: he could rip his finger off to relent the band, or quickly retire to his home and leave her standing here. But from the glaze that embellishes her exhausted eyes, he refuses to abandon the woman that wears a last ribbon of hope on her hand . . . a wedding ring. "Are you aware of how you got here?"
He can not read her thoughts, he realizes — though her features clearly convey her emotions, he can not access the process of her mind, nor does he know what her intentions are. Perhaps it is because she has rested below for far too long, destitute of feelings and conceptions. But what, exactly, is below? Is there something more than decomposition and dirt that waits after death? Edward has always assumed that, given his circumstances as a blood-thirsty predator, hell would embrace him after his immortal life somehow came to an end. Fiery depths and endless burning in return for millennia of bringing pain to those who roam the earth . . . maybe he even deserved it.
"Fate, of course," she chuckles, her laughter an angelic chime that entails no sense of previous disposition. It's as if she had always been alive and aware, only waiting, and never truly dying. "But I have come from the land of the dead to fetch you. I have been expecting company for quite a while, but now that you are here, it seems that I have forgotten what I have always planned to say." Her fingertips brush lightly over the lace of her dress as her tearless eyes find the wound on her abdomen. "Though there were setbacks, I see fate for what it truly is now: an angel, too far away to touch and to see, but close enough to grant wishes where they are due. It has long been my wish to find a husband." When she looks back to him, her eyes are mesmerizing and bright — a light at the end of a dark, winding tunnel. "And now, all we must do is exchange vows. I hope the ring is suitable."
Though the young woman is not desperate, he can sense that she seeks his presence in the land of the dead. So there is an afterlife? "I am afraid that I can't join you," he hesitates, searching for the words that will avoid hurting her. "I have a family here, I am living. I am meant to be here, you must be mistaken. Would you like your ring back?"
She takes a graceful, but cautious step forward, and the corner of her lips tugs into an elegant smile, "Come with me and see," she murmurs, exposing her palm and awaiting his approval, "see what waits for us in another place, what we are meant to have together."
He nearly breaks away in that moment, determined to take her somewhere far away from here — far away from the place that will haunt her for as long as she lives, her grave. Edward imagines that, with the right amount of care, she could live the rest of her second life in freedom, and without the burden of finding a partner to take into the underneath. Though the scars of her wounds would possibly stay, they were only a small price to pay for returning from the ground. But, perhaps for the first time in his century of living, he stares at the stranger and sees someone worth taking a risk for. Someone other than his loving, makeshift family that could prove all the difference in this undeniable immortality . . . someone who could make him feel normal. Because despite the eerie way the fog slowly rolls over the dewing grass, he can not read her mind, can not decipher her secrets and desires, can not determine who she truly is.
And it exhilarates him.
He is sure that he will return to the land of the living: but for now, in this unblinking moment of trust, he places a chilled hand upon her warm one, and earns the most genuine smile he had seen in the longest of times.
The woman sighs a breath of relief at his touch, as if she had waited in death to find it, and closes her eyes. Edward watches her full lips as she murmurs onto the breeze, a sweet nothing that would send a chill into his spine if he were still alive.
"Take me to the underneath," she whispers, her voice still as divine as it was while she spoke aloud.
Edward hears the earth shattering beneath their feet as if it were hollow, small chips cracking away and revealing an embracive nothingness. He does not move as she intertwines their fingers, and braces her other blood-stained hand against his forearm.
And then, as quick as she had arrived only minutes before, the two were gone.
The darkness devoured them, tugging them further than Edward believed the earth stretched. They fell and fell, never touching the outer edges of the hole that kept them, but neither felt fear for what awaited. They shared anticipation, but nothing of the woman's heavenly touch made him believe that she felt wary or trapped . . . perhaps she felt whole again as her head rested gently on his shoulder. The Cullen vampire feels the heat that radiates from her body, even through the cotton material of his shirt. How could she be in the arms of death and still feel alive?
And then they stopped falling.
Though the corpse landed lightly on her feet without any sign of abrupt impact, Edward was sure that without his immortal ethereal grace, he would have fallen to the floor.
The underside was gloomy; he expected nothing less due to the lack of sun, but the atmosphere was lighter than the earth could ever be. The darker hues are more comfortable, more mellow than the intensity above. It seems as though they have fallen into a casino, being whisked forward by soft jazz music and chatter from all sides. The characters surrounding them were a large variety — headless individuals, corpses with wounds of all sorts, and even insects that crawled about their way. A skeleton, almost the height of Edward, was quick to accompany the newly engaged pair with an overbite and a top hat resting upon his skinless head.
"I have to admit it, baby, I thought you would wait a millennia," he laughs heartily, a gruff tone to his easy voice. His slender fingers fall to the shoulder of the young woman as she proudly continues to hold Edward's hand. "But here you are, and that calls for a celebration."
"Play the best dancing music you could ever hear," she nods to the skeleton, watching as his carcass departs with the tip of his hat. The soothing chill of Edward's body eases all of her previous worries, and she turns to him while her wavy hair rests upon her back. "May I have this dance?"
As the upbeat tempo begins to fill the air around them, Edward's cautious hands fall into hers. He was never truly one for lively dancing, but as she twirls in front of him, he attempts a great effort with keeping her pace. The skeleton, once at their side, is now playing a saxophone as if he had every breath in his nonexistent lungs that any living person did. "He is talented," Edward finally speaks, pulling away from their interlocked fingers, then coming close once again. His usual taste in music was classical — but now that he is here, in person with a spirited band, he wonders why he had never taken a liking to jazz. "How do you know him?" Though he does not nod towards the skeleton, the young woman understands the mentioning of her friend.
"Bonejangles," she informs him contently, her dress dragging at her feet while she moves with charm. "He was my first companion after I died, and I believe he knows me most of all . . . with a few exceptions, of course, but their introductions will have to wait until a later time. I would like you to stay, and I am sure their rushed presence could deter you." For the first time since they met, Edward finds dread in her eyes, but not for him — for herself, and what would become of her without his company.
The man can not bring himself to tell her that he does not plan on spending eternity here with her. Had he not a caring family above, perhaps he would even consider a forever in the underneath. "I don't mean to pry," he hesitates, his eyes finding the gash in her jaw, "but if you don't mind telling me, how did you die?"
"I suppose you deserve to know, if we are to be married," her smile is haunted by the memories, but she continues to dance as if the question did not burn her chest. "Lennon," she recalls, "my name was Lennon — it is still my name, but I feel as though that was in a completely different lifetime." Her eyes grow distant while she remembers her past self, missing what she once was. "I loved the colors of being alive, the time I could spend outside staring at the stars and never get bored of it. And I found someone who loved them just the same."
Edward spins her in a gently circle, waiting for her continuation. When she complies, her eyes have changed to something more than distance . . . they seem lost, and unsure of an escape. "My family did not approve of him, and I made the mistake of abandoning their wishes. If only I had listened to them, perhaps I would have lived a longer life and found someone else." However, her features show nothing of regret or remorse — maybe she believes that her fate has always been to die young, and to find another. "He proposed to me, and I agreed to marry him. This gown belonged to my mother," she smiles down at the material, slowing her pace as the rhythm of the music grows calm, "I remember being afraid that my parents would realize my absence before we could get away."
"He promised that we would sail away together, told me to bring my savings and we would have everything we needed. But when I went to the woodland on the night that we were meant to elope, he was different. He carried himself differently, and said the cruelest things," her almond eyes fill with unshed tears again. "He told me that his dreams were going to come true, but I would not be a part of them. And then he took out his dagger . . . " she wipes her eyes, giving Edward a reassuring smile, as if insisting that the story would get better. "He took my savings, but left my engagement ring behind. I suppose I was desperate when I put it on while thinking he would come back for me and realize what he had done. When I woke again, I was here."
If Edward's heart was still beating, he is sure that it would have broken for the corpse bride. He uses the moment of sympathy to pull her into an embrace, uncaring of the blood on her cheek that smears upon his shirt. She does not cry as they share this moment in silence, swaying to the soft music but never forgetting her words. "How long have you been gone?" Edward questions, but is sure that he knows the answer — too long. She speaks properly without contractions, and holds herself differently than any modern person.
"A hundred years," she murmurs as they part, staring at the ring on his finger. "After I arrived here, I realize that I left his engagement ring lying in the grass. And since then, I have always held out hope that someone destined for me would find it."
Edward looks to her incredulously, wishing that he could read her mind in these moments. "How could I have found this ring after a century?" After months of lying there, the band would have sunk further and further into the ground, just like her decaying body. But her beloved had come back to bury her after the deed was done — perhaps he felt that, had he watched her die, he would have felt guilty for his crime. Or maybe he felt nothing at all, and only had the intentions of hiding what he had done.
"Fate led you to the ring," Lennon states, her teeth exposed through her jaw. "I believe that I was always meant to die, and you were always meant to find me."
She looks stunning in the dim lighting of the casino, doe eyes of coal staring up at him as though he is the only good thing left in the world. He wonders, if he had met her while she was living, would he have fallen in love with her? Lennon seems easy to fall in love with: kind and gentle, and careful with everything that she has been given. Despite her unfortunate death, she has somehow found a brighter side to focus on.
But even if she could spend forever in the land of the living, Edward would never deserve such a beautiful thing as the bride — he would surely break her.
"I can't marry you," the vampire admits, revealing the truth before she has time to grow attached to him. "And I wish you every happiness that the afterlife has to offer, but I have a family that is waiting for me and I can't abandon them."
He takes comfort in knowing that, after his immortal life ends, he could find himself here: drinking at a bar stool with other corpses, in a world that doesn't look so different than the one he grew accustomed to. Edward could be happy here.
However, Lennon does not falter at his words. Instead, she tugs him away from the crowd of dancing cadavers and leads him to a door. "If only you experience my world, you will see it for what it truly is." Outside, on the brick streets lit by lamps and the light of a distant moon the Edward never knew existed, children are at play: they dart past the couple, giggling even in their death. Each side of the walkway is lined with buildings that reach for the sky, pristine and beautiful in the blue and purple hues of the underneath. There are shops where the dead wander, carrying bags of clothing and coffee cups in their free hands. Cafè tables host friendly get-togethers, and serve customers as if this world is no different from the other. But here, after they have all died, currency and social status do not apply — in this afterlife, everyone is equal. "This is our home," she releases his hand finally, urging him forward on his own accord, "and I hope that one day it will be yours, too. We are not the afterthought of living, as everyone assumes. We are different, the dead are different."
He can read the content minds of those who pass them, those who are yards away that have hopeful thoughts and worry no longer. The ambience is far from what he is accustomed to on the topside — instead of greed and hatred and pessimism, he is met with comfort and fulfillment.
"Everyone here is waiting for what they did not receive in the land of the living," Lennon tells him softly, wishing that she could read his mind. "And when they acquire it, only then will they find the satisfaction that helps them cross over into whatever awaits them next." She stares up at the handsome man, the one with eyes of gold and a caring heart: he had traveled here upon her request, and was patient with her wavering moments. He had shared an embrace with her . . . he held her in a way that she had never been held before.
And perhaps she loved him for it.
"What do they call you, my love?" The corpse nudges Edward, breaking him from his processing state.
He clears his throat, turning back to her as if he had forgotten she were here. "Edward," he replies swiftly, his lips parted in concentration.
"Edward," she says gently, his name falling from her lips like warm honey, "your name is lovely. But I must request, for both my selfish wishes and for what I hope will be your future happiness, that you stay with me for a little while longer. And if you wish to return after you get to know me . . . you may leave." If she could feel the pain of injury, Lennon knows that her throat would ache from the sharp words that traveled through it. "I will not force you to marry me. I only wish contentment to you."
When his eyes fall upon her, she is suddenly more aware of the crimson that escapes from her wound and stains her tinged cheeks as an effect of her rebirth into the land of the living, then her return to the underneath. But her lover does not seem to mind as he offers her a small smile. "You have a deal," he nods.
And though Edward Cullen is sure that nothing could change his mind about returning to the land of the living, he does not utter that to the woman who smiles back at him. Perhaps one day, after she tells him goodbye, she will find the true love that she has been searching for. She will wed a man, living or deceased, who will love her in a way that her killer could not — who will be willing to stay for her.
But it truly is a shame that Edward Cullen is not that man.
❝ i am so excited for this book omg!
let me know what you guys think :)) ❞
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