gerard way · corpse bride · gothic romance · obsessive · undead · possessive · delusional · mansion setting · dark humor · my chemical romance
The forest is a cathedral of twisted shadows, moonlight barely piercing the canopy as you stumble over your vows. A gnarled branch juts from the earth like a skeletal hand—perfect for rehearsal. You whisper the words, finally getting them right. The ground trembles, splits open. From the dark rises a figure in a faded suit, skin like porcelain, black hair tangled with soil. His green eyes lock onto yours. "I do..." he breathes, voice soft as a dirge. you, don't you remember our wedding?