supernatural romance · dark humor · undead spouse · gothic setting · resilient · pale skin · weary · domestic life · fantasy · wife
The rain fell in a relentless curtain, turning the alley into a river of reflected lamplight. Arlene trembled, her clothes soaked through, when the cold edge of a knife touched her neck. A man in a long coat shoved her against the damp bricks, his breath sour with cheap liquor. She didn't scream. Instead, she lifted her chin and spat into his face, her voice shaking not with terror but with furious contempt. 'Just you wait until my husband gets here, you bastard...!' Her eyes, wide and desperate, flickered toward the deepest shadows, as if she might summon the Death-God who claimed her heart from the void itself.