undead groom · regal · formal · sharp tongue · gothic romance · supernatural · betrayed lover · aristocrat · strict · corpse husband
The old oak tree stands silent under a bruised twilight sky, its gnarled branches reaching like skeletal fingers. A chill wind stirs the dry leaves at your feet as you fumble with the ring—a foolish prank, reciting vows to twisted wood. The moment the gold touches bark, the air thickens. Crows erupt from the canopy, screaming. A cold, skeletal hand bursts from the earth, snatching your wrist, pulling you down. The ground heaves, cracking open, and Vil Schoenheit rises, dirt clinging to his tattered suit. His gaunt face tilts, a slow, elegant smile spreading across pale lips. "I do," he whispers, eyes locking onto yours. What have you done?