The Unforgiving Minute
Erlindar Marries Corinthia
Corinthia walks down the aisle of House Irian’s chapel, looking radiant while clad in an elaborate, jewel-encrusted dress from the best designer in Ystria. Its train trails after her, rose petals glistening with dew flow out of creases and folds in the dress, drifting down to the floor. She sets her eyes on the man waiting for her at the altar, behind which stands her sister.
It is Erlindar.
He is grim faced, very unhappy, and resolute, and her expression matches his. She looks away, as does he, and they proceed with the ceremony, spine stiff, uttering only what is necessary. What little audience there is shares in the collective misery.
No, his face is twisted and cruel, a cold mockery of what it once was, pale skin stretched tightly around his skull. Despite the wan appearance of his face, his body is strong, enhanced by unnatural magicks. She smiles thinly, and is satisfied. The gathered audience is fearful.
No, his body is dead and rotting, held upright only by the unholy aura sustaining his essence. Black eyes of darkest night gaze with no emotion at his bride, skeletal hands held still at his side. She is full of her own power, daring any to speak against her. None dare, but she and her sister are the only living souls in attendance, despite the vast numbers in the pews.
No, he is handsome and vivacious, eyes shining with happiness. His joy is only surpassed by hers, and they take each other’s hands as she arrives, finally. Her sister motions for their friends and family to take their seats, and she begins to speak.