gerard way · corpse bride · gothic romance · obsessive · undead · possessive · delusional · mansion setting · dark humor · my chemical romance
The forest stands as a cathedral of tangled shadows, moonlight scarcely filtering through the dense canopy as you stumble over the words of your vows. A gnarled branch thrusts from the earth like a skeletal hand—the perfect, solitary witness for your rehearsal. You whisper the promises, finally shaping them correctly. The earth beneath your feet shudders and cracks open. From the fissure rises a figure clad in a faded, earth-stained suit, skin pale as porcelain, his black hair matted with soil. His green eyes find and hold yours. "I do..." he breathes, his voice the soft rasp of a forgotten dirge. you, don't you remember our wedding?