Title: According to Plan
Author: Paineful
Genre: Romance
Rating: T
Status: In Progress
Summary: Victoria Everglot wasn't quite ready to become a bride; nor was she ready to receive one. (Emily x Victoria. A retelling of The Corpse Bride with Victoria as the main character.)
Notes: Of course, this fic won't really follow the movie scene-for-scene, event-for-event. That'd be horribly boring. I can't help but feel as if Victoria would have made a better, and cuter, match for Emily--so here you have it. Call me crazy if you like, but I can't be the only person who thought of this pairing.
"According to plan..."
How tired she was of hearing those words! Ever since the day Victoria's mother and father had announced she was to marry--Victor--Victor something-or-other--all they could talk about, and fuss about, and remind her about, was that it was extremely important to make a stunning first impression. Everything had to be meticulous to the letter; everything had to go--
According to plan.
So far, nothing had gone according to plan. Victor Van--er--was remarkably clumsy. That isn't to say he wasn't kind, and sincere, and a gentlemen; he was all of these things. But Victoria hadn't expected her husband-to-be to light her mother on fire during their wedding rehearsal. Of course, Victoria was sure he had only the best of intentions when he'd done it.
It was a stressful night, to say the least. The pastor had called off the practice ceremony, screaming vehemently about how no one was going to get married in his church until someone had learned their vows, and overall the evening hadn't ended on a pleasant note. With a frown, Victoria had parted ways with her--fiance--and slipped out into the night. It wasn't proper for a woman to leave the house unaccompanied, to be sure, but amidst all the chaos and tumult, no one had noticed her absence.
And that is the story of how she came upon the misty, chilled woods, and how she came to rest on a patch of dried ground beneath the moonlit sky, her head cradled dismally between her hands.
She thought Victor was quite charming--to be sure. And she supposed that if she couldn't have a say in who she married, then she might as well marry someone she could see herself getting along with. Victor was musically refined; he played the piano beautifully, a trait Victoria had always coveted. And he did seem so kind; or at least, Victoria was almost certain he was kind. It was rather hard to tell what the man was really like while he was acting so dreadfully nervous...
Yes! That was a start. At least they would have something to talk about. The piano, and--well. Surely they would have something to talk about? Already Victoria sat there amidst the dead trees, searching and searching for conversation starters. "Good morning, Victor; what do you think of the presence of debauchery and infidelity as prevalent themes in The White Devil?" -- What if he'd never seen The White Devil? Victoria couldn't blame him; such a dry play--
She cut her thoughts short and shook her head gently. "This will never do."
It served as a shock to hear her own voice. Victoria lifted her head and stared around, dark eyes wide, searching for her mystery speaker. But no; she was still alone; and still very much engaged to a man she knew next to nothing about.
What was his surname, again...?
Victoria pressed her lips together and gazed softly--rather sadly--down at the wedding band around her finger. Surprisingly, Victor had managed to get through that part of the ceremony without knocking anything over or lighting anyone on fire. Victoria tilted her head to one side; stretching her fingers out before her; admiring the way the moonlight caught the little golden ring at such extraordinary angles. It was enough to bring a smile to her lips; small and dainty, but a smile.
And then--a frown again. It meant nothing. The ring meant nothing.
Victoria closed her eyes and turned her head away in shame. What was marriage, anyway? What was betrothal? Why was any of this necessary? Wasn't there some other way to save her poor, dear old parents from debt? Perhaps she could go to work--start a new business, propagate wealth--
Such a notion was laughable at best.
Victoria sighed against the whispering wind and rose from the bare tree stump she'd seated herself upon. Mentally chastizing herself--and hoping against hope nothing was on her dress, for fear her parents would notice, crestfallen--she slipped the ring off her finger.
"Someday, my dear..." Victoria said, turning to her left. (What a peculiar tree root protruded from the ground; it was even taller than the stump.) She smiled in vain. "Maybe I'll wake up one morning and realize I do love you, after all."
She could always hope, couldn't she? The tree root was just the right size and shape for Victoria to pretend it was an outstretched hand; so when she placed the ring on its knotted finger (it wasn't really a finger), she could very easily imagine the hand belonged to Victor. Yes; it was their wedding day, and he was smiling as they exchanged rings and vows; and she found it in herself to smile in return, with newfound hope... Maybe, by the time they were married, she would truly know the man she was marrying...
"Well, my dear?" Victoria asked, her head to the side and a muted smile on her face. "Will you be mine?" Pitiful; she almost hoped he would say no...
But "he" was rising from the ground, the earth rumbling and shaking around him in quilts of dry earth; the forest floor split to free him, and he rose, higher and higher... Wait a minute; wasn't that a tree root...?
Victoria's mouth and eyes rounded in horror; but all she could do was step back, and back, farther and farther from the breaking ground, until her gloved hands raised to cover her parted lips and stifle an inaudible scream...
A bride stood before Victoria, her skin the color of ice; her hair, a dull, dead blue, tumbling down her back like gnarled shreds of rope. Her eyes were big and wide, and though they seemed a bit too dry, their enormity made them appear as if glowing. Flesh was missing from her right cheek, but how perfect her cheeks were; such a full shape, such high cheekbones, Victoria had never before seen...
...She was beautiful. She was everything Victoria's parents shunned from her life; something haunting, something enchanting...something profoundly forbidden, and most remarkably enticing.
And if Victoria thought the lovely bride's eyes couldn't become any bigger, any rounder, she was mistaken; they slowly widened, and though there were hollow spaces between her worn eyeballs and the eyelids veiling them, really, Victoria found that she didn't mind at all.
The corpse bride gazed upon her with rapture and stretched her arms forward, one skeletal, one covered in soft flesh; in one swift motion like a glide, she lovingly took Victoria's face into her hands. Her hands, flesh and bone, were cold against Victoria's skin; Victoria felt the heat escaping her cheeks, and for more than one reason...
"Always," said the bride in a beautifully airy voice, clear and chiming and sleek as the wind, "always... Oh, I will be yours forevermore..."
Blood pounded against Victoria's eardrums. Her wedding band was still on the dead woman's bony ring finger; this she noticed before she shuddered and collapsed in an untidy heap.
Snow began to fall from the sky.
Dedicated to Arlene, in hopes that she will put down the futa long enough to read this.
