A/N: Look it's my second Victorious fanfic yay. Uh okay just a disclaimer, I do not own Victorious or The Corpse Bride. But they are fantastic things.

It seemed like the weather in this little town was always consistent-Beck Oliver had never seen a sky that wasn't gray and full of clouds, had never felt air that wasn't chilled and bitter to the touch. Even still, his parents were forever acting as if they were living in just the opposite. They were an optimistic couple, always looking on the bright side of things, which made people wonder how Beck was even related to them at all, despite their trademark striking eyes and deep olive skin. It wasn't that Beck was an unhappy person-he was just not as... pure as his family would have liked their precious only child to be. He was rebellious, with an unhealthy habit to go against whatever anyone else said and follow his own path. It was for these reasons that his parents had decided to go out and find him a wife-perhaps a good girl with a sturdy head on her shoulders would steer him straight.

On the other side of town resided yet another small family-a mother, a father, and two daughters with loose, dark brown ringlets and shiny deep eyes. However, they weren't nearly as happy as the Olivers in the slightest. On the outside, they was no denying that they were all beautiful-their daughters, Victoria and Katrina Vega, would have no trouble finding a husband at all. But their beauty was completely cancelled out by the bitterness that ran through their veins. The only thing that tied them together was the blood that they shared. The parents of the family had fallen out of love long ago-it was a wonder how they'd even fallen in love in the first place, if they had at all. The troubles they faced being together put a strain on all four of them. Katrina was ridden with vanity-deep down, she had a big heart, but her broken family had worn her cynical through the years; she filled the empty void in her heart with the love her parents had never shown her. This deep passion for herself left her undesirable in the eye of every suitor the Vegas came in contact with. Indeed, the only normal one of the four was Victoria, a tall, slender beauty with compassion for everyone, even her alienated parents and sister, in hopes that one day things would take a turn for the better.

The Vegas had been facing complications with money for the past few months, which obviously didn't do good for any of them. Somewhere inside her, Victoria hoped that this was maybe a diamond in the rough for them, that in this time, they would somehow become closer, thankful for the little that they had left. But of course, it just tore them further and further apart. The only time her parents even talked was when they arranged for Victoria to be married-apparently there was a wealthy, nouveau riche family with a son on the opposite side of their city in search for a wife. This was just another thing on Victoria's plate for her to stress about-after all, her parents had had an aranged marriage, and look how well that turned out. She certainly didn't want to be fighting with this man every day for the rest of her life. She'd had enough of fighting already.

But what was there that she could do? Her parents needed the money.

Beck stared down at the cobblestone streets several hundred feet below the sole window in his bedroom. It was a wide window, its stained panes framed with aged copper. It shed bland, white light inside his dark, cold square room. There wasn't much at all in here, just a bed with gray sheets, a discarded candlestick on the wooden floor, a small bookcase, and a chair. Nevertheless, he spent most of his time here, mostly reading or looking out the window as he was now.

He could hear his parents bustling around downstairs, their high voices rising up, though the words were muffled by the thick floors and walls. They'd been talking about this day for months now, the day of their son's wedding rehearsal, but frankly, Beck wanted nothing to do with it. He didn't need a wife to tie him down, to suck him dry of all his money... he could go on and on with the reasons why he didn't want to get married. At the very top of the list was that he didn't even know the girl. He was lucky that he knew her name-Victoria Vega, he'd been told. He didn't like how her name was an alliteration, but perhaps that was just his distaste for marriage talking.

He heard his name being called from the bottom of his long, winding staircase, and he had to curl his hands into fists to keep from screaming. He knew that no matter what he did, there was no way the wedding was going to be called off. God knows that he'd tried that already. So, stiffly, he marched down the staircase and joined his parents. His mother smiled warmly at him-he simply stared blankly back at her. Unfazed, she took his father's arm, and together, they entered the carriage awaiting them.

They rode steadily on for a while until Beck's mother finally broke the silence. "It's a beautiful day for a wedding," she proffered.

Beck scowled.

Victoria gasped sharply as her handmaid yanked at the strings at the back of her corset. In the mirror built into the vanity before her, she stared at herself, trying to focus on the reflections rather than her diminishing oxygen supply. She noticed deep bags beneath her eyes-ever since the announcement of her engagement, she'd had trouble sleeping, and last night, the night before her wedding rehearsal, had been the worst night of all. At least with the past few months, she'd had time-maybe something would come up. Maybe her parents would fall back in love, their family would be happy and the money would either miraculously show up or, in their happiness, it wouldn't matter at all. But now that the day was here, she was out of time, and she was going to be married to someone whom she hated and someone whom hated her, and she would end up just like her parents.

But she still tried to stay optimistic.

She couldn't help but notice with a heavy heart that her sister was nowhere to be found-in the hustle and bustle with all the wedding preparations the last couple of days-as many preparations as they could make with what they had left-she'd taken off with a damaging amount of money, to check into an inn, Victoria supposed, because she hadn't been home in a couple of nights. No matter how much she didn't want this wedding to happen, though, she wanted Katrina there, never mind the fact it had been years since they'd had a conversation that wasn't chock full of hostility, if there had ever been one in the first place.

Out of the corner of her eye, Victoria noticed some slight movement near her doorway. Upon looking up, she saw the stoic faces of her mother and father leering down at her from where they stiffly stood, a painful distance apart from each other. Victoria shoved the ache in her heart to where she couldn't feel it anymore and affixed a bright smile on her angular face. "Hello."

Her parents didn't say anything. She bit her lip and lowered her eyes to the floor.

A few seconds passed by in an uncomfortable silence. Victoria squirmed a bit in her seat, and her handmaid yanked harder on the strings. The girl squeaked once more, and her mother glared harder in her direction. "I'm a bit nervous," Victoria continued, grabbing her mother's attention while she still had it. She waited patiently, half-expecting her mother to flock to her side and rake her hands through her daughter's brown curls and ask why. But she stayed put, staring at Victoria like she'd done something wrong-the only look Victoria had ever known.

"I mean..." Victoria cleared her throat and fluttered her coal-black eyelashes. "...What if Beck and I don't... love each other?"

This shook a reaction out of her mother. She laughed so sharply and suddenly that Victoria startled a bit. "And why would that matter?" her mother asked darkly. "Do you think your father and I love each other?"

Victoria blinked, her expression crumpling more and more as time passed. "...Well, surely you must," she whispered, "at least a little...?"

"Of course not," her parents snapped in unison. Her father turned his body away. "Hurry up," he ordered without a second thought to his words. "The Olivers should be here soon."

Her mother and father advanced down the hallway, passing large paintings of ancestors with grim faces, much like their own. They walked on opposite sides of the long corridors, but it was so quiet in the house that Mrs. Vega could hear her husband without having to strain her ears.

"It's a terrible day for a wedding," Mr. Vega muttered beneath his breath.

And for the first time in a long time, his wife agreed with him.