((I wrote this this morning, at like 3:30am. Please forgive me it was late and this is vague and it's my first attempt at writing all summer.
Based off of the short story A Rose For Emily (and also a bit of Even in Death).))
There was no one else for her.
He occupied her every thought; every action, every word was done for him.
She had to have him.
It didn't matter that he planned on leaving town. Soon he would stop by her house (to say good-bye, perhaps, she hoped), she would invite him in,
and that would be that.
The upstairs bedroom had been prepared for days, perhaps weeks. (Time was no longer of any importance.) The bed had crisp new sheets, the bathroom had specific His and Her towels, his favorite cologne sat on the dresser, a new suit hung in the closet,
everything would be perfect for their wedding night.
And soon he would come.
When he first came to town, everyone knew they'd be perfect for each other. Both were beautiful, cold, and blonde; what he lacked in charisma she made up for in persistence (thought it was hardly a fair trade).
They had gone everywhere together. On Sunday mornings townsfolk could catch a glimpse of him picking her up in his carriage for church, and afterwards walking in the park around town. On Mondays they would stop for tea. Tuesdays were for bridge.
Saturdays were special days, where no one would see hide nor hair of them. They could, however, if they stood close enough, hear the melody of a piano and cello played in unison at her house.
As good, God-fearing citizens, that was all they would ever hear.
Until the inevitable wedding, of course.
Somewhere along the third month, things went sour for the both of them. He began spending more time in the pub (crawling his way into a bottle, they said), and she played furiously on her grand piano.
Soon after, he was gone.
Four months. For four months, since she's seen him (his perfection), she'd known.
He would be hers.
Whether he wanted it or not (and of course he would, how could he not, he loved her), they would become one.
They did not have enough time together. They never would. Every moment since God's creation of the universe and all in it would not be enough.
That was, of course, before he started looking away.
He thought she didn't see. Didn't notice when his gaze would stray to those harlots, heathens, sirens, trying to steal him from her
They should have known. She would not let go of what was hers so easily.
That was where the rat poison came in. He could sit and listen to her play every day, even if he could no longer play with her.
He was heavier than expected, but she was stronger than she looked. She'd managed to coax him upstairs, but there had been no way of avoiding the collapse.
The suit fit him perfectly. Her dress was out of a fairy tale, and together they were beautiful, perfect for each other.
Nothing could take him from her now.
((Maybe there will be more. Where she grows old and he decays and there's maybe necrophilia going on and
idk))