The disclaimer remains. I have elaborated on Emily's death. Rewritten 10/21/14
My name is Emily and I am dead. Undeniably dead. And I am finally at peace with that. In the village, you will hear tales of my ill-fated wedding to Victor Van Dort, but you only hear about how horrifying and strange that night had been, the dead rising from their graves and roaming the streets. No one knows our side of the story, how the moonlight felt on our bones, or the joy we felt in our cold, still hearts. No one listens to the dead.
But the dead have their stories. And I ask you to hear to mine...
First of all, you must be wondering, how did I die? I was murdered. Murdered. I didn't die of a sudden illness or a tragic accident prior to my wedding day. I didn't commit suicide after being abandoned at the altar. I was murdered.
I was murdered on the night I was to be wed. Before I could even say my vows. I was murdered by the man I loved most. My fiancé, a charlatan named Barkis Bittern.
Barkis and I had decided to elope against my father's wishes, for he did not approve of our relationship. That night, I slipped into my mother's wedding dress. It fit me perfectly, like a glove. Then, I took a satchel of gold, and my family's jewels, diamonds, rubies, pearls and an emerald the size of an infant's fist. Brilliant gems that had belonged to family for centuries. Barkis told me we'd need money and valuables to start a new life together, and I had no qualms about stealing my family's wealth. They were just as much mine as my father's, for I was his only living heir. I didn't bring anything else with me, not my clothes, not my sketchbooks, nothing. When you're as in love as I was that night, you find that you don't need much. I slipped out the door, and made my way to our meeting place, a gnarled old tree deep in the forest on the outskirts of the village, next to the old graveyard. Quiet, with a reputation for being haunted, no would catch us.
All of that was three hours ago. He was supposed to be there three hours ago. We should have been in the village on the other side of the forest by this point, being married by their pastor. I was getting terribly cold, considering that the lace and silk confection I wore was terribly thin,and I had not thought to bring so much as a shawl to keep me warm. And I was scared. Every sound I heard set me on edge. I thought about the old stories of ghosts and demons in the forest. Where was he? What if he was hurt? What if my father had found out and had him apprehended? What if he had changed his mind?
But then, I heard footsteps, crunching softly across the forest floor. Ah. There in the shadows, was it a man? It was. I knew, I just knew, it was him. My heart began to pound, and my knees felt weak. Fantasies of our future together flooded my mind. How many children would we have? What would we name our first born? Would he let me name a daughter after my mother? What kind of house would we live in? Would we have a dog? In my reverie, I could never have imagined what was going to happen to me. I would be Mrs. Barkis Bittern. Emily Bittern. Mrs. Bittern.
"Barkis, my love, is that you?" I asked hopefully.
"None other, my sweet Emily" Came the reply.
He stepped out of the shadows, devastingly handsome, so very dashing, and clasped my hand to his heart. In that moment, something didn't feel right, but I could not say what.
"Did you bring the gold and the jewels I said we'd need?" He whispered, his voice fervent. Under my hand, his heart pounded. He was just as nervous as I was, he had to be.
"Of course darling" I replied., showing them to him. They glimmered in the moonlight. He smiled, but there was something sinister about it. There was no love in that smile. Something was very wrong.
"Good girl," He said, reaching out for me.
I went to embrace him, but he gave me a different embrace instead. He wrapped his hands around my slender neck, and threw me up against the trunk of the oak tree. I screamed, and tried desperately to fight him off. I heard the fabric of my skirt rip. He tore at my bodice. One hand at my throat, he drew something from his cloak. And then, white hot pain. He had forced a knife between my ribs. It stole the breath from my lungs, and the screams from my lips.
His face was close to mine, close enough to kiss me, but his smile was malicious and cruel. As I gazed into his cold eyes, I knew then, he didn't love me. He never loved me. He just wanted my money.
And as I came to this realization, all went black.