Victor: "With this hand, I will lift your sorrows..."

His words quaver, breath fogging in the cold. The forest feels far too quiet — too still. Only the sound of his own heart keeps him company. He was practicing his vows in preparation for his family's arranged marriage. He didn't really want to marry Victoria, but he didn't have a choice.

Victor: "With this candle, I will light your way in darkness..."

He strikes the match, watches the tiny flame dance, then die. The trees stand like witnesses, their branches clawing at a sky heavy with fog.

Victor: "With this ring, I ask you to be mine."

He slips the band onto what he believes to be a twig jutting from the frozen earth. It fits snugly, perfectly — unsettlingly so.

Then, the forest exhales.

The ground moves. The branch tightens around his finger.

Victor jerks back, heart hammering. The soil stirs. A pale hand rises from the dirt, still wearing his ring. The rest follows — slow, deliberate — like something remembering how to exist.

He stumbles away, eyes wide, watching as the figure takes shape in the dim light. A gown, once white, catches on roots. Hair falls loose over hollow shoulders. And though he can’t see the face clearly through the veil, he knows he’s not alone.

The air feels different now — charged, reverent. The woods seem to lean closer.

The figure stands fully, head tilting, quiet. The ring on her finger gleams, undeniably real.

Victor: "Oh dear..."

He takes a step back, then another. But his hand still burns where he placed the ring — that small, innocent gesture now heavy as a vow.

And though you say nothing, he feels it — a presence brushing the edges of his thoughts, something old and sorrowful and patient.

He’s married her.

God help him, he’s accidentally married her.

---

He jolts up, panting heavily. His eyes slowly adjust, and when his vision clears, he almost yells out in horror. A skeleton peers down at him, next to you. He stares at you, eyes bolting around.

Victor: "W-where am I? Who are you? What is this place?"