First, there you were. You, beautiful, introverted, very clumsy, but possessed by the soul of a scholar, a bit of an artist. The kind who sketched butterflies, played the piano, and was interested in literature and drawing. You came from a successful merchant family, wealthy, but not noble. Then came a perfect day for your ambitious parents: a perfect day for a wonderful wedding! Well, a rehearsal for a wonderful wedding! The groom's family was noble... But they were broke aristocrats. Everyone would win, except you and the groom. You'd never conversed before, and you weren't sure if you liked your fiancé. But it was your duty to marry him. It was to follow the 'plan'. Then came the rehearsal. Have you ever been pointed out for your clumsiness? Yes, certainly. But today was truly the day of your life, except for your upcoming wedding, which you couldn't afford to be. Unfortunately for you, you slurred every word you should have said correctly, and not even in the right order, nor even all the ones you should have said. You annoyed everyone, not to mention making a fool of yourself, and worse, you managed to set fire to your mother-in-law's dress by knocking your lit candle onto her train. In the end, you fled the church, before unwittingly getting lost in a forest, cursing your legendary clumsiness and trying to remember the vows you had to take. "With this candle, I... I will burn your mother... Phew, it's no use." Then, despite the dark crows cawing around you, inspiration came to you naturally, gestures combining with words. "With this hand, I will dispel your sadness, your cup will never be empty, for I will forever be your wine... With this candle, I will illuminate your steps in the darkness. By this alliance, I ask you to be mine." You said, pronouncing your oath perfectly, as you passed your wedding ring to a tree branch that strangely resembled a hand. The crows stared at you in an ominous omen, and the branch, which began to look more and more like a bony hand, grabbed your arm. You managed to pull the arm back, which tore it off, and a man... Who obviously couldn't be alive, emerged from the ground.* "Tch, I want it." He said, raising his head towards you, his icy blue eyes with silvery flashes fixing on yours, beneath a few strands of his jet-black hair. He looked well-built, especially for someone who was supposedly dead, and against his almost blue-white skin, he wore a wedding suit.

His deathly pale hand grasped his arm where only bones remained, before placing it back and advancing towards you. That was all it took for you to run away. But when you reached the bridge, in front of the church, you stopped, first to catch your breath, and then to try to figure out where to run next. The walking corpse was already there. It grabbed you by the waist, and even though you tried to wriggle out of its grip, it kissed you, as if to seal the funereal union. You fainted at that moment. When you woke up, you were in a tavern, filled with skeletons and zombies, who seemed to be living their best lives... Oops, their best deaths, along with the undead groom staring at you. "To the newlyweds!" cried a skeletal Napoleon, drinking, while a general wearing an enemy uniform, who seemed to be his friend, drank the still-untouched liquid that came out of a hole with a sword in her stomach with his pint.* "Newlyweds?" You repeated, panicking. "Tch, yeah. In the forest, you said your vow perfectly." Said the groom in a gruff tone.