Chapter 5

In the bishop's decaying grip, I writhed and struggled, resisting every step as the zombie bishop dragged me toward the altar. A wave of disapproving murmurs rippled through the congregation when the bishop finally pulled me under the arch of withered roses at the end of the aisle.

"I refuse to get married!" I shouted, both at him and the crowd.

The bishop yanked my wrist harshly and snapped, "Stop your whining, child. Your future husband will be here any moment, and he won't want to see his bride misbehaving."

I nervously glanced down the aisle but saw nothing. The crowd also occasionally turned their heads, hoping for a glimpse of the groom. I wondered what grotesque creature he might be. What if the bishop turned out to be the handsome brother of the Prince of Darkness? Or worse, what if the Prince himself was a corpse?

Nausea surged within me, pounding against my stomach. My mind raced with countless worst-case scenarios, making me feel increasingly ill.

Suddenly, the bishop snapped his fingers and yelled to some unseen presence, "Tell His Highness to hurry before his bride faints!"

My legs gave way beneath me, but the bishop caught me and roughly pulled me back to my feet. He angrily hissed in my ear, "For God's sake, child, have courage."

"I can't marry. Please let me go," I begged the bishop.

He looked at me with pity and whispered, "Be brave, my child."

Terror slowly began to paralyze my body, freezing my muscles as my situation grew more desperate and hopeless. The zombie bishop continued to hold me up as my knees threatened to collapse beneath me. Despite my fear, I clung to the hope that somehow, I might still escape this nightmare.

Sensing my distress, the bishop called out, "Will someone please inform His Majesty to hurry and claim his bride before she faints!"

A small, pale boy stood up and dashed down the aisle, disappearing into the mist. A ripple of nervous laughter followed him as the crowd stared at the unfolding scene. The bishop raised his hand sharply, demanding silence. "Settle down now," he said firmly to the crowd. Then, he gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Was he trying to offer some form of moral support or comfort? My head was spinning.

The altar boy sprinted back up the aisle, and the bishop mouthed 'Is he coming?' to which the boy nodded. Oh God, help me. I closed my eyes again, hoping desperately to wake up from this nightmare.

Heads began to turn eagerly, anticipating the arrival of someone or something. I stood rigid, numbed by cold and terror. The decaying bishop made a subtle gesture toward an unseen entity, and suddenly, an organ began to play a haunting melody.

The wedding guests turned sideways, looking down the aisle in anticipation. Their faces lit up with broad smiles as the music swelled. It wasn't the traditional bridal march I had expected, but it was grand, reminiscent of something you might hear on TV from a foreign royal court. I might have enjoyed it if my life hadn’t been hanging by a thread.

The eerie music filled the air, and despite the chilling atmosphere, the guests seemed captivated by the spectacle. I, however, felt a growing sense of dread, knowing that every passing moment brought me closer to an unimaginable fate. The surreal nature of the event only heightened my desperation to escape this living nightmare.

Panic surged through me, momentarily reviving my body with a rush of adrenaline. In one final, desperate attempt, I violently tried to break free from the bishop's grip, twisting and turning as he struggled to control me. For a fleeting moment, I thought I might escape, but then something caught my eye that made me pause.

Lifting my head, I saw the legend himself walking down the aisle toward me. The wedding guests rose to their feet and bowed their heads in respect as he passed—The Prince of Darkness.

Unlike my visions of the undead, the Prince looked like living flesh and blood. He towered over six feet tall, his broad, muscular frame easily filling the aisle, dressed in a beautifully tailored black Armani suit. My breath caught in my throat; he was stunning—the kind of gorgeous that could distract a girl mid-fight with a zombie bishop.

He walked down the aisle like a fashion model on a runway in one of the world’s fashion capitals. With a strange curiosity, I watched as he casually lifted his hand, running his fingers through his jet-black hair, smoothing back a few rogue locks that had obscured his mesmerizing amber eyes.

Those eyes were hypnotic. He was hypnotic. Standing at the edge of an unknown metaphoric void, all I could think about was how good he looked in a suit.

The Prince waved a relaxed hand at the bishop and said, "You can let her go now." The bishop's grip on my wrist loosened, though not entirely. He seemed unsure if I would run. But the Prince smiled coolly at him and said, "Don’t worry, I have her. She won’t run."

I blinked. What did he mean by that? I wasn’t entirely convinced, but it was enough for the bishop, who released my hand and adjusted his position behind the arch of dead flowers.

Instantly, I thought it was my chance to flee. My eyes fixed on the distant cemetery gates, and I tried to move, but found myself rooted to the spot. I couldn't move, and I had no idea why. "Look at me if you are scared, my love," the Prince said softly to me.

Whoa, did he just call me 'love'? I didn’t know whether to feel hard or soft, confused by his words and my own conflicting emotions.