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[moonlitbride]

@wiildroses played a tune: “This requires the perfect partner. Would you be mine?”

Macabre livery reigned raucous and supreme at the The Ball and Socket Pub where many skeletons and corpses reveled, along with insects meandering here and there along wooden floorboards underfoot, undulating themselves. A band on stage set the scene with their own bones and the bones of their dead compatriots. One in particular who still had semblances of flesh had impressively reached around his lung where multiple holes had been pierced through, playing it akin to a squishy accordion. The whistling tunes added an unchained melody of grisly beats and tempo, which energized the entirety of the crowded pub.

Emily herself occupied the dance floor, where the folds of her gown and sheerness of her veil spun with light-footed enthusiasm, dark curls swaying.

A wide grin stretched from one side to the other on Emily's ice-blue visage, causing the gash on her cheek to show off the dazzling whites of her teeth. In the midst of the ever evolving merriment, a familiar face had arrived before her, departing from the stage to join the fray and ask for a dance.

Against the background stew of activity, Emily began to offer her bony hand in an elegant flourish of motion. ( Even though crossing the eternal threshold of death had stripped away the rosiness in her cheeks, when ALL else was stolen from her, all possible futures, all romantic dreams, something she could still lay claim to was her grace. ) A sudden pause accompanied the halted motion of skeletal phalanges, hanging on a coquettish edge of playful inquiry. "Would not someone less…" Emily cast a glance upon herself and back up into dimly lit eyes from beneath the fringe of her lashes, eagerness to seek kinship at odds with her words. "━━━ Fleshy make the perfect partner? I can only detach my arm and leg."

[moonlitbride]

@wiildroses played a tune: “I’m sorry I interrupted your music.”

A bell in the center of town rang out just as Victor thought he was finally, potentially, possibly that much closer to getting his Christian rehearsal vows correct. Alas, he wasn't, but at least this time there was something else to blame it on beyond his own incompetence. They had been in the Everglot's mansion for an hour and half already, with Victor sweating inside his clothes as his overheated nerves consumed him. Pastor Galswells stared at him with righteous fury burning brightly enough in his dark eyes to blister and sting. For a brief moment, Victor was happy to be in the presence of a priest instead of an angered rabbi. Meanwhile, Victoria stood at his side, perfectly sweet and patient, but even she must be wondering what a fool her future husband must be.

Husband…Oh, goodness. He was to be married tomorrow!

If he ever finished his vows.

The momentary lapse in concentration and yet another bumbling mistake had been enough for the elderly pastor. He expressed that a break was needed to rest his weary old knees, sending off a prayer directed to the sky above to end his apparent torment before stepping out and closing the door. Both of their parents grumbled over how the day was going as they stood up from their chairs and stretched. Victor and Victoria were left alone in their part of the room ( at least, as alone as a pair of chaperoned teenagers in the repressive Victorian era could be ) with Victor's tall, gawky self as silent as a sheeted corpse. Victoria was the first to speak, for which Victor was exceedingly grateful.

"N-No need to apologize, Miss ━━━" Victor managed to stop himself, remembering her earlier request. It was a request he consciously intended to fulfill, for who better to speak familiarly than with his fiance? Her maturity in handling their situation left him impressed and in awe at her patience. Victor's voice grew softer as he spoke, lowering several decibels. "Vic-Victoria." And, with that singular utterance, Victor felt a sense of relief. It was clumsier than he would have liked to offer; his life since childhood had been riddled by such debilitating anxiety. But he had done as she had asked. Hopefully without being overheard by his parents. "I was on your family's piano after all. I-I should be the one apologizing for today. You too must be tired."

[moonlitbride]

[moonlitbride]

@wiildroses played a tune: “We’ve been dead for years. You and I in this rotting place.”

The departed were expected to be quiet, lifeless and still. Arriving to the Land of the Dead showed Emily anything but that. The unyielding chaos of denizens cobbled together were shockingly electrifying and emphatic, with all rules of propriety tossed out the proverbial door. Raucous parties had a tendency of popping up all over the underworld, especially with a new arrival. The loss of limbs or flesh that afflicted people became apart of their very natures, from being used expressively as musical instruments to being split apart to allow polite passage through narrow side corridors. Still, the world was not without its melancholy and there was no end for time to dwell. Upon realizing that everything she once knew was gone, Emily initially drowsed into velvet nothing, lying insensate in a cushion-lined coffin for days.

She had befriended a variety of her dead fellows over the years, same for the creepy crawly insects that accompanied them. There was the elegant black widow who was doting and offered to fix up her gown with strands unloosed from her own creations. Miss Plum was always welcoming with both advice and morsels crafted for an undead's bottomless appetite. Bonejangles who sat at the bar next to her had even composed a song on her behalf that enthralled through fragments of its narrations, bringing a smile to Emily's lips every time she heard it — even with the power it held to bleed skeletons dry of tears.

Him more than you, a dark voice piped up abruptly, unheard by Bonejangles, but warbling in her skull. A distinct nasally tone, not Emily's own. Hehe, he's nothing more than a pile of bones! The midge voice kept buzzing, though Emily tried to ignore it. She could imagine Maggot's beady eyes shrewdly narrowing as his mouth twitched in a facsimile of a smile. Emily was no stranger to gallow's humor, not after being dead for over a decade, but at the wrong time, such words only served as a gutting tool!

Thus, Emily applied a particularly brutal smack to one side of her head. Out on the countertop popped the wriggling infestation, staring back up at her, affronted.

"Shut! UP — before you draw any more attention to yourself and a spider has you mummified and twirling in her web," Emily snapped lowly with a sharp hiss. She took a moment to compose herself, before turning back to Bonejangles. Emily drew a breath that wasn't really a breath and patted his bony hand. "Like one of my favorite widows once told me: Dead and rotting, but NOT rotted."

Her tone came out gentle and soft, but she understood despair seeping in like a dense, all encompassing fog. Not that Emily had been dead as long as Bonejangles had been... "I never truly met and spoke to as many others as when I arrived here. My parents wouldn't even allow me to sit in the parlor with a man unaccompanied by a chaperone." She was trying to find a positive spin on their current existence, but Bonejangles had been deceased far longer than Emily if his lack of skin and muscles told of his age. And, here he was, in need of unburdening himself. "Tell me, were you always a singer? When you were up there, I mean," Emily said with a flick of dark eyes towards where the living reigned. "Or was it a talent you found afterwards?"

[moonlitbride]

to do list:

finish / post "divergences" ( very important due to touching on cultural specifics while incorporating hcs etc )

edit my pinned to include links to "verses", "divergences"

catch up on all my dms

final round up of interest pertaining to emily & the blog in general!

[moonlitbride]

‘clair de lune’ by debussy but you’re wandering down the halls of your wealthy reclusive uncle’s grand and empty mansion trying to find who’s playing the piano because you haven’t seen another soul for weeks except your reflection in the mirror (youtube)

[moonlitbride]

Transformation passed over Emily in silent phases. Between wounds, in holes and deep gashes, filaments pricked the darkness, condensing in sodden, pulpy networks and softer fine threads of tissue growth, meshing into slots between ligaments and bones. Animated fibers pulled taut, tightened and smoothened, growing still in docility. It was around this time Emily's soured flesh showed the tint of an olive stain. Diaphanous blue warmed to lively brown. Air, cool spring air, fanned through dead lungs with a new incantation, catching all the dust and sweeping out the stagnant detritus. The excitement, the pure pleasure she felt from her interactions with Zero, joy no manner of ill-omened ghouls or goblins could trouble, seemingly reduced Emily to her simplest mortal form: pert flesh, gold skin, shining hazelnut eyes.

"Zero!" Emily cried out, her voice stirred with amusement. The phantom canine appeared genuinely spooked. By her! "What has you so…?"

Zero watched strings of flesh draw to a close in Emily's cheek, skin grow tawny, the statuesque corpse form fill out, both above and below. He barked at her, glowing pumpkin nose drifting downward, not coming to a full stop until reaching what was once an exposed bony shin peeking out from the slit in her dress. Another loud yap erupted in a mixture of disappointment and surprise. Evidently, Zero would NOT be playing fetch with Emily's detached leg anytime soon! Zero's ghostly essence swirled back up, spectral eyes taking in new living flesh that belied an involuntary warmth.

Jack, too, watched to the last trick, unconventional adjustments above all deemed exotic with an unsurpassed value of intriguing contrasts.

No longer stretched to full height, the pale, cryptic skull of the debonair skeleton came to encroach on Emily's space once again, his face on level with hers. I believe you would be quite a delectable treat to any who took hold of you. It was similar to Jack's previous assertion to Bassilius, that Emily looked tasty to a hungry hound kept at bay, but his wording occupied a slightly more personal note, conforming to the barest outline of intimacy. It wasn't imagined; it was implied, emanating from eyeless sockets, those peculiarly vivid interiors entirely focused on Emily all the while. Fascination hovering in thoughts and gestures elicited a shiver. The shiver twitched Emily's bare shoulders. Jack had readily crossed the vague threshold between impersonal fixation and friendly, tactile amiability into flirtation.

That was it, wasn't it? Her new friend, Jack, was flirting with her...

Jack did not go beyond that point, but the conversation veered smoothly as he tested the ripe pliancy of soft lines and contours. Emily's intact limbs. Ivory phalanges circled and stroked down an arm that narrowed to the slenderness of a wrist, that somehow included and introduced a foil — the trappings of flesh. Jack's touch highlighted long, shapely and well-formed fingers, inducing a paroxysm. The muscles of Emily's face slackened, lips parted, as her attention shifted from the bold measure of Jack's actions to a hand half-raised between them, the rows of his smooth teeth suspended above her knuckles ( close enough to kiss, should he desire it ).

Emily's gasp could be heard as far as the mausoleum.

"My hand!" exclaimed Emily. "Flesh!" she added at a higher octave. Flesh and blood, with plenty of both!

She flexed a little, an instinct that was natural and spectacularly human, but Emily's movement was strained by the steadiness of white calcified digits ( still holding onto her ), betrayed by the frailness of bone beneath ( her bone, beneath her skin! ) Then, as if it seemed to register for the very first time, Emily's gaze flicked towards her other hand, the savor of appraising newly restored perfection. Emily suffered another shock.

"Oh." Emily's free palm clutched at the pearled binding of her bodice. It was not her breast that burned to hold, but the rising heat of her senses tugging at her, the apogee of life that pumped furiously. Her heart was pounding, telling her so much more. "OH!" Emily's own voice sounded distant to her ears, thin against the music swelling in her veins, an unhalting rhythm of vigor. "Dead people don't have heartbeats! But I'm dead. I'm dead," Emily whispered softly to herself again, her brow furrowing. "Aren't I?"

In the confusion of that moment, Emily found herself growing increasingly lightheaded. She inhaled, saved from asphyxiation. Thankfully, only silence filled the air except...

"Wait," Emily exclaimed in a rapid whisper, another sputter of disbelief. "I'm breathing. I'm breathing!"

Breathing, yes! Fast heaves of her bosom, fresh air strengthening young lungs in great heaves, adding a human element to the humid rush of torrents...

Emily reached down, slowly, cautiously, and pressed lightly on her ribs. She had become so used to her death wound in the Underworld, the lifelessness of her own self, to feel her corset intact, the lace, the embroidery, all of it immaculate, rattled her so very excitingly. Emily lifted her eyes with shock, unable to reconcile the power of such a tangible transition carried out by unknowable forces. "I know I am not alive and I know I am not dead." Hers was a confused-sounding tale waiting to be unraveled indeed. Emily's mystified expression, such as it was, luminously reflected the tone of bewilderment tinged with the indescribable to a discriminate spirit, a corpse, a skeleton, and other suchlike undead folk! Amber eyes glittered with their own layer of radiant moistness, an overwhelmed gaiety of tears sprung to lashes.

"Dear Jack! What am I...?"

Wispy trails of ghostly essence swirled around the pair leaving a frigid air in Zero's wake. He was excited, his cheerful yaps surrounding the graveyard in an energetic giddiness only Zero could perform. From calcified bones connected to bare shoulders, Jack felt the change in temperature. Below once dead skin, warmth and color took hold. As she focused on Zero, cooing and complimenting his age old friend, Jack watched in fascination as Emily's body was reignited. It was a trickle at first, a solid thump as a beat deep within her chest coursed with life. Jack witnessed it take hold, witnessed once bare bones renew muscles and sinew. His preternatural vision could still see beyond what was displayed, but the reformation was fascinating.

The potential she would command was diabolical! To look so visibly human was a trait none in Halloween Town could command. He had tricks and deceptions, a likeness unused for centuries, but it was not like Emily. Her skin, deceased as it could become, stayed intact and that could be all the more frightening than a skeleton. Other citizens were close, but held traits distinctly different than that of humanity. Mortals trusted what they knew, what they could see and believe was real.

More than one human thought he was a figment of their imagination when he crawled from the ceiling to stand before their fireplace. Only when he reached back to light his suit on fire and start towards them did they realize he was real. For Emily, she was what they expected while being so much more. Clad in bridal attire with a luring stillness that commanded attention, she could lower their guards, engage with them to earn their trust. Then at the time of their complacency, she could terrify the life from their very body. He grew excited just imagining her scares!

Perhaps Zero caught on to Jack's lack of attention or praise, though Emily was doing a fine job of it in his stead. The spectral canine barked once up at Jack who forced his gaze away from Emily's visage. “Very good, Zero! Very good.” Jack commended loudly from above Emily, his voice one of pride in his companion. “I knew that you would recognize her swiftly. She did make quite the introduction on her first visit.” He still remembered the fleeting touch of her butterfly form landing on his outstretched digit. From her true arrival, she had proven to be an even more memorable resident of Halloween Town.

Zero seemed to delight in her company as well. Had he still retained a tail, Jack would have suspected it would wag him clear off the ground. Instead, he kept himself mostly still as she ran her hand through his phantasmal body. She appeared to delight not only in his existence but the ability to be corporeal. Zero did in fact stand out from many of the other ghosts which resided in the graveyard. They could not be blamed for such droll and uninspiring conversations. Retaining memories and identities were difficult beyond the tangible death. Zero, dead and ghostly as he might be, held more life than even some mortals and was happy to announce as such.

Distracted as she was, Jack released his hold on Emily, difficult as it had become to do so. Her presence on his mind had grown and he appeared unable to keep his hands off of her. A curiosity to explore later when they departed…should they depart from each other's company. Silent legs stepped away to give space, a wandering thought that should there be more space in between them the less of an alluring affect she would have to enchant him. After a moment, he decided the idea was ridiculous and circled around her so that he could see her fully again, body rejuvenated. Her friendship with Zero was already growing and he suspected his companion would be a great boon to her success on Halloween nights!

Zero himself was not always the scariest on their day of reigning terror. Although without a body, humans still seemed to find him adorable. He could get a shock upon appearing, but those that stayed complimented his attempt as though he did not know he was dead. In one instance, children called forth friends as he barked from an empty doghouse. They deemed him a friendly ghost until Jack arrived behind them and cackled with terrifying glee at their circumstance. Perhaps a similar situation could work for Emily. A woman dressed in wedding attire searching for her missing dog who barked from the forest. What a surprise any helper would be when she turned to them with her own life missing.

Engrossed in ideas of splendid horror, Jack didn't see Emily lean down conspiratorially. He did however hear the question.

Tasty? Zero would quite enjoy if she tossed her arm for a game of fetch. There was a hidden query behind her intent, a secretive communication of thought that itched at his round cranium. He had called her tasty when Basilius arrived. So was she indirectly speaking of Jack? He leaned forward so that his face was near Emily's, his empty orbital sockets peering into her deeply brown eyes. “I believe you would be quite a delectable treat to any who took hold of you.” His hand came forth to rest on her upper arm that was once bone, sliding down slowly until reaching her delicate fingers. “I suspect Basilius might not find you as tasty as he once would have now though,” Jack commented as he raised her hand of living tissue and bronze color up between them, his bony lips mere inches away.

[moonlitbride]

X

[moonlitbride]

Corpse Bride (2005)

[moonlitbride]

In my life 

Why do I give valuable time 

To people who don’t care if I live or die 

[moonlitbride]

Verses

arc i. touched by life, love, death ( DEFAULT verse ) notes — default mainship with @wiildroses' victoria.

Son of a fish merchant, Victor Van Dort has always been plagued with anxiety and general terror. These feelings primarily come from the incessant demands of his overbearing mother that his father cowers to. So when Victor was set up for marriage with an aristocratic land owner’s daughter, he was in shambles. However, when Victor met Victoria, he was enamored and comforted...right up until the point of speaking his vows. Sent from the Everglot mansion to practice, Victor instead accidentally married the corpse bride Emily Margolis. From visiting the Land of the Dead to bringing deceased souls above ground, Victor was peacefully separated from Emily and given a chance to marry Victoria. Together, the two joined in union as she converted to Judaism to be with him and they honored Emily with a true resting place.

While he had little passion in his father's business, Victor did what was necessary so that he could care for his wife and eventual family. In the meantime, Victor continued to pursue his naturalist hobbies while encouraging Victoria's own interests.

arc ii. his sketchbook filled with petals ( 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗍𝗈𝗇 verse ) notes — request only. i don't know if anyone's noticed but all my 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗍𝗈𝗇 verse titles are tied to each other in some way because i love me some parallels.

Dearest gentle reader,

As the spring air refreshes our grand city and families return from time spent in countryside estates, it seems they are met with new players in the ever-churning wheel of marriage. Lineage to many is of primary importance when deciding which house shall pass to who and how to procure the best match. For others, even new blood is acceptable if the coin purse tied to their waist is heavy enough. Shall that be the case for London’s newest eligible bachelor in the form of Victor Van Dort or will the stench of the sea follow him into grandeur and opulence? Should his mother have her say in the matter, Victor will scarce survive a night as she dangles her husband’s quickly accumulating wealth before every other curious mama. Let us hope he keeps his wits about him for we are a vicious company and dine as heartily as the queen on even the smallest stammering mishap.

[moonlitbride]

Verses

arc i. tale of a gothic heroine ( DEFAULT verse ) notes — default mainship with @fatesrecollection's victor.

Daughter of Finis and Maudeline Everglot, Victoria is an only child with very little social interaction since growing up. As her parents were strict with propriety to the highest order, Victoria’s only time in the outside world was through carriage rides or the morning commute to church. Passions were heavily discouraged so that as a pedigreed young lady she could be molded as seen fit by her future husband. Due to her family’s financial troubles, she had no hopes for marrying happily. Victoria instead was to be used as a way for her parents to avoid the poorhouse. Although displeased at the match, they were desperate enough to marry her off to a Jewish fish merchant’s son, Victor Van Dort. However, Victor unwittingly bound himself to a corpse bride and eventually brought the dead to the land of the living just after she was forced to marry “Lord” Barkis Bittern.

After Barkis’ death and Emily’s sacrifice, Victoria was able to marry Victor immediately and then a second time after converting. Married to someone she loved and who loved her back, Victoria felt for the first time that she would have a happy life and an opportunity to explore her own hobbies and interests. One such interest which came into fruition was her ability to write stories which centered on horror and romance.

arc ii. in borrowed skin, wild waters dwell out of sight ( folk horror verse ) notes — singleship verse with @fatesrecollection's oc, aidan grant. inspired in parts due to my interest in faerie mythology and it being brought up in private convo that victoria being a changeling makes sense plus the water-related motifs surrounding her: 'tide caught out at sea', 'face of an otter' etc. thus i ran with that fun concept! if you've read this far, you should read sylvia plath's 'crossing the water', such a vibe for this verse.

Entering the world under dubious circumstances, Victoria Everglot has grown up with no physical resemblance to either of her parents. While neither parent has ever shown affection towards one another, the animosity at Victoria's lineage only further fractured a contentious relationship, leaving her devoid of love. With virtually no one to talk to beyond her aging handmaid and scowling parents, Victoria has grown up quieter than most. Beyond reading and needlework, Victoria's one pleasure was with water, whether that meant a long bath or watching rainfall on her bedroom patio. Interested in the natural world against her parent's disgust, Victoria could feel a separation growing between her nature and her blood. After her eighteenth birthday, unprecedented changes begin to occur within her that leave Victoria bewildered and concerned for what is to come whilst she navigates high society in hopes of finding a husband...

arc iii. petals falling through her fingers ( 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗍𝗈𝗇 verse ) notes — request only. genteel poor lady being forced to fortune hunt by her awful parents with the weight of saving said awful family from the poorhouse resting on her petite shoulders ALL while also dreaming of a love match she believes isn't possible for her as she navigates the ton in the regency period? duh, it works too well.

Dearest gentle reader,

Beneath a healthy apple tree, many fruits of delicious quality may gather as they grow ripe for the season. So what then of the grove that has shriveled and blustered where only the hues of muck and rust now gather? Can splendor still grow and outshine the branch from which it hangs? For the sake of our young Miss Victoria Everglot, she will need all the nutrients and tenderness that can be gathered in the shade of her stringent lineage. Where many women of the Ton feel compelled to catch the eye of any suitable bachelor, Miss Victoria has been adorned in tasteless attire that surely should not be held against the wearer. Perhaps the whispers of the Everglot's shifting fortunes have become more dire than they let on with pedantic posturing and snide glares? We shall keep a keen eye on whether this budding debutante sprouts life into the dismal halls of the Everglot's family home.

[moonlitbride]

Carlijn Jacobs: Butterflies (2021)

[moonlitbride]

Medieval Skull Clasp, made in 1500, it was designed for the road: it concerns a portable Book of Hours (or prayer book) that was carried around by a pilgrim on his religious pilgrimage. The clasp holds the book closed, which is decorated with a skull carved out of bone – Source

[moonlitbride]

There seemed to be some hitch in the proceedings of Victor's footfalls. His slow, staggered walk to reach her side absorbed Emily. To her surprise, in black tails and white gloves, Victor sank to his knees and joined her. On the ground! The absurdity of it all was shaping to be such a bizarre delight! Emily had remained in close quarters with other eligible gentleman all evening, but the garden by nightfall was not as illuminated and populace as the sprawling dance floor. So, in comparative privacy, in that most uncertain element, unattended by a waiting woman, her chaperone — an occasion like this bore absolutely no resemblance to anything she had ever experienced before. Victor uttered a soft whisper, distinctly but not impolitely, an allowance made for Emily's enthusiasm. Not an allowance, an actual plead!

There was an air of barely repressed mirth hovering about Emily... It seemed, in its first stages, young love was to be a form of shared reconnaissance.

And what an encouraging show of energy! Though it was not unmixed with shame, as if he confirmed too openly his interest in hearing Emily speak. Emily regarded Victor with the same close attention she bestowed upon the pages of his sketchbook. Perhaps he expressed more than he intended as he shrank back, retreating within himself, but Emily chose to savor it.

Victor's picture had penetrated Emily from the moment she laid eyes on it; straight through her eye, through her orbital socket to the back of her skull, through her vitreous spinal canal — imparting its passion to her very soul. Because Victor was an artist! Artists drew you into the realm of their plumbless depths, into the scope of their rendering of events, ideas, personal rituals; emotions. Detailing the butterfly over and over, to treasure it, better preserve it between the various pages of his sketchbook, to be discovered and admired later on, pointed to a young man whom...by nature, was ever so devoted to the subject of his interests! Yet, it was the botanical illustration of the exotic specimen that was the moonflower that gave significance to everything; his affirmation, his reason for coming out here as well, which inspired a surge of giddy elation. An arrow, sweet and wonderful and swooning, pierced Emily's heart.

When Victor spoke, it was as if he was revealing himself to her. Indeed Victor did not comport himself with the smooth precision as other men she had been introduced to, which might exasperate another lady, or seem unpleasantly peculiar to peerage — but Emily observed a different sort of man. Both had sought out the excitement of sneaking out and seeing the moonflowers! There was a welcome candor in fervor so clumsily ineloquent. Emily listened as Victor's voice repeatedly emerged as a series of half-hiccups, fits, and starts of words that lurched to fruition. Excitedly, over excitedly, Victor had nothing but praise for her dancing. The manner in which his voice warbled made Emily think she could take from his bearings that perhaps the same feelings rising up in her were surely rising up in him, too.

"Ohhh!" Emily's palms raised to lightly cup her cheeks, feeling a trifle shy, surprised, and flattered. "You saw that, did you?" She was not in possession of the coloring attributed to the beloved English rose, glassy pallor claimed easily by fluster in times of embarrassment. Hers was a warmer complexion built duskily and bronze-steeped. Still, she felt her cheeks flower darkly. "I had thought myself alone, as you did..." Emily suddenly giggled, but she did not retreat. Like a coiled spring finally released, with all her quickness and vigor, as requested — more of Emily's prattle prevailed.

"Well, as you know...I was QUITE nettled! My chaperone so cavalierly thought my desire for venturing out to be silly." There echoed a moment for an emotion which recalled her earlier peevishness, with no pretext of a ladylike facade to conceal it. She comfortably hastened, "So, I made a decision. I've seen pictures. But I've never seen a moonflower in person! Evidently, we were both called upon to take in the illustrious vision these moonflowers offered..." Emily leaned slightly toward Victor, smiling with luster fired by imagination, a rebellious reflection of her own body and spirit, her innermost self. She looked Victor in the eye with the allurement of sentimentality that snared. "We are really quite the pair of adventurers. Don't you think...?"

That was when the subtle glimmer pinned to Victor's lapel winked at Emily. The distraction turned her thoughts to when Emily first noticed Victor's brooch, though it did not break the thread of them...

She remembered admiring it at the dance. The single adornment managed to stand out as a strand of individuality, an ornamental pinpoint on a black-clad figure distinct from all the rest. It was broad, its center filled in with exquisite little white pearls posed as seeds. The deep blue of its velvet petals complimented her gown. In fact, they were perfectly matched. ( What another fantastic coincidence! )

Emily drew a sharp breath. "Your drawing is so very like the real flower, Mister Van Dort...I should like to see it completed very much." Closing the sketchbook, she ran her fingers over the cover admiringly. Gently, Emily held the book out for Victor to take. She let the warmth of her voice and manner soften her directness. "For now. Will you help me? It will be hard to dance impressively if I cannot get to my feet."

An already anxious mind cracked like paint left out in the sunlight, drying and splintering as wild thoughts pulled him apart. Not only were they alone, but he had assaulted her, laid his hands upon her, st...straddled her. Victor was doomed from the moment his family received the invitation. Even the most simple of actions could be turned into a mess at his hands. All he had to do was stand against the wall, maybe dance so terribly no other woman drew close, and then ride home with a disappointed mother. Instead, he had chosen to wander away to see a moonflower. A moonflower! He ruined his life and more importantly, Miss Margolis’ life for a-

Every incoherent musing vanished when Emily said his name. Eyes once frightened and expectant gazed upon Emily in awe. She said his name...She knew his name! Emily Margolis knew who he was. Victor’s lips twitched in a smile of pure delight and utter horror, his churning emotions unable to settle upon just one. His eyes lifted up to stare upon her sitting form, fabric twisted around her legs like a frozen waterfall. Her mouth was tilted open as she inhaled the cool night air after having been nearly asphyxiated by his narrow frame. The necklace which draped her neck and slid down between two ample curves swayed like a careening boat.

Distracted as he was by the pendant, Victor scarcely heard her own apology though he would have immediately went into a rambling denial of any wrongdoing on her part had he been allowed time to comprehend the words. Instead, he saw what Emily was leaning for and a mewled whimper passed through his lips. Even her gracefully arching form was not enough to deny the quickly building dread. Elegant fingers of a perfect pianist took hold of his sketchbook. His parents knew of his drawings but rarely deigned to touch them lest they get ink on newly purchased clothes. No one beyond his father and mother knew of his artistry.

A now dry mouth opened to protest her curiosity. Blood pumped into motionless limbs. Wide eyes without a lick of moisture stared unblinking. Perhaps she would set it down. Perhaps she thought books of any kind were foolish. Perhaps the book might disintegrate in her hands and float away as ash on the wind.

Emily opened the book and Victor felt himself shrink away even as he took no step to depart. His signature, stained dark with ink, practically blazed from the corner as though it were a lighthouse calling in all thoughts and opinions on his work. The first page was flipped and Victor could feel perspiration forming at his brow. A second and his heart fluttered. He was as silent an observer as when he drew the butterflies that Emily now viewed. Victor watched for every sign of displeasure that he was already so accustomed to. Yet something was wrong. Emily was taking her time. She was studying his work. Was she…enjoying his art?

She stopped at his most recent work in progress: a moonflower. Lines still needed to be completed, edges to be rounded, shading to illuminate the beauty nature provided. That had all been halted when he was no longer alone. For a briefest moment, Victor wished he could draw her against the moonflowers, her grace joining in unison with the splendor of their destination. For even one chance to apply her exquisite magnificence to his pages so that he may glance at the single sheet after their separation would fill him with daily joy. If he could but have the chance…

Victor was stunned with himself at the mere fantasy he had descended into. He was further stunned when she proceeded to pay him a compliment. Not just one, but two! She praised his skill at the piano and art. He was growing weak at the knees with such kind words. For the first time since fleeing her, Victor took a step forward. Then another. And another. He moved slowly until he could lower to his knees adjacent of her, positioned in front of her but so much closer than he ever expected to be with Miss Emily Margolis. “Please…” The word came out pleading, barely a whisper but loud enough in such a quiet garden. “Please prattle more.”

He couldn’t believe his own ears. “I…” Simply trying to form words from his disbelief was almost humiliating. With anyone else at any other time he might have broken into a mortified mess of syllables, but Emily enjoyed what he was capable of. “I thought now - that tonight - well I didn’t know when I would get another chance. They grow nowhere in the English woods, not even wildly in the nearby countries. And I certainly never expect to visit the New World where adventurers first found them. Only in gardens such as these, tended to with care and time so that they might bloom under the moon.”

“So if I could get a chance, I had to take it. I had to draw at least one.” Though he had fully intended to sketch more. The entire wall if he could. Now he was beginning to ramble and his delights were sending his mind spiraling with imaginary scenarios of perfection. “But I didn’t know…” He looked at her even as his cheeks flushed. Victor hoped that the sky would be too dark to truly tell. “I didn’t know you would want to see them either…or that you would start dancing. Mo-most impressively I might add!” Excitement carried his final words and Victor slunk back on his hunches at his own embarrassing display as moonlight glinted from the lotus lapel pin attached to his suit.

[moonlitbride]

[moonlitbride]

Filipino artist, Gregory Halili, carves intricate skulls into mother of pearl shells.