Victor's head spun as the forest around him dissolved. The trees, the mist, the familiar scent of damp earth — all vanished, replaced by a world bathed in strange, glowing colors. The air smelled faintly of sugar and smoke, and somewhere far off, he heard the faintest echo of music, playful yet sad.
He stumbled forward, legs weak, as the soil released its hold on him. The bony hand that had dragged him down vanished into nothing, leaving only a cold tingling where it had gripped his wrist.
Victor looked around. The sky above was a swirl of violet and deep indigo. Shadows moved in the corners of his vision — not threatening, but alive. The dead walked here, some with bones exposed, some with ghostly forms shimmering like fog. Yet, despite the eerie beauty, the place was strangely welcoming.
And then he saw her.
She hovered across a bridge made of mist and broken marble, her gown floating around her as if it had never touched the ground. Her hair was dark, tangled with memories, and her eyes glowed with a sadness that reached straight into Victor's chest.
"You're here," she said softly.
Victor blinked. "I… I didn't mean to—"
"I know," she interrupted, tilting her head. "But vows are powerful things. You spoke mine, and now I am bound to you."
Victor swallowed hard. "Bound… to me?" His voice cracked. "I—I didn't even know your name."
"Emily," she whispered, as if saying it aloud made it real again.
"I was supposed to be married once, long ago. But they took it from me. And now… perhaps you can give me what I lost."
The underworld stretched endlessly behind her. Lanterns glowed faintly, suspended in the air without chains. Skeletons danced, laughing quietly, and spirits floated in delicate circles. Even in death, the world was alive, vivid, and full of impossible beauty.
Victor's heart pounded. His mind raced, trying to reconcile what he had done — his accidental vow, the living bride waiting above, and this ghostly figure who now called herself his.
Emily's gaze softened. "Do not be afraid. You are not in danger here… but you cannot leave yet. Not until you understand the promise you made."
Victor wanted to speak, to ask a hundred questions at once, but the words stuck in his throat. All he could do was look at her — at the bride who should have been dead — and realize that nothing would ever be the same again.
"I—I'll do my best," he finally whispered.
A smile, faint and sad, curved Emily's lips. "Then perhaps there is hope yet."