The Wolf Bride of Edmark
By SRRavencroft

“What do you know about Edmarkan weddings?” The best man Kallus asked his brother Tassius who just had this big dumb happy smile.

His brother couldn’t take his eyes away from his wife-to-be. Although there was a hint of embarrassment “Just that they act like any other human in Edmark or Orvaria.”

“You mean wild, untamed, and unsophisticated?” Kallus shook his head. “What could have possessed you to marry her?”

His bride, the white wolfkin named Kristine, stepped toward the buffet table with a pitcher of wine in one hand while tearing a piece of turkey leg with the other. The sight of the ludrin warrior dressed in her red-cloaked and white Edmarkan dress cursing up a storm and eating like a beast had the entire table silent.

“By the moon goddess…” she grumbled, “I thought there’d be some form of entertainment. Don’t you Idonian lots have your dragon shows or things like that? If not a fucking axe throwing contest?”

She looked to Tassius as she dipped her pitcher of wine on the waxed marble floor. “My dear husband, you fuck like a proper man and fight like a proper man. But your drinks taste like fruity piss and your food is dry like sand.”

The wolfkin threw her pitcher aside to the nearest waiter. “Give me a proper fucking drink!”

Her snout scrunched in agitation from the boredom she was experiencing. Her tail swished in frustration. Her groom was used to this back when he was stationed in Edmark. This bold and brash attitude was what made Tassius fall in love with. Nobody in the family could believe it.

Kristine’s family was not much different. Although they certainly were more reserved than Kristine. Her father and brother were recounting battle war stories among Tassius’ distraught family. Many speaking visceral details. Tassius’ father wished that this was all a dream.

After that wonderful display, Tassius finally turned to his brother with a smile. “During my time in Edmark, I found myself fascinated by those that cannot be tamed. Besides, she was the one who demanded I marry her.”

The Fairest Of Them All
By Taja DaLeen (CW: domestic abuse)

I was wearing the most beautiful wedding dress I could have imagined. It was white, with embroidery and pearls. I was wearing even more pearls around my neck, in my hair.

I was the fairest of them all.

And I was to be wed to the most impressive man I’d ever known. He was handsome and kind, and oh so loving.

Everything was perfect.

Or so I thought.

I still remember, on the day of my wedding the sun was shining bright, just like the smiles on the faces of my family. They were happy for me. Just as I was.

The few friends of my soon-to-be husband were smiling too. Those were bright as well, but with an undertone.

I should have known.

The ceremony was also perfect, with flowers everywhere, white roses, my favorite, amazing food and dance. And my husband said the most beautiful vows I could have imagined.

But they were all lies.

It all flipped on the wedding night. In the beginning, I was just a little anxious, mainly curious. But as soon as we were alone, his mask fell.

To this day I still don’t know why he did it.

He choked me. Until I was close to losing consciousness. And the torture didn’t stop there. I tried to fight back, tears of hatred in my eyes. But to no avail.

My screaming stopped that same night.

And now all that hatred and anger and pain bind me to this world. But you know what? I don’t care anymore. I found enjoyment in haunting.

It is fun.

I watch you getting ready for your wedding. Twirling in that fancy white dress you wear. Singing with your bridesmaids. Laughing. Looking forward to being a wife.

But why should you get the chance, when I never did?

You’re not the fairest of them all. I am. Always will be.

Always!

Now you’re alone, waiting for your time to shine. Unaware. Just like I have been. Like they all have.

It always starts with the choking.

Then, wonderful screaming.

Another one of my pearls disappears.

The Final Favor (The Depths Files)
By ThatWeirdFish

Rainbunny McSufofluff the 7th, or Snuffles as he let his close ones call him, wanted to slouch in his seat and groan as loud as a snoring dragon. But, given the circumstances, all he could do was droop his shoulders slightly. His eyes sharpened over his cordial smile as the disguised fool threw him a grin through his veil. All this for a dagger… He cursed his siblings again under his breath.

“Ancatui?” Trip’s overly feminine voice purred with so much sappy romance that Snuffles had to bite his cheek to keep from gagging.

“Yes, my treasured one?” The serpentine demon smiled coyly back at Trip.

“Ya would do anything to prove yer love for me, right?”

“Your curious accent is still amusing,” Ancatui hissed a chuckle. “It’s quite unlike that of your brother.”

“Finishin’ school in a very far away and remote place.” Trip waved his hand dismissively while his other slid over his groom’s thigh. “But I need to know before we commit our lives to be together forever… what will ya do to prove yer love to me?”

As the demon waxed on poetically to his false bride, Trip slipped the dagger out of its shieth and passed it subtly to Snuffles by his tails. After taking it and priming the dagger’s magic below the table, Snuffles shot Trip a warning look as he continued to flirt. Ancatui had started to reach for Trip’s veil when Snuffles suddenly stood up and thrust the dagger into the air.

“Fear the wrath of McSufofluff Covenant, Melikanu House!” Snuffles yelled, and black fire exploded around the head of every one of his enemies at the table. Using the commotion as cover, he grabbed Trip and raced towards the exit.

“We should do this more often!” Trip laughed.

“Doing my sibling’s dirty work?” Snuffles grunted as he gave a deadly headbutt to a guard.

“Nah!” Trip exclaimed and kicked the other guard’s groin. “Wear fancy dresses!”

When the pair returned to Snuffle’s family home, he grabbed his third brother by the throat and growled, “Last. Time.”

The Wild Bride
By Matthew R. Wright

As the newly-licenced Las Vegas Minister Conor O’Connor re-read the cue-cards handed to him by the strange Yorkshireman, he considered if this was the profession for him.

The pair stood before the chapel’s alter and O’Connor gestured to what the Yorkshireman was holding. It was oval, covered by a yellowed bridal veil. Something stirred inside it.

“Read t’cards,” said the Yorkshireman. “Start w’(1).”

O’Connor shuffled through the cards, finding (1) and paused. He was dressed in his ceremonial golden 3-piece suit, the Yorkshire man had donned a tweed cap, chequered sweater, and corduroy trousers and a pipe. “I understand this is Vegas, but there’s a limit.”

The Yorkshireman stared O’Connor down, chewed hard on his pipe and adjusted his cap. “I’ve come ere, t’Vegas, t’renew our vows, what’s t’problem?” The Yorkshireman’s accent was thick. O’Connor struggled to follow, but that wasn’t the main issue.

“But a bird?”

“Aye, this ere bird”. The Yorkshireman pulled away the veil, revealing the Lyrebird in the cage: brown like a pheasant, wings curved, rufous in colour and the bill, legs and feet were black.

“Sir, with respect…” O’Connor began, “I don’t think –”

“Yer’ve got yer money, do this, please.” O’Connor looked at the Lyrebird with curiosity and sympathy. He shared the bird’s sense of being trapped.

“This ere bird, copies any noise it ‘ears. Trained it t’copy wife’s voice. Spent fifty-years recording ‘er with camera, spent last three training Vanessa. Vanessa, t’real wife, died, four year ago. Promised ‘er one day, we’d renew our vows in Vegas. Cancer took ‘er before we had chance.”

The Yorkshireman’s eyes started to well up, the pain still raw. “Respect our marriage, please. I just want t’pretend that’s she still ere with me, to renew ‘er vows with me, please.”

There was a pause as O’Connor attempted to take in all that he had just heard. “Okay.”

“Now, those cards I handed t’yer, it’ll answer if yer read out t’cards as I wrote them, yer understand?”. The Yorkshireman brought the Lyrebird to eye-level.

“Hello Vanessa” he said with old love in his eyes.

“HeLlO wALtEr.” Replied Vanessa.

Faith and Hope
By Adrian Solorio

Faith watched her son across the table and smiled as he picked at his plate. It had been a long time since he had gone, more than ten years, but he was back now, and she gushed over him. “Here,” she said. “Take another coffee.”

John held his fork halfway to his mouth and muttered, “I’m fine. Hope got’s me down to a cup a day–”

“Well, what’s-her-face isn’t your mother and she isn’t here now–is she?” Faith held her son’s gaze until he coughed and looked away. The cafe was half-full, and the sound of chatter mixed with the smell of bacon and pancakes. “You want another cup, I can tell. Just like your father. You don’t know what you want till I tell you.” John mumbled a weak protest but was ignored.

While a passing waitress took the order, Faith bragged to her about her son–her Johnny. Told about him leaving town, making himself into a man; joked that after all his years away he had finally come back to be with his old mother. Before Faith could continue, the waitress apologized and left the table.

“I told you I was fine–”

“Relax,” said Faith, “your little girlfriend isn’t here–relax.”

John’s voice was taut. “Her name’s Hope, and she’s not my girlfriend anymore.”

Faith brightened. Her eyes danced, and her mouth corners curled into a smirk that she had to battle down to a frown. She struggled to mask her excited words with grim sadness when she asked, what had happened?

“We’re getting married.”

Her face darkened. “She’s not like us,” Faith hissed. “I don’t want grandkids with her skin or her kinky hair.”

They glared at each other.

John had never been so angry. And for the first time in his life, he wasn’t the first to break. “Hope wanted me to make this work, even though I knew it wouldn’t,” he said. “You haven’t changed, but the times have. It’s my life.” She tried to argue, to belittle, but he ignored her. He laid bills on the table and left. Left his mother there alone.

Petrichor (A Cauldron Adjacent Tale)
by Aracnarquista

Her packmates associated the rite with the sweet smell of honey and the sting of pain in their left hands. To Cleo, however, it was honey and petrichor. Rain blessed that night, when she was bride and officiant, when she first performed the rite, alone.

The rhythmic sounds in the cabin were an aid. The rain and wind enveloped all other noises into something orderly and transformative, allowing her mind to focus and her heart to keep itself open. Her work on pestle and mortar gave cadence to her deeds, and that cadence flowed in her.

“Old”, Cleo recited, while pouring the dried leaves into the mortar. The dusty aroma of concentrated time rose, compounding the sensations of that special night. “New”, she said, when the freshly cut herbs were added into the mix. Those were still wet from the rain, as was Cleo. Strands of familiarity and similitude were woven through rite, as was proper for a wedding ritual.

Wedding and sacrifice, she reminded herself. Thinking of sacrifice, she poured Kadath’s blood in the mush she had been working on with the mortar. “Borrowed” was the chant that flowed from her, all the while asking why its donor was so adamant on being elsewhere on such an important night.

Blue orchid was added to the recipe, its color joining the words whose chain formed that strange nuptial prayer. When the texture of the mixture was right, Cleo took it and went outside, into the rain. There, the cauldron with honey, the special tinctures and the silver coin waited.

The mixture joined the cauldron’s content, and Cleo cut her palm before diving her hand in search of the coin. The long ceremony was almost to an end, with only the rain and the moon as witnesses. Her blood joined the mixture, and the mixture joined her blood, while honey and petrichor incensed the night around her.

In time, others would also wed the Cauldron, and be part of Cleo’s pack. She would see to all their initiation rituals. Rain, though… rain came only to her wedding.

A Good Listener

By Joe

Dear Diary,

Why do I waste my time writing to you when this is for me? You don’t say or do anything back, only retain information unwillingly. But that’s not why I’m here now.

I’m supposed to get married today. But it’s not really my marriage. It’s my father’s company selling me to another’s son.

It sounded flattering at first that I would hold the fate of two companies, until I noticed how I was treated. My father, who used to play with me and my dolls, fitted me with cosmetic surgeries. I no longer looked like myself. My friends no longer recognized me, and dissociated from me. My mother couldn’t look at me, knowing what was happening, but did nothing and drank her guilt away. And the son, whom I was to marry, looked at me salaciously.

I didn’t want to be with him. Not if he was like this. I told my father, but he berated me. “This is saving the company, and the company is our life. Do you want to end up eating cheap noodles and microwave macaroni for the rest of your life? Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the sake of our survival. Now stop being selfish and do your DAMN part!”

This depressed me. For one, how can anyone hate ramen and mac & cheese? Two, I wanted my life back. I wanted my parents to step in and save me. I wanted a man who wouldn’t lick me with his eyes. I wanted to be with my friends again. But no one would recognize my true identity as friend, daughter, or wife.

Their blindness helped my depression, and my depression helped my silence. I didn’t feel like a person, I felt like a sample platter.

I guess that’s why I talk to you, Diary. You may not hold me, or talk to me, but you were always a good listener. Thank you.

They’re asking for me. I gotta go. But don’t worry, I won’t let them get me. I have a gun.

Man vs Bride
By Lantis Armstrong

I’m Theodore Herman Nestingway, and my crew and I are on safari in the wild and untamed Outback of Australia where today we’re hunting the deadly beast known as the Wild Bride, or Agrius Uxor Hippocampus.

Mistake these lovely ladies for the common house bride at your own peril! Their jaws are strong enough to rip a man’s arms off if he comes between her and the wedding cake. They can range from 108 pounds to an indeterminate weight which I’ve been threatened with a knife should I ever reveal.

My hunting compatriots and I are using old recording equipment to document this expedition in my new enclosed cab jeep; I’m using my brother’s binoculars to scan the horizon for wild brides while I drink from my large blue flask. That’s right, I have something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue.

This isn’t a trophy hunting expedition, so our rifles are for self-defense only! That’s because the current lunar cycle is the waxing gibbous, and you would traditionally only have a bride mounted during the honeymoon.

“What are you doing, Theodore? We can’t park this close to the watering hole,” Mike said.

Curse my judgment, I didn’t listen.

“Nonsense my boy,” I told him, “they can’t smell us from here!”

But the moment Mike rolled down the window, a flash of pure white cloth could be seen in the rearview far too late to save him!

During a vicious attack on our safari jeep, my very best man was attacked and groomed!

“No, Mike!” I cried, but the poor sod had already gotten himself hitched.

“I have to leave this hunting trip early,” Mike said sadly, “we have rehearsal dinners planned all day I have to attend.”

The rest of us watched in shock as Mike got out of the car and ventured off across the rolling red hills of the Outback, arms locked with the wild bride which had stolen his life away from us. It’s the danger we all knew we’d face, but it doesn’t make his loss any easier.

A Love, A Gift
By Jeremy

I stand at the precipice’s ledge and while staring into the verdant blur, contemplate my leap. Not a leap to an early death, but into the arms of my wild bride, my wood nymph. With a lack of hesitation seldom seen in life, I leap without fear.

I found her that day sitting in the fragrant shade of a blooming Wisteria tree. Legs stretched out with bare feet crossed, she leaned back against the trunk as tiny arrows of sun found their way through the lush canopy and set afire the subtly auburn shade of her dark hair. The leaves and tall grasses swayed sensually around her in the gentle afternoon breeze. Treetops danced rhythmically above to a music heard only by those sensitive to the wiles of nature. She was gazing contentedly into the arboreal distance; a vague smile curved the corners of her lips.

Her breath formed the warm spring air which gave birth to the forest and its creatures within. Newly hatched birds chirped excitedly as mother returned to the nest. Recently born butterflies triumphantly took to the skies as they embarked on a new life with colorful iridescent wings that caught and refracted the light. Flowers awoke with a burst and stretched for the deep azure sky. A rich, soft carpet of greenery blanketed the earth below. Somewhere nearby a stream bubbled to life as the spring rains twisted and flowed along its meandering path. She spoke the language of the forest.

And there she sat beautiful, amazing, at the epicenter of it all.

I spent my life exploring those woods, but they were transformed in their brilliance the day I first saw her. A common little forest with few distinctions suddenly alive and vibrant and perfect. The revered Gardens of Babylon paled in comparison to the beauty I beheld.

Our romance was swift and reckless and all-encompassing. My bride she is to be today. Where else to unite as one, but in the wild where we first met.

Branches
by Lee Strangely

“So, what’s your opinion?” Ben asked.

“As far as I’m aware,” Mica said as she packed her case, “she seems fine. Though I think a botanist would be more useful here than a physician.”

As Ben smiled in relief, a series of noises made their way from the other room.

Knock, knock.

It was like someone was hitting the floor with two broom handles.

Knock.

Knock-a-knock.

It was a slow entrance, but she eventually got there. The woman was fairly short, and rather spindly. She had wide, innocent green eyes that constantly jumped about, soaking in everything that crossed them. Her skin was soft, pale wood, and her hair was a sort of thin feather grass with a light green tone. On her was a muted yellow sundress.

Noticing her, Ben sprang up to assist. She desperately grasped at the tables and now the doorway around her as her legs wobbled and slipped on the tile floor. There were no feet, only two thin stilts that barely did their job.

“Was it before or after that she, um…” Mica politely tried to ask, alluding to her legs.

“She was like that when she wandered here.”

With Ben’s help the wooden woman maintained some balance, but as the two got part-way through the living room she started to slip. It was like Ben was having a mini heart attack as he quickly tried to compensate. When he attempted to move, he unfortunately shifted his own balance, causing him to lose stability as well. She tried to help him but it just put both of them back into the same situation as they started. Mica couldn’t help but giggle at their clumsy dance.

The blunderful movement ended when the two finally fell onto the couch. Ben tried to calm himself down. The woman smiled at him. He couldn’t help but smile back, along with a little chuckle.

“Whatever she is, I wonder what drew her here…” Mica pondered as she left.

“Who knows,” he muttered while his eyes gravitated to that of the wooden woman.

The Promise by Skeleton

They say a dragon’s pride and greed make wedding planners a fortune, and for as long as Mobius had been alive, the saying hadn’t been proved wrong. When he heard the cautionary sounds of glass shattering and aggressive shouting, he began to pray to whatever god gave good grace for this to be last wedding and not the third.

Mobius opened the door quickly to find his cousin and grand master magus, Remianna, restraining his sister, Zaila, with the very stone foundation of the church. It looked as if Zaila was caught mid-charge at Remianna, who did not look amused at all. At least both of them avoided ruining the dress. “I’ve got this,” Mobius intervened with a sigh and a shake of his head.

Remianna manipulated the stone back to being a flat surface and quickly escaped from Zaila’s death glare. “She’s as stubborn as he was…” the magus breathed as she bumped shoulders with her cousin.

Mobius closed the door for some privacy as Zaila moved to the window and put her claws on its frame, leaning forwards to alleviate the weight from her legs. “I’m not doing this,” she announced, her breath wavering with the threat of tears. “He’s not here yet.”

The concerned brother pressed his back against the wall next to the window, giving him the perfect view of Zaila’s tense jaw as she bit her lip. He hesitated before speaking: “I think maybe you should think about how Sage will take hearing that again.”

Hot tears began to stream down Zaila’s cheeks. “It’s not fair…” she whimpered. “He said he’d be here to walk me down the aisle. He promised!”

Mobius gave a sad laugh. “He really did keep like keeping his promises, didn’t he?”

“I just want him to put his hand on my head again and tell me that he’s proud of me!” she began to sob.

Mobius hesitated again before placing his claw between her horns gently. “He is, and always will be proud of you, Zaila. We all are.”

Double Trouble
By GC Tsala

Finally! Tomorrow was the big day!

Everything was completely ready for Olivia’s wedding and all she had to do is wait until tomorrow and stop eating her damn nails.

“This time tomorrow, I will officially be Jessica’s wife!” She said. You could tell how excited she was by the way her eyes were glowing even though she was just staring at a brown wall.

“Taa Daa!” Jessica jumped into the room out of nowhere!

“How do you like my wedding dress? I know you are not supposed to see it until the wedding, but it is so cute I couldn’t hold myself!” She told Olivia, overflowing with happiness.

“Wait! WHAT!? Jessicaaa… you are supposed to be the groom! What are you doing!?”

“Me? The groom? You have to be kidding me, we agreed that the groom would be YOU!”

“We agreed that the most masculine of the two would be the groom, remember?”

“Yes, which is you!”

“ME!? HOW!? We even agreed that you were the one that looked better with the mustache and the monocle!”

“I thought it was a Sherlock Holmes cosplay..”

“It was our wedding cosplay!”

“Okay, Olivia, listen to me, I have a bride (bright) idea! What if we are BOTH brides?”

“Alright alright, it might not be as big of a deal, after all, we can both wear a wedding dress. But only if you keep the mustache”

“You bet I will! It goes perfectly with the color of the carriage I will arrive in!”

“I WAS SUPPOSED TO ARRIVE BY CARRIAGE”

With Her Own Gifts (Cordelia’s Journey)
C. M. Weller

Having been declared dead had its disadvantages. Such as her family reclaiming her dowry and hanging onto it. Pending their OWN investigation into exaggerated rumours of her demise. Which meant that she was currently impoverished.

Earl Kormwind Nine, now an impatient groom-in-waiting, announced to his court, “I love this woman beyond reason. Further, I have been waiting far too long to marry her. I would take her as bride with rags for a dress and sacking for her train-o’-coin.”

Cordelia’s family were perfectly willing to take him at his word.

Whitekeep had not had a double wedding in centuries. Her fellow bride, the Lady Rowan DeVarinal, was clad in white samite, silks and satin. Cordelia was not in rags, but a simple shift and slippers.

“Such a pity,” said the Lady Rowan sympathetically. “Married to an Earl in that.”

“Not just this,” said Cordelia, and opened herself to her gifts. The window, open to the fresh spring air, also allowed in birds, butterflies, and a scattering of petals. Rare blossoms unfurled all over her shift, feathers added accents and the butterflies posed like living jewelry. Her train became a glistening array of the gifts of nature. “These are gifts that nobody can take away.”

Lady Rowan had an amusing face when she boggled. “I see. Whitekeep falls under the reign of the strange, unusual, and unexpected. No wonder your groom’s forces won the battle to rescue me.”

“I fought by his side, remember? We are capable, we are dangerous, and we are taking those lying, venal, slaver shitheels DOWN.”

Lady Rowan bowed in respect. “Then I pity the forces siding with the Olikent Financiers. The two of you alone are enough to wipe them off the map.”

“Thank you,” smiled Cordelia.

“My future husband and I will be assisting in that effort. I do believe it will be safer.”

“You are correct in that estimate,” said Cordelia.

First Impressions by Thunder

I left my parents to bicker with the elven court. I didn’t have anywhere in particular to go, just wandering through the palace, trusting the guards would stop me before I entered a restricted area. Or just kill me, which while unfortunate would at least free me from my duties.

Eventually I wandered from the main palace and into a breathtakingly beautiful garden. I rapidly lost track of time and where I was in the maze of plant life, surrounded by endless varieties of ever more fragrant trees and flowers.

I turned one corner, only to be met with a gasp and a splattering of warm red liquid. My hand dropped to my bladeless waist even as I wiped some of the offending liquid- which smelled and tasted of fruit from my face.

I found two elven women standing in a clearing, one dressed in light leather armor and carrying a short blade, the other in servant’s livery manning a small catapult loaded with another fruit. The remnants of several more dotted the grass or redecorated the armed elf’s armor and hair.

“Who are you?” she demanded, raising her blade.

I raised my hands before retrieving a white handkerchief to clean my face, absently noting that the tunic was ruined. “Prince Roren, heir of Vidora.” I gave a shallow bow. “And you are?”

Her face went pale, mortification warring with vindication as she covered her mouth. The servant answered in a haughty tone. “You stand before Princess Lynnara, human.”

Years of etiquette classes failed me. “Oh. Hello?” I responded lamely.

My bride-to-be didn’t answer, instead studying my face while tucking a loose strand of sticky hair behind her ear. She turned to her servant, spouting off a bit of Elvish which sounded like “Could be worse.”

She turned back to me with a forced smile. “Welcome to my home and sparring yard. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get cleaned up.” She bent over, picking up one of the destroyed fruits before stepping past me. “Good meeting you?”

“That went well,” I muttered as she stepped out of sight.