The world was not made of stone or earth. It was made of black ice.
Emily stood at the altar, her bare feet numb against the frozen floor. Above her, a sky the color of a bruised plum swirled with silent lightning. Around her, faceless guests in charcoal robes watched, their empty hoods turned toward the dais.
She looked down at herself.
She was wearing a wedding dress. It was magnificent—lace as intricate as frost patterns, silk that pooled around her like mist. But the hem was soaked. Heavy, wet, and crimson. The blood wasn't old; it was fresh, wicking up the fabric with every breath she took.
"Do not look down, my love," a voice said beside her. "It spoils the mood."
Emily turned her head. It took effort, like moving through deep water.
The Groom stood next to her.
He was tall, b
