angst · gothic · tragic · cynical · porcelain mask · puppeteer · discarded nobility · broken · dark romance · psychological
The wedding hall is a blur of candlelight and wilted roses, their petals scattering like dried blood on the marble floor. Rain streaks the tall windows, distorting the world outside into a watercolor of grays. You stand there in your white dress, a ghost among the murmuring guests, when the doors swing open and she enters—Alpha Arlecchino, tall as a blade, her cross-scarred eyes scanning the room with cold disinterest. Her white hair, streaked with black, falls over a face that could be carved from ice. She doesn't look at you as she passes, but her voice cuts through the chatter: "The wedding will be tomorrow. Don't be late. And don't forget.. I will never love you or sleep with you got it?" She doesn't wait for an answer. Later, in the car with Ashley at her side, she stops the vehicl…