It was unfair, Arion decided. It was grossly unfair how good she looked in winter. Evangeline's nose had been kissed pink by snowflakes, brown eyes lit up by the Christmas decorations draping casually over the evergreen trees. A heavy woollen sweater covered her popsicle-stick fingers.

"What?" She laughed. Her dimples appeared just above her thick yellow scarf, almost shyly. "Stop staring at me, you creep."

He shook his head. His heart would give out at this rate. He had held out--for how long? Through summer, when she had first smiled at him, making his cheeks burn as hotly as the sun; through fall, the maple leaves that danced around her mimicking the way his head spun whenever her clear, bell voice broke through the chilly air.

He hadn't realised he had drawn this close to her. Her doe eyes were big, her cheeks lightly squished under his gloved fingers. A question hung unanswered between them, jostled occasionally by the puffs of smoke they exhaled from their warm mouths, until--

"Go on, then." The corners of Evangeline's mouth had quirked upwards.

Arion leaned in and for a glorious moment, he breathed her in--then they were anchored, grounded by the warmth of each other's lips. She tasted like snow, cold and fresh. He felt her smiling. "Took you long enough," her hot breath dusted over him.

He drew back, his own smile breaking through the white landscape, a brilliant ray that melted the frost around him. He put a hand gently in hers, sharing his warmth. She ducked her head. "C'mon, you big idiot."

The snow parted under their shoes, allowing them to trudge on smoothly into the palely smiling sunset.

I hear his voice

A golden brook babbling

I hear his feet

Strong, steady steps snapping twigs.

I hear his breath

Quick and sharp from coral lips

I hear my heart

Fluttering, a trapped dove.

If only he could hear me

Hear me!

Through this still summer air

If only he could see me

See me!

And not the silver siren in the water.

But my voice will only echo--

A boomerang bouncing

I love you.

She was floating. The water cradled her in its gentle arms, rocking her back and forth, back and forth. The sea murmured to her, Hush, hush, hush.

An orange glow bathed the water. Blue hands, tinged with the yellow of the sun, arranged her hair, smoothed the creases of her dress. Pieces of wood were scattered around her like stars. Her breathing evened out, the silence of the underwater world ringing in her ears, an endless lullaby.

The ocean carried her body carefully towards the shore. Seagulls circled overhead in perfect, white circles as her body absorbed the soothing heat of the sand. Like a doll, she lay curled up on her side, her chest lifting and dropping in time with the wash of the waves on the beach.

Her eyes closed, the eternal blue disappearing under her lashes. She did not know what storms she would have to brave tomorrow, but for now, she was content to sleep.

Isabella was ecstatic, and giddy with excitement. She whirled around the room, a white flurry of joy, and her laughter rang out, clear as bells.

“Stop it,” her mother scolded gently. “You’ll ruin your train.” A small smile tugged at the edges of her disapproving mouth.

“Oh, but mother, I simply can’t!” The younger woman was breathlessly radiant. “I’m getting married to the most wonderful--oh, the most wonderful man in the whole wide world!” She stopped in front of the mirror, taking in her own image. Wisps of dark hair had escaped from under the white veil that obscured her shining eyes, and her elegant tulle dress trailed behind her like a puff of pale smoke.

Soon, she would be married. Everybody’s eyes would be on them at the ceremony: the elegant man with his doll-like wife, a couple straight out of a fairytale. She would be in the arms of her husband for the rest of her life, and they would do all sorts of things together that people who were married did: share loving kisses over a plate of decadent, just-cooked pancakes and cuddle on the sofa while watching Titanic--it was all going to be simply a dream.

“Hold still,” her mother chided, attaching a thin tiara to Isabella’s head. The bride-to-be was quivering with anticipation, making the task nearly impossible. “I really don’t know what to do with you.” Her mother’s sigh was simultaneously exasperated and fond.

“Oh, mother!” Isabella gave a sudden cry and buried her face into the older woman’s shoulder. “I’ll be such a headcase! I know nothing about being a wife. I can barely take care of myself, much less a--a man.” She sniffled. “It’s only been three months! What if he just f-finds a better woman to marry?”

Her mother patted her dress down firmly. “Serving your husband will come naturally to you. It is in a woman’s nature to nurture and grow; your marriage will surely flourish. When times get tough, think of why you fell in love with him--this is what makes a marriage stand strong against any kind of weathering.”

Isabella’s delicate brows furrowed. Truth be told, she didn’t know why she was marrying a man she had met just three months ago.

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Her eyes opened, wide with fright. Silence hung eerily in the air, draped over her bed, carpeted the floor. The darkness cocooned her as she struggled to sit up from her mass of blankets. It had been the strangest dream.

A woman had stood in a pool, a waterfall crashing behind her. Her vivid red and gold dress stood out like a fire in a forest. But it had been cold, so cold. The woman’s dark hair hung lank and ragged over her pale features, her blood red lipstick smeared across her face--black rivulets running from her eyes, drip, drip, dripping to the water pooled at her feet.

“They killed me.” Isabella had tried to scream, tried to cry for help, but a weight pressed against her chest: that’s when she realised she was falling, the whirling, gaping pool swallowing her feet, her legs, her head, as the waterfall roared on.

“What’s this?” Her fiance brushed light fingers over her dark circles several hours later. Sunlight spilled over their wedding venue, adding a dash of magic to the already picturesque painting. They were there to ensure that all the arrangements were well prepared.

“I’m fine. Just had a bad dream last night.”

“My little doll must rest up before her big day,” he said. “We can’t have you looking pale and exhausted in the photos. People are looking forward to seeing me get married to my beautiful bride, not some imitation of a ghost.” His face split open in a wide smile, pleased with himself. She gave him a weak grin.

“Sir, you’ve seen Lion’s Pavilion, where the wedding ceremony will be held. Would you like to take a look at the Bride’s Pool waterfall too? So you can get a clue of how the photographs will look.”

“Certainly.” Placing a firm hand on her back, her fiance ushered her after the small man who had spoken, down a wide path bordered by green trees.

“Why, that’s marvelous!” Her fiance exclaimed, staring impressed, up at the cascading waterfall. But the roaring of the waterfall drowned his voice out, and Isabella’s blood froze colder than the clear waters of the pool. This was the waterfall from her dreams.

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Though it was pitch black inside Isabella’s room, her dream was drenched in sunshine. A sleek, embellished jiao rounded the bend of the road that just a few hours prior, her fiance had ushered her down. Four men huffed and puffed as they made their way down the wide path, the jiao wobbling precariously on their shoulders.

They stopped in front of the pool, full of dancing rainbows, the waterfall above it glimmering in the sunlight. The man at the leftmost corner of the jiao signalled to his partners. In a fluid motion, they tilted the jiao: a startled scream erupted as its fragile doors flew open, ejecting the woman in a flurry of red and gold. Dishevelled, she struggled to stand, but the water was already rising above her chest. The man who had signalled pressed down on her immaculately decorated head, forcing it down. Flailing arms disrupted the calmness of the pool’s surface, until eventually, the splashing subsided.

“Put her back in the jiao,” the man ordered. “It is done. We are to report that we slipped and caused the madam to fall, and her family will be none the wiser.”

One of the other men was green with guilt. “Why would the master request such a thing of us?” He groaned, lifting the sodden corpse. The first man looked grim. “He had another woman.” He said shortly. “And this one,” he jerked his head towards the drowned woman. “Was in his way.”

The drenched woman opened her eyes and Isabella found herself drowning in their darkness. “You see,” the ghost whispered. “You are just another toy, another accessory to them. No matter what you do, they will never be faithful.” Laughter rang in Isabella’s ears. “Run while you still can, little doll.”

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She became drawn. She did not eat. Her fiance’s frown grew every time he saw her, and he made suggestions, forced her to eat more--but his disapproval only made her flinch. “Don’t fuss her,” her mother said. “It’s the pre-wedding jitters.”

Isabella’s mind, corrupted by the red and gold ghost, only wandered further away from him. Truly, why was she marrying this man? She knew he boxed competitively, loved his brothers and sisters, took every chance to volunteer--she knew he liked her. But only for now. Was she willing to chain herself to this man, without having learnt his every little secret, turned his every dark thought inside out?

And what did she want? It was hard work to put on a housewife’s mask, smiling serenely at her husband when he returned from work every night, even if he might be coarse with her, even if he might be fucking other women. Did marriage mean that she was nothing more than a temporary trophy to him, until something newer and shinier came along for him to spoil? Then, she would be just another drowned bride.

The day of the wedding arrived. Isabella’s dress was a few inches too loose on account of all the weight she had lost, and her dark circles stood out, purple, from her pale, small face. The red lipstick she put on did not help her ghostly pallor. Her mother bit her lip, worried. “It’s alright, darling. The veil will cover it.”

Isabella caught sight of herself in the mirror. In the dim room, her white dress looked almost grey, her face as pale as the moon in a black night. Her scarecrow arms protruded awkwardly from the elegant neckline of the gown, her cheekbones sitting too high, the corner of her lips pulled low in a grimace. Tears brimmed in her tired eyes. “I don’t look pretty,” she whispered. “He won’t love me like this.”

Her mother dabbed frantically at her face. “Stop being dramatic, you’re ruining it.” She scolded. Isabella laughed hollowly. She wasn’t their perfect little doll anymore; she didn’t look the part. But she had committed to this, when she had screamed “Yes!” on the golden beach, when she had showered kisses upon the man on his knees in front of her, when she had let him put the glimmering diamond ring on her finger. She must see it through to the end.

The aisle felt like it stretched on forever. The “Wedding March” blasted from speakers, sounding awfully tinny to Isabella. Her fiance’s eyes skimmed her loose dress. When he lifted her veil, he seemed almost disgusted with her haggard appearance, stooping only to press a quick, chaste kiss to her dry lips.

Isabella’s ring felt foreign and heavy on her finger, so tight it almost cut off her circulation. The applause and wolf-whistling from her relatives, his friends was too much for her to take. “I need some air,” she breathed to her husband, fleeing the scene. He was only too happy to see her go, another miserable, wretched creature out of his sight.

Panting, she bent over, a stitch in her side. She heard a familiar roar, and looked up to see the waterfall. “Powerful, isn’t it?” A light, musical voice materialised out of thin air. Isabella turned to see the red and gold woman. In the daylight, she was almost unrecognisable--a rosy cheeked woman, eyes glimmering, mischievous and full of life.

“If--If I could be a waterfall in the next life, I would!” Isabella said, childish. “I think--I’ve made a horrible mistake.” She tugged at her ring, but it had already melded to her skin.

The woman’s eyes followed her movements. “Come with me,” she said suddenly. A slim hand extended towards Isabella. “I thought my death was a curse, a mistake. It tore me from my youth, away from a married life, a potential family. I was hateful. But I’ve understood that I have been freed from my fiance’s adultery. I’ve been saved a lifetime of turning the blind eye, an eternity of sobbing alone in dark rooms.” Her pupils were dilated, filled with hunger. “Come with me, and you’ll be free.”

No, I don’t want to die just yet. I’ve got places to go, worlds to explore. Isabella thought. But she found herself taking the stranger’s hand. It was cool and dry, but firm. It promised freedom, flexibility, unlike her husband’s strong, demanding grip. Isabella found herself dipping her toes, her heels, then her legs into the pool. Her white dress swirled around her, blossoming like a lily through the frost.

Then it was cool, and calm. And crystal clear.

#fiction #supernatural #ghosts