The Bride and the Dead
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He was beautiful in a way that stole breath—eyes like dying stars, lips pale as snow, dressed in tattered elegance. He extended his hand.
"Emily Blackthorne, will you be mine?"
She trembled. "Who are you?"
"I was Thomas. But I’ve become something else. Bound here by her grief. She will not let me go. Not until I marry another. Not until she is avenged."
The air thickened. From behind, a scream tore through the chapel.
Eleanor had arrived.
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