Reunited.

Chapter One: Lonely.

Four months and three days – that's how long it has been since we said our goodbyes.

And since then, I haven't stopped thinking about you. Every little thing in this world reminds me of you. The way the leaves in the wind remind me of your graceful dancing. The sound of children's laughter reminds me of your cheeriness. The colour of the florist's roses reminds me of your lips. And the butterfly in my bell jar is the closest thing I have of you.

The only thing aside from that little blue butterfly I have, are the memories. Those painful, but beautiful memories of our time together – no matter how long or how short:

When we first met, our 'wedding' reception, our visit to my home, our time at the piano and our proper wedding – even if it was cut short by the pain from your past and the face of my future.

If they weren't there, would we be together?

If she had stayed away, would I be dead? If he hadn't walked in, would we be married?

Would we be dancing at our wedding reception, surrounded by skeletons?

Would we be looking in to each other's eyes, knowing we could stay like that forever?

Would we be spending the rest of our eternal lives together?

Who cares if we were rotting away?! Who cares if the living people shunned us?! Who cares about what my parents would say?!

We had each other. That's all I wanted. Now and forever.

If only you could hear my painful cries! Would you come to my bedside and aid me through this sickness? All these questions and only one wishful answer, the remedy to my sickness! Yes!

"Yes Victor, I will marry you!"

"Yes, I will stand by you forever, dead and alive."

"Yes, I will comfort you in sickness and in health."

"Yes, I love you too. And I always will."

I swear I can hear your voice ring throughout my head like the bell chime echoing in my bedroom. My sanctuary. My asylum. My safe place. As it has been since the night that you left me. I don't blame you for leaving. You wanted me to be happy. And I was. With you. If I called out to you, would you come back? Can you? Or are you finally resting in peace, up above or down below? I want you back! I want you more than life itself! Life without you isn't life at all. Answer me Emily! This loneliness is driving me insane! Seeing the same walls every day is making me ill. Just the sound of your voice will aid me in my sickness. Even if you whispered my name, that would help.

I can picture myself, standing at the altar as you fly away. I can feel the breath in my lungs returning, crying out to you.

Come back! Come back! Don't leave me! I don't love her. I love you.

Speaking of which, she left me. Four weeks ago. I woke to find her out of bed, her possessions gone, her parents in a state of panic, and her no-where to be seen. Just a little note on my bedside table, simply saying:

"You loved me once but that time has gone. Your love for me has been replaced by the love of a corpse. If you are to be happy, then so am I! I refuse to be the woman who married the man who loves the dead. I cannot face that humiliation.

So goodbye Victor. Don't expect to see me again.

Victoria"

And that was it. She had left. With another man? No one knows. If she had been seeing someone else, she kept it secret. But even if it was obvious, I wouldn't've noticed. I've been too fixated in a trance to notice time passing by in the real world.

"Where are you now?" I wonder.

Are you enjoying heaven? Or are you back downstairs with the jazz bands and skeletons, dancing every night? Are you surrounded by your friends? Are you happy? Do you miss me? Do you miss me as much as I miss you?

I hope so.

Meanwhile, downstairs:

"Full house gentlemen!" cries the General as he throws his cards on the table.

"Cheat! How did you do that?" shrieked the jazz singing skeleton.

"Another round on you then?" General Bonesapart nods to Mayhew, who simply rolls his eyes and makes his way to the bar. Resting my head in my right hand, I watch from afar, perched on a withered bar stool, ignoring my 'death punch' cocktail that sits in front of me. Pushing it aside with my skeletal hand; I glance over to the stage.

Four months and three days ago, I was up there, dancing along with Bonejangles, the story of my life flashing before me in a parade and illusion of colour, jazz and bones. The ghosts of the past recalling my foolishness, but that face in the audience reminding me of what it got me that night. A husband. The answer to my long-suffering prayers. He saved me. Set me free. Made me believe that – even after death – there was life. I saw it all in that handsome, though slightly nervous, face of my newly-wed husband. From the moment I heard his voice, I could see us together. Though I didn't see his face until I had risen from the grave and nearly scared him to death, I knew he was gorgeous. I could tell in the softness of his voice, that gentle tone that reminded me of an angel.

Even when we were arguing, I could listen to his voice forever. Smooth and addictive as chocolate. I was mesmerized when he repeated his vows to me, perfect and precise, like they had been his first words. Oh, how I wish I could hear them again. But I never will. His voice echoes in my mind like Bonejangles catchy jazz songs, but every time I hear it, he's not there. Just the voice. No person. No face. No body. Nothing. Just empty space and aching memories of the past. God it hurts! It hurts to hear his name, to picture his face, to imagine him sitting beside me at the bar, his skinny arm around me. That warming feeling that sends away any and every single problem in my life.

I was dead. I had been for some years now. I had been underground for most of that time. I've been wearing the same dress for over three years. I've done the same thing every day for four months and three days. Wake up. Get out of bed. Look in the mirror. Walk to the bar and sit there for hours on end, ignoring whatever drink they put in front of me, listening to his voice in my head.

"I like your enthusiasm."

"I ask you to be mine."

"I do."

"Emily."

Hours pass, I'm still there and I see and hear everything that goes on. The music. The lively chatter. The sound of clicking bones. The poker games. The scuttling of cockroaches. The colourful and rhythmic lights. The sound of the piano – sad or cheerful.

And once the show is over, I return to my safe place. My shelter. My haven. I lie in my bed, until the early hours of the next day arrive. Then I do it all over again. Wake up. Get up, and carry on as if my afterlife is on a constant repeat.

I am the definition of misery and pain. Any new arrival who is overjoyed to be alive after death sees my lonely face, and the joy simply goes. Anyone who comes near me can feel my misery, making even the happiest of spirits miserable and depressed.

I can't help it! It's not my fault he was already in love! All I did was set him free so he could be happy. And he is, so I hope. He has the woman he loves, his life set in front of him. Marriage, children, a warm home, happiness and love forever. And if not? Then this suffering was for nothing!

I try to use this as a pick-me-up but it never works. I try to picture him with his new wife but every time I do, I can only picture us at the altar, facing each other and smiling like there was no tomorrow. I see her face but it's replaced with my own. It sounds selfish, I know, but I can't help myself or my feelings.

Bonejangles is beside me right now, having jumped down from the stage, saying in his gruff but kind voice:

"You let him go so he could happy. Try and feel that happiness with him, Emily. Otherwise, you're damned to spend the rest of your afterlife living up to your name."

He was right. If I didn't do something about this, I would forever and always been known as 'the Corpse Bride'. The name says it all. The woman in love who waited for her lover, only to be murdered in return for jewels and riches. Typical!

So having heard this, what did I do? I looked up to Bonejangles as he got off his stool and watched him walk away, and thought. What do I do?

Keep myself distracted from my thoughts or roll in my own misery?

Deciding what to do, I grabbed my 'death punch' cocktail and turned to the poker table. Mayhew was returning with a new round of drinks, and the jazz singing skeleton was walking away from the table – just as a new game was being dealt.

Leaping off the bar stool and walking over to the table, the men look up and see me, glass in hand and eagerness in my eyes.

"Room for a lady, gentlemen?" I ask, politely and seductively. They all look at me, surprised. What was the lonely Corpse Bride doing, asking to join in a poker game? They could think what they wanted, but according to the General, "no one can resist the charm of Miss Emily". So getting up and offering me the free seat, I sit myself on the plush cushioning of the chair and rest my glass on the table, placing my blue hands on the table, one on top of the other.

"So gentlemen – who's dealing?" And so, my recovery begins.

Two days later:

Four months and five days. Yes, I count every day that passes. And I will until you return to me. Do you care? Should you care? Not really. I was the one who got myself in to this mess, and I should be the one to get myself out of it. No one else.

Well, I say that but it isn't working. Mother and father are absolutely livid that the 'richest' and 'most beautiful' girl in the village betrayed their only son. Seeing as it's been four weeks since I became a bachelor for the second time, mother is already eager to find me a new wife. Not that I'm rushing alongside her. You can find me the prettiest, the richest or the best girl in 1000 miles but they won't be Emily. They won't have her charm, her laughter, or her sense of life and freedom. They won't be her.

Of course, mother and father have no idea of what happened during my absence when I was engaged to Victoria. The last time they saw me, I was running out of the Everglot's mansion like an angry dog was biting at my heels. The next time they saw me, I was home with Victoria, sitting by the fire. She was cherishing the sensation of being a newlywed wife in her husband's arms, whilst I was thinking over my mistakes.

Mother and father were out searching for me when Emily and I – along with the rest of the Land of the Dead – arrived to begin our wedding. They know nothing about Emily, but they know of the walking dead that suddenly arrived in our village, scaring the locals before making their way to the church for a 'ceremony to remember' – in so many ways!

So whenever mother approaches me when I rarely enter the kitchen for a bite to eat, she oversees my depression and goes on talking about how she'll find me 'a better wife'.

"Good luck mother" is what I'd say, if I had the chance. "You can search the seven seas and inside every mountain but you'll never find her. You never will." And with that thought in my head, I ignore my mother and fathers remarks and journey back to my room, where I coop myself up for as long as it takes. However long it may be until Emily returns, alive or dead.

At the same time, downstairs:

"Two pairs gentlemen!" I cry, laying my cards on the table.

"That's the third time today, Miss Emily. How do you do it?"

"A lady never reveals such secrets" I smile cheekily, as the General threw his cards on the table, admitting defeat once again. "Dare I say I shall get the next lot of drinks, gentlemen?"

"I won't say no" Mayhew kindly answered. I scooped up a few coins from the pile of my earnings and got up from my seat, the bar in my line of sight. Ignoring the voices in my head and concentrating on the click of my heels on the wooden floor, I approach Paul the head waiter.

"Two pints and I'll try…the 'Corpse Reviver' cocktail please." Whilst waiting for the line of cockroaches to prepare my drinks, I look around the bar. I see Bonejangles prepare for another night of fun and entertainment, the little skeleton children playing with their toys and…the familiar sound of a certain dog, approaching me from the distance.

Scraps! Victor's late, faithful and trusty canine companion was scurrying towards me so fast that his little legs might fall off at any moment. Without hesitation he leapt towards me and landed square in my chest, my arms enveloping him immediately as he still scurries with excitement.

"Hello Scraps. What are you doing here? Who's a good boy? You are, Scraps. You're a good boy" I say playfully, watching his little tail wag back and forth with such a vigorous motion. As I finished speaking to him, he leapt from my arms on to the floor, landing softly before grabbing on to the skirt of my dress with his teeth and tugging me in the direction he came from.

"What is it boy? What's wrong?" He yapped at my feet, looking back and forth from where he came, continuously tugging on my dress.

"You want me to follow?" I asked him. His simple reply of one single high-pitched yap meant "Yes!"

"Paul, I'm sorry, forget the cocktail. The General and Mayhew want the pints though, at the poker table. I'm sorry but Scraps wants me to go with him."

Paul kindly allowed me to go, summoning a skeleton to escort the drinks over to the poker table where the General and Mayhew waved me a farewell as I allowed Scraps to direct me to wherever he meant me to go.

Walking out of the pub and following the little skeleton dog down the streets of the Land of the Dead made me realise where I was going before I had even caught sight of the building. Elder Gutknecht's tower.

It stood amongst the Land of the Dead, decreasing the average sized house to look like a single storey hut. When I turned another corner, I saw Scraps standing at the foot of the stairs, looking up, indicating me to climb them. As I did, he clattered up behind me and ran on ahead, barking his head off as he did.

"Evidently, Elder Gutknecht has sent Scraps to fetch me" I thought to myself. I was right. When I got to the top of the stairs, I found Elder Gutknecht watching me, Scraps sitting beside him like the faithful companion he is.

"I'm assuming you wanted to see me?" I asked, as I placed both feet off the stairs and on to Elder Gutknecht's territory.

"You guess correctly, my dear."

"What for?"

"My dear, are you aware of any astrological events happening recently? Or approaching soon?" he asked me.

"Not that I'm aware of. I know nothing of astrology."

"Just as well." He turned his head to a small mountain of books and reached forward a boney hand of his, grabbing a book that sat on top of the pile. He opened it, the pages falling apart and settling on one random page. The Elder smiled as he studied this page, slowly turning away and walking up to his podium where he stood when Victor and I asked for a spell to transport us to the Land of the Living.

"My dear, please come forward" he beckoned me closer to the podium. I walked forward, my heels echoing across the floor until I stood immediately below him, looking up to see him tracing a finger down the page of the book.

"My dear, if you were given one wish in this world, what would it be? No matter how ludicrous or impossible?"

"No matter how impossible?" I repeated. Thinking to myself, I wondered: what would I wish for?

To see my parents again?

To be alive?

To see Victor again, even for a few minutes or forever?

"But I have so many" I answered.

"Out of all those, choose one." He instructed me.

"One?!"

Well, which one would it be? Mum and Dad? Life? Or Victor?

"Life." I answered. "I'd choose to live again. Because all the other wishes wouldn't be accomplished unless I was alive again."

"Correct answer, my dear." Though he showed little movement, I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was smiling.

"Correct answer? Why?" And then he explained it all.

"Every few hundred years, an astrological phenomenon occurs. Every single planet in this solar system aligns with one another, creating a perfectly straight line. In addition, a stream of energy is fired towards a certain point. This energy – so powerful as it is – is very special, especially to the living dead."

"How come, Elder?"

"This energy, my dear, this energy…can resume a lost ones previous life. In a simpler way…it brings you back to life."

"It what?" I asked, astounded.

"It brings you back to life." By now, he was leaning far over his podium and staring down at me with his dark, empty eye sockets.

"Not possible" I said. "Once you're dead, you're dead. A rotting corpse, a body in the ground, a lost loved one."

"It is possible, my dear. That is why I asked you the question. If you could have your wish, would you return to life? Back upstairs? To your mother and father? To him?"

I paused, knowing my answer but too nervous and shocked to say it. Elder looked at me intently, forcing the answer out of my cold pink lips.

"Yes. Yes, I would."

"Good answer. Because, my dear, I am giving you this opportunity. The astrological phenomenon – let's call it the energy stream – shall arrive here, at this point of my tower tomorrow morning at approximately nine o clock."

"Nine o clock…tomorrow?" I stuttered.

"Morning, yes" he nodded.

"And I will…return?"

"To life, yes."

"It's not possible."

"You'd better believe it is."

Oh my goodness! Another chance at life? A chance to go home to Mum and Dad! Back home to my previous life! A chance to see Victor!

Victor.

"What do I have to do?" I asked Elder Gutknecht.

"Pack a bag, my dear. You're going home."

And with those words, I rushed down the stairs.

The next morning:

"Is that everything?" I asked myself. Mentally ticking off my list of possessions, I packed my bag, overlooking the contents of my suitcase.

"Mirror, hairbrush, shoes, books and fathers watch – not much."

Snapping the suitcase shut and saying farewell to my room where I had lived out the past four months of my afterlife, I hurried to Elder Gutknecht's tower. I had said my goodbyes to everyone I knew. The men at the pub, Bonejangles, the kind women, the little children and Scraps. They had shed their tears for me and wished me good luck.

Arriving at Elder Gutknecht's tower, the sudden revelation came over me – I was going home. It felt so good to say out loud. As I ran up the stairs, I spread my arms wide with glee, a huge smile spread across my face as I cried at the top of my dead lungs:

"I'm going home!"

"She's here!" I heard Elder's voice cry and I entered his tower. He was assembling some strange contraption that looked like a large telescope, one end pointing to the empty black sky past the ruined roof of his tower, the other end pointing to a small podium – presumably where I would stand.

"You sure this will work? I'm having slight doubts."

"Of course it will, my dear. Records from hundreds of years ago prove it. Three men who died in a storm on a ship were reincarnated five years later, when the planets aligned. If three men can do it at once, so can you." I pulled out my father's pocket watch to check the time.

"When precisely will it happen?" I asked the Elder.

"At exactly nine o clock. Not a minute early, not a minute late." Checking the watch, my dead heart almost skipped a beat with excitement as I realised:

"Only six minutes to go."

I stood on the podium, suitcase in hand, adrenaline pumping through my dead veins. Elder Gutknecht was standing at his place on his podium, checking the last minute details, mumbling to himself.

"Everything OK?" I called out.

"Perfectly alright, my dear. Only two minutes now. Are you ready?" I looked at him with such excitement that I didn't need to speak to give him an answer.

"60 seconds" he called out.

"So, what do I do? Do I just keep still?" I called out as the clock started ticking.

"Close your eyes and count to five, when they open you'll be alive."

And with 30 seconds remaining, I shut my eyes.

"Tell me when to count to five!"

The last thing I heard was Elder Gutknecht shouting a countdown, before I could feel a warm glowing presence in front of me, like a cloud of sun hovering in front of my face. I dared to open my eyes, but I promised myself that I wouldn't open my eyes until I was sure I was alive.

1…the warmth got hot, hot and hotter by the second. I could feel this warmth on my skin…wait, I could feel it?

2…I felt something move inside me, like my…my organs were restoring themselves.

3…I could feel breath in my lungs. Proper breath. Air that I could taste on my tongue with such a delight.

4…I felt my hair rushing in a strong wind, my dress billowing in the wind, starting to feel a cool breeze on my arms and my legs.

5…A bitter cold air on my cheeks. Cold air? When I had just been warmer than ever in my life. So I opened my eyes. And smiled.

I had a heartbeat, and I was home.