Genre: Gothic Romance
Word Count: 2135
There once was a woman with sun kissed skin and dark curly hair as rich as fresh soil after rain. She was an ethereal radiance, with a smile as bright as the first snow. So much so, that the dreary town of Bramhill had become enthralled whenever she graced them with her presence. Everyone knew the woman as Hilda Bronte, an eccentric woman who followed in the footsteps of her late father, an even more eccentric aristocrat with a penchant for the dead as a mortician. The moment Hilda learned the difference between veins and arteries, and how muscles worked, she latched onto the work, finding fascination in the puzzles that people were. The town believed the business to be unbecoming of someone as radiant as she, but none could sway her.
The sparkle never left her eye as she grew up, even as the first body she prematurely prepared alone was her father’s.
He left her with a towering home, one that rested on the outskirts of town where the roads became unpaved and the shadows stretched longer as the day drew on. And he left her with aristocratic success in a business that would always have clientele. With her future and finances cemented, gentlemen dared and competed to win her hand. They would boast about their strength, their wealth, and their wits, but Hilda desired none of it. “My beloved Lucille has my heart,” she would swoon, “and I, hers.” This was curious news to everyone that heard it. HIlda rarely left her home and when she did it was always alone.
So most assumed her words were delirium, a symptom of loneliness and having such a close relationship with death. Those that were bold assumed they could be her cure.
One winter, a sudden plague spread, providing her with more clientele than suitors, but even that lasted briefly. The moment spring returned, there seemed to be a renewed fire now that they were reminded time was limited.
“What could a man ever do for me that I have not already done?” Hilda scoffed one day to Hendrick, a man so pleased with himself she was shocked that he didn’t just marry a mirror. “I take care of my house and my wife. My beloved Lucille has already taken my heart. Why should I have interest in yours?” Hendrick professed to take her far away from her home to somewhere the sun would kiss her skin even more, seemingly not hearing a word she had said.
After Hilda gave him tea, she politely told him to leave. His sourness after was of no concern to her, especially not after two weeks when he was under her knife after being discovered lifeless in his brother’s home.
He was much more pleasant when he was silent.
Then there was Edward, a man whose eyes were as warm as his smile. Had she not had a lover she was devout to, Hilda could almost imagine a pleasant evening with him. “You are kind, but I would never betray the woman I married.” And like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, Edward revealed a much more menacing side of himself when he didn’t get his way. He wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into her flesh, strip her bare to see all of her and more, but what he failed to realize was that Hilda could do the same. He stalked closer but before he could lay a hand on her, lightning flashed, every candle was extinguished by a nonexistent breeze, and suddenly he was choking. The lights returned of their own volition and Edward laid sunken on the floor with his hands clutching his neck, eyes wide and helpless. Hilda crouched beside him with a smile white as bone and just as chilling. “I will make sure every part of you is used proper, as you would use me.”
Edward’s family looked for him for three tireless months before declaring him dead. Hilda sent them a bouquet of black roses.
There was Astrid and Finnian, Arthur and Wilkin, and others who were more names than memorable faces. All of them were politely turned down with an insistence that she was married and there was no one that could compare to her darling Lucille. “Our hearts are intertwined and I would do everything for her.”
With rumors of Hilda’s health spreading like wildfires, it was Cassian who was brave enough to investigate. Hilda was steadfast. “Lucille is far too perfect for you to have missed her. She is always with me.” This only agitated Cassian more to the point of so boldly storming through her home to look around every corner to find the woman Hilda was so obsessed with. He overturned tables and desks, opened cabinets and closets, making a mess of Hilda’s home like a storm through the night. “I must insist that you leave her to rest and that you stop terrorizing my home.” The man ignored her request, unaware that Hilda’s sharp, ink black eyes had been roaming around the house as if watching something follow them in the shadows. The house creaked and groaned in agitation, so she went silent and followed him until they found themselves in her room, a sanctuary of wine reds, golds, and browns. It was empty. Hilda expected as much, but didn’t offer an explanation as Cassian yelled in frustration about her wild lies. Hilda remained unphased, looking beyond him towards the shifting shadows.
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There once was a woman with terracotta skin and a waterfall of night black hair. She was cold and imposing with eyes sharp as a blade. She offered little in the way of words, but the air she carried herself with was tense and suffocating. Those that didn’t run from her found themselves frozen under her icy gaze. And when some began to mysteriously disappear when they were so close to her home, Bramhill used that as enough of an excuse to call her a witch and burn her at the stake alongside the house she lived in too.
That story was told many different ways throughout many different generations until it and they were buried to time leaving no one to remember what was.
And then the woman remembered waking up. She clawed her way through stone and bones, dragging her body like a tangled marionette until she realized she was in the basement of her home - or what was left of it that wasn’t replaced with sharp tools, cold tables, and corpses that were sewn shut or hollowed out. Her house smelled of death and decay in ways both familiar and unfamiliar. It lured her deeper into what she thought was her home, though much warmer than she remembered, until she found the new owner dusting off a tea set she had once upon a time ago.
The woman she laid eyes on did not scream, nor did she run. Instead, the woman, as bright and radiant as the sun, looked at her mangled body held together by rotted flesh, bones, and sinews, and showed nothing but utter delight. This woman, who knew nothing of who or what Lucille was, looked at her with a warmth that she had not known in life or in death. This woman looked at her decayed body as if she was the most beautiful thing in the world.
And Lucille believed her.
She allowed Hilda to weave her back together, latching onto the love in her eyes as she purred compliments into her freshly sewn ears. Lucille was her doll just as much as she was her experiment and in less than a month of knowing her, she decided she would do everything to keep Hilda’s warmth safe.
One winter, she snaked through Bramhill dragging death behind her as a warning to the town. Seeing Hilda at peace when they left her alone and giddy about the bodies she had to prepare made Lucille’s chest thrum.
“My heart,” Hilda called her once, and it was then that Lucille realized she didn’t have one. Hilda knew this, but what fascinated her was that Lucille wanted one. Something almost primal in her desired one so deeply, she plucked the stitching from her chest to bury a hand deep inside of her to search for it. Like any good wife, Hilda gave that to her.
It started with Hendrick. His unexpected death gave her room to pull him apart with expert care. She stashed his organs, cleaned his heart, and left him hollow on her table. But his heart didn’t affix to Lucille. Her body rejected it and the decay spread to latch onto what was fresh. But as blood and muscle dripped and poured into her, something stirred so deeply in Lucille it caused her to lurch. Suddenly her strings were pulled taught, eyes glassy, and gray veins prominent. She devoured the heart whole, ravenously, with mouth unhinged and eyes ghostly white leaving blood painting her hands and mouth.
It was the first time Lucille saw Hilda’s smile fall because of her and she was suddenly very aware of how cold she was.
“Oh my beloved, I could never be afraid,” Hilda cooed as she coaxed Lucille from hiding away in shame. “It just pains me to know that you needed so much more and I wasn’t aware. That will be fixed.”
Edward had a shriveled heart, Hilda told her. Because he had no use for it, she didn’t think it would be fulfilling, but Lucille found that it tasted even sweeter knowing that Edward could never try to take Hilda’s warmth again. Still, she consumed these bloody meals in private, still too afraid to lose that warmth because of herself. Though Hilda insisted it was fine, she respected that wish and Lucille could feel that love wrap around her like a blanket.
To keep up appearances, Lucille couldn’t let greed overtake her. She allowed suitors to come and go without harm, even in her disdain. Most became dissuaded by how the house shook and groaned, or how the shadows felt looming like they could snatch them at any moment. Though others couldn’t see Lucille, Hilda always knew she was there. Lucille made sure Hilda was never surprised by her presence.
So as Cassian turned to Hilda, pinning her against the canopy bed’s support, Lucille felt a sense of pride to know that Hilda showed no fear. Hilda’s eyes remained on Lucille as she stalked out of the shadows, the sparkle in her eye cemented as Lucille’s smile stretched just a bit too wide and her grey veins became more prominent across her body. Cassian didn’t turn around until he heard the snap of bone. He let go of one of her hands and Hilda politely closed her eyes, only hearing a gasp before Cassian’s body thumped against the ground.
Hilda’s eyes remained closed until she felt a softer touch against her neck, then her shoulders, and then against her cheek. Her smile grew and Lucille basked in it. This woman, with sun kissed skin and a smile rivaling the sun, could consume her whole. She would gladly rip herself apart so Hilda could put her back together over and over again. All Lucille knew and wanted was Hilda, and she would make sure no soul could come between them. “I apologize for waking you, beloved.” Hilda’s eyes fluttered open to look up at Lucille with nothing but love. Lucille’s eyes remained soft and wanting. “Had I known he’d be so insistent, I would have at least sent him into the basement.” Hilda slipped one of her hands in Lucille’s, her laugh as gentle as the rain. “Would you like anything of his? I’ll need to strip him apart well so no one has reason to be suspicious.” Her free hand touched the stitching around Lucille’s neck. “Perhaps we will replace your pharynges and see if we can get you speaking. It pains me that I haven’t been able to hear how lovely your voice could be.” Lucille nuzzled into Hilda’s hand. “I simply want what’s best for my heart. You deserve everything I can give.”
Lucille only wanted Hilda and when she placed a hand over Hilda’s heart, Hilda held her face with gentleness. “You have me. And you will have all of me.” Lucille could see past Hilda’s innocent looks, deep into her inky black eyes, where passion, desire, and greed flickered like candles. Lucille knew that having all of Hilda meant that death would not do the part. One day far in the future, when the sun was eclipsed by the moon, Lucille would feel that beautiful heart nestled in her own chest. But until then, Lucille would settle for every touch, every smile, and every moment under the warmth of her sun.
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