Emilia
The morning is thick with tension, the air heavy as I shuffle through the hallway, feeling like an unwanted ghost. Today is Lillian's wedding day, a day that's been planned to perfection for months. Every detail has been scrutinized, every arrangement carefully crafted to make this the grandest wedding our family has ever hosted. Yet as I step into the main hall, there's a strange, chaotic energy in the air—a buzz that's more tense than celebratory.
Servants rush by, their faces drawn with worry, and the sound of hurried footsteps echoes around the hall. My heart pounds as I clutch the blue dress I'd chosen for the occasion, unsure of what to make of the unusual flurry.
I catch a glimpse of my stepmother's back as she paces near the stairs, her shoulders rigid and her expression sharp. "Find her!" she hisses to the servants around her. "Check every room, every corner. She can't have gone far."
A chill grips me as her words sink in.
Lillian is missing.
As if on cue, my stepmother's gaze snaps to me, her eyes narrowing with an intensity that makes my stomach twist. "Emilia!" she snaps, her voice sharp and unforgiving. "What are you standing there for? Have you seen your sister this morning?"
I shake my head quickly, too stunned to find my voice. "N-no, I haven't…"
"Useless, just like your mother," she mutters, turning back to the servants. "Well, what are you waiting for? Keep looking! We have guests arriving in less than an hour, and the bride is nowhere to be found!"
Her words leave me cold. I'd spent years trying to ignore my stepmother's barbed comments, but today, each insult seems to cut deeper, as if there's something far more fragile at stake.
And then, as if the air itself shifts, a small scrap of paper flutters to the floor, catching my eye. I bend down and pick it up, realizing it's a note hastily scrawled in Lillian's elegant but hurried handwriting.
"I refuse to marry a crippled monster. I won't be a prisoner in my own life. Don't try to find me."
The words strike like a slap, each one leaving a deeper impression in my mind. I read the note again, barely able to process what I'm seeing. Lillian—the family's golden daughter, the flawless beauty everyone adored—has run away.
My stepmother snatches the note from my hands before I can even think to react. Her eyes scan the paper, her face contorting with fury as she crushes the note in her fist.
"How dare she," she spits, her voice barely more than a venomous whisper. "After everything we've done for her, she has the audacity to—"
Her eyes land on me, and for a moment, something dark and calculating flickers across her face. I take a step back instinctively, but she grabs my arm, her grip unyielding.
"You," she says, her voice colder than I've ever heard it. "You're the same age. You fit the dress. You'll take her place."
The room tilts slightly, and I stare at her, stunned. "What? I… I can't—"
"You will," she interrupts, her tone final. "It's either that or ruin this family's name. Do you have any idea what that would mean? The guests, the marriage contract, the alliance—"
"But I'm not… I'm not prepared," I stammer, struggling to catch my breath. "I'm not Lillian. No one would believe—"
She shakes me, her nails digging into my arm. "You think anyone will care? The guests will see a bride in a dress, not some disappointment of a girl pretending to be something she's not. You will do as I say."
The blood drains from my face, and I feel trapped, as if I'm caught in a net tightening around me. My entire life has been spent as a shadow, invisible and ignored. Now, in a cruel twist of fate, they're asking me to stand in the spotlight—but only as a replacement, a stand-in for the daughter they truly wanted.
"But… what about the groom?" I whisper, barely able to get the words out. "Doesn't he have a right to know?"
My stepmother's lips curl in disdain. "He's crippled and monstrous, Emilia. He'll be lucky to have a wife at all, even if she's not the one he was promised. Besides, once you're married, it'll be his problem, not ours."
Her words sink into me, a heavy, sick feeling settling in my stomach. She doesn't care about me, about what this means for my life. All she cares about is saving face, about avoiding the disgrace of a canceled wedding.
I glance back toward the servants bustling around the hall, the fine linens and decorations, the grand chandeliers casting shimmering light across the room. This is a day that was supposed to define Lillian's life, a day they'd prepared for so carefully. But for me, it feels more like a prison sentence.
She shoves the crumpled note into my hands. "Now go. Get changed. We don't have time to waste."
I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest as I turn toward the stairs, clutching the note so tightly that my knuckles turn white. My mind races with questions, with fears that I can barely begin to articulate.
Lillian's words echo in my mind: I refuse to marry a crippled monster.
What kind of life am I stepping into? What sort of man will I be bound to, all because my family has deemed me disposable?
My steps falter as I reach my room, the weight of the dress and the ring that await me pressing down on my chest like a stone. I catch my reflection in the small mirror by my bed, and for a moment, I barely recognize the girl staring back at me. I look scared, uncertain, a world away from the confident, beautiful bride they expected.
But there's no one else. No one who will stand up for me, no one who will step in and take my place. This is the life I've been handed, a role I never wanted but can't escape.
A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn to find one of the servants holding a gown—a gown of pure white satin, embroidered with silver threads and delicate lace. The wedding dress, Lillian's wedding dress, the one she'd spent hours designing and perfecting.
I look down at the dress, feeling a strange sense of detachment. This isn't mine. This was never supposed to be mine. But as I take the gown and step into it, the silk sliding over my skin, a part of me realizes that I'm losing myself, that whatever identity I once clung to is slipping away.
The servant fastens the delicate buttons at the back, adjusting the veil over my shoulders, her hands gentle but mechanical, as if I'm just another task on her long list of duties. I feel a prick of tears, but I blink them back, refusing to let them see me break.
When the preparations are done, I stand in the mirror, transformed but hollow. I am a bride, yet I feel like a stranger, an imposter in a story that was never mine to begin with.
Taking a deep breath, I smooth down the front of the gown, feeling the weight of the lace and satin as if it's pressing down on my very soul.
And as I turn toward the door, the reality of my situation settles over me like a heavy shroud. I am stepping into a marriage built on lies, a union made from deceit and manipulation. My family has cast me into the shadows once again, this time as a ghost bride, bound to a man I've never met and a life I never chose.
With one last look in the mirror, I square my shoulders, forcing myself to breathe. I have no choice but to go forward, to face the unknown. And as I make my way down the grand staircase, I can't shake the feeling that, with each step, I'm walking further away from the life I once knew.
But what lies ahead? I have no idea.