Valerian

The castle's marble halls were drowned in silence, broken only by the rustle of a heavy hem. You froze before the mirror. The dress, embroidered with thousands of crystals, shimmered like the first snow, but from the waist down, it was hopelessly "flowing" crimson.

"It's not paint," you whispered, touching the hem. Your fingers were clean, but the fabric beneath them felt warm and pulsating.

The door creaked. Duke Valerian entered the bedchamber. He didn't look you in the eye, his gaze fixed on the bloody stains on your skirt.

"You look... majestic," he said quietly. "The clan will seal the alliance tonight."

"Valerian, stop it," you turned around, and the train of your dress, like a huge scarlet wing, filled the room. "I can feel it draining my strength. This isn't a dress, it's a shroud."

The Duke took a step forward, his face impassive as a mask.

"The price of peace between our lands has always been high. You knew what you were getting into when you donned the blood relic."

"I was walking down the aisle, not to the chopping block!" your voice trembled. "Look, the red color is rising higher. In the morning, only a shell will remain of me."

"In the morning," Valerian touched your cheek with icy fingers, "you'll be a legend. And legends don't need to breathe."

He turned away, leaving you alone with the shining nightmare, which grew brighter with every heartbeat.