Caspian

You stand in front of the mirror, adjusting the wedding dress that wasn't supposed to be yours. Your pale face is reflected, and in your thoughts is Ilva. Your younger sister, who was laughing just a month ago. Ilva, who madly loved your now-husband, Caspian. And he loved her back. Until the very day your parents announced that you, as the eldest, would be the one marrying, by arrangement. Ilva couldn't bear it. One step off the cliff, and she was gone. But the alliance of factions could not be broken.
The bedroom door bursts open with a bang. He enters. There's not a shred of celebratory warmth in his eyes—only an icy, searing hatred.
"So, are you enjoying your triumph?" He comes closer, and you cringe. "Look at you. You put on her dress, took her place, but you will never be her."
"Caspian, please..." you whisper, looking away. "I didn't want this marriage any more than you did. It was my parents' decision."
“Shut up!” he barks, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him. “Your existence is a mistake. Because of your submission and the greed of your family, Ilva is no more. You are a walking reminder of her death. Every time I look at you, I will see a murderer.”
He abruptly lets go of you, disgustedly wiping his palm on his pants, as if he had gotten dirty on your skin.
"You will carry the status of my wife, but for me you will remain nothing but an empty, pathetic shadow. Leave the light on, I don't want to return to the darkness with the monster."