My Ghost Soulmate

Within the fitting room of an upscale clothing boutique, I stood alongside Christian as he deliberated over outfit choices for me. Today, his attention was focused on selecting a dress. The dress I was presently trying on was a delicate shade of pink adorned with innumerable sequins and feathers cascading from its skirt. The price tag proclaimed a staggering sum of forty-six thousand dollars, but given the importance of the upcoming event, the cost was of no consequence.

Drawing back the curtain, I stepped out into the spacious store—a realm of opulence I had seldom encountered. Sunlight poured in from a skylight, illuminating the array of mirrors that enveloped me, granting me a comprehensive view of how I looked in the dress.

With a composed gait, Christian entered the room, carrying a white gown that could only be described as a wedding dress. For once, his countenance was stripped of any facade. His sharply pointed nose seemed emblematic of accumulated falsehoods, and his blond hair was styled in a spiky manner, reminiscent of Rogan's signature look. Sporting his characteristic nonchalant smile, he extended the dress to me, prompting me to try it on.

Accepting the gown from him, I found myself smiling involuntarily. "Are you really suggesting I try this on?" I inquired, my fingers tracing the elegant folds of the fabric. "Is this your way of proposing?"

His smirk emerged, daring me to defy convention. "I'm merely suggesting you give it a try," he replied, taking a step back and leaning against the doorway.

Turning away from him, I was about to retreat behind the curtain when his voice halted me in my tracks.

"No need to hide," he asserted.

"Pardon me?" I responded, perplexed.

"I said, there's no need to hide," he repeated, his gaze both patient and inquisitive, as though challenging my boundaries.

"I'd rather not be seen by the store attendants," I smoothly replied.

"Don't fret about them," he assured. "They've seen countless individuals without their garments. They're dressmakers, after all. Besides, they're engrossed in their tasks, unlikely to venture in here. We're alone. You can disrobe."

Though disconcerted, I was disinclined to back down. I desired to marry him—it was a declaration I had made sincerely. Averting my gaze, I discreetly undid the concealed zipper along the side of the pink gown, allowing it to cascade to the ground. Standing there in my bra and panties, I reached for the wedding dress.

Christian's smile bore an unfamiliar quality—a demeanor that I had never before witnessed.

What did that smile signify? It differed from the expression he wore when he provoked me to surpass my limitations or when we bade each other farewell. What emotions did that countenance encapsulate? Could it be pride?

My hands instinctively went to my chest, yet I perceived nothing as I attempted to slip my fingers between my ribs, seeking his heart within me—a heart akin to a captive star pulsating behind the bars of my ribcage.

A wave of panic surged, clouding my judgment. Christian's enigmatic grin intensified, an expression previously uncharted in my experience.

What intentions lay concealed behind that smile? It was not the same as the one he donned while urging me to transcend my confines. Nor was it akin to the smile he wore when bidding adieu. What did this expression entail? Could it signify a sense of accomplishment?

My hands reached for the expanse above my breasts, yet my fingertips encountered nothing but the hollow cavity where skin once resided—a sight of my bared ribcage enclosing a heart that throbbed, reminiscent of captive yearning.

At this juncture, my reverie transitioned beyond the realm of plausibility, yielding to the onset of wakefulness. The vivid imagery receded, replaced by the enveloping darkness. My surroundings became familiar—the chair positioned here, the bed oriented in this direction, and patches of soft light filtering through identifiable sources.

I found myself atop Tombstone Mountain within the castle designated to test the endurance of immortals. Amidst the darkness, I had envisioned a scenario wherein Christian's actions deviated from his true nature. He would never have subjected me to the provocation of undressing for his amusement or insisted that his heart within me equated to possession. This dream had metamorphosed into a nightmare, an inconceivable juxtaposition to my reality.

The metallic band that shackled me remained a constant presence, although its location had shifted. No longer clasped around my ankle as upon my initial arrival, it was now puncturing the skin amidst my Achilles tendon and ankle bones. I had managed to manipulate the band through skin, veins, and tendons with the aid of the Red Forest, but bypassing bone proved insurmountable. Thus, when a bullet had pierced my skull, my body had instinctively directed it away from bone, opting for alternative trajectories.

This inability to manipulate bone engendered a predicament—I had failed to heal completely the aperture in my skull through which the bullet had entered. Though all components were in their rightful places, the bone itself remained fragmented.

The question of why bone differed in behavior from the rest of my anatomy perplexed me. My efforts to fathom this distinction consumed considerable time within the Red Forest—an ethereal expanse resembling a bridge formed from bone. From this vantage point, I perceived the entirety of the silver band, suspended over terrain marked by crimson rivulets emblematic of my bloodstream. Alas, traversing bone proved elusive, thereby rendering me unable to manipulate the bullet-created aperture in my skull.

I puzzled over the inconsistency—why did bone elude my influence while other components yielded to my command? I contemplated the prospect of deliberately fracturing my ankle to extricate the band, yet I knew that Brandon, my captor, would intercede. His intervention would result in the band materializing around my alternate ankle, and my endeavor would necessitate commencing anew. Meanwhile, the initial fractured ankle and the bullet-engendered aperture in my skull would persist, unrepaired like fragments of an unresolved narrative.

Nightfall persisted beyond the castle's walls, its pervasive darkness a testament to the North's remote latitude. Unwilling to relinquish my captivity, Christian had yet to orchestrate my rescue. Akin to the duration of my wait at the hotel, when my aim was to attract his attention by fleeing the boarding school, my current circumstances, characterized by sporadic visitors, were bereft of amusement.

Occasionally, Brandon and Pricina materialized, their ethereal presence infused with the semblance of grandeur. Pricina would conjure panes of glass within the room, expanding them until they spanned the entire space, affording her and Brandon access. At times, their entry was seamless, accomplished via doorways; in other instances, they would reconfigure stone, fabricating entrances. These blocks of stone shifted fluidly and incongruously, much like my manipulation of cellular structures within the Red Forest. Seated at ease, they would await my interaction.

The ensuing dialogue maintained a predictable pattern, revolving around the Red Forest.