1049: Story 1049: Bride of the Bone King 1049: Story 1049: Bride of the Bone King The winds that wound through the grave forests of Drelmere carried only one name on their breath: The Bone King.
No one dared speak it aloud, for his court of skeletal horrors was said to slumber beneath the earth, waiting for the time of the Binding Moon, when he would awaken and take a bride from the land of the living.
And that time… had come.
Marla, daughter of the gravekeeper, never believed the tales.
Her father told her the stories to keep her from wandering beyond the ironwood fence.
But curiosity, like death, does not care for walls.
On the eve of the Binding Moon, Marla followed the song she’d heard in her dreams—a symphony of rattling bones, wailing violins, and soft whispers promising she was destined for more.
She crossed the fence.
In the heart of the forest, where the trees bled sap the color of ash, she found a crumbled cathedral made entirely of femurs, rib cages, and cracked skulls.
There, cloaked in robes of marrow and mist, stood twelve skeletal brides, forever locked in a dance, teeth clicking in mournful rhythm.
They parted when Marla stepped forward, revealing a throne built from the spines of kings.
And seated upon it…
The Bone King.
Tall as despair.
Crown of antlers carved from pelvises.
Eyes like hollow suns.
His jaw creaked open not with sound—but invitation.
“You were made from dust,” he said without moving.
“But your soul was carved from my ribs.
Come, daughter of the grave.
Wear the veil of eternity.”
Marla trembled, but a strange calm settled over her.
In her hands bloomed a bouquet of thorned femurs.
At her feet, her dress formed of spider silk and grave moss.
She was no longer of the world she left behind.
With a single step, she took his hand.
Their dance began, echoing through dimensions.
Every spin reversed time.
Every twirl cracked the sky.
With each step, another bride faded into dust, their essence fed to the veil Marla now wore—growing longer, heavier, eternal.
She was not simply a bride.
She was the last bride.
The chosen.
The one who would birth new death.
In the living world, the forests shriveled.
In towns nearby, every mirror shattered at midnight.
Children were born with teeth already yellowed and eyes fogged over.
Priests clawed at their faces, screaming of a pale queen with marrow for blood and a laugh like a thousand cracking knuckles.
And beneath the bones of the earth, the Bone King and Marla danced.
Forever.
Each step burying the world deeper into the dirt.
Each kiss sealing another coffin.