The Lament of the Forgotten Bride

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the once vibrant village of Wengliu, a young woman named Ling prepared for the most significant night of her life. Her wedding to the handsome and successful businessman, Ming, was set to take place the following morning, but for now, she returned to the house of her birth, a place she had not seen in years.

The old house was a relic of the past, its walls thick with the echoes of time. Ling had always found the house to be a sanctuary, a place where her imagination could run wild. But tonight, the sanctuary seemed to hold a dark secret, one that she was not prepared to face.

As she stepped inside, the air grew heavy with the scent of ancient wood and forgotten memories. The living room, where she used to play hide and seek with her siblings, now held a quiet solemnity. She moved through the house, her heart pounding in her chest, the weight of the night’s events pressing down on her.

Ling found herself in the bedroom that was once hers, the room where she had drawn her first love letters to the boy next door. The bed, where she had spent countless nights dreaming of a future, was now adorned with a white, silk canopy, a stark contrast to the old, wooden bed frame. She had chosen this room for the wedding night, hoping to infuse the place with new life and love.

As she settled under the canopy, the silence of the room was suddenly shattered by a sound that sent a shiver down her spine. It was a whisper, faint yet clear, "Ling, you are not alone."

Startled, she sat up, her eyes wide with fear. The room was empty, save for her reflection in the mirror. But the whisper had come from somewhere, from the shadows, from the very air itself. She checked the windows, the doors, but there was no sign of anyone or anything out of place.

Determined to find the source of the whisper, Ling moved to the old wardrobe, the same one her grandmother had used to store her wedding dress. She pushed the heavy door open and peered inside, the darkness threatening to swallow her whole. But it was the whisper that drew her in, a sound that seemed to come from the depths of the wardrobe.

With trembling hands, she reached inside and pulled out a small, ornate box. It was covered in dust, but beneath the grime, she could see the intricate carvings that adorned its surface. She opened the box, and inside, she found a photograph of a bride, her wedding dress flowing behind her as she stood in the arms of her groom. The bride looked familiar, yet Ling could not place her face.

Just as she was about to examine the photograph more closely, the whisper returned, this time louder and clearer, "You must leave her behind."

Ling’s eyes darted to the mirror, and she saw a reflection that was not her own. The bride from the photograph was now standing behind her, her eyes filled with sorrow and regret. The room seemed to grow colder, and Ling felt the weight of the bride’s presence on her shoulders.

"Who are you?" Ling demanded, her voice barely a whisper herself.

The bride did not respond with words but with actions. She reached out and touched Ling’s face, and in that moment, Ling felt a surge of energy pass through her. She saw visions, not just of the bride’s wedding night, but of a love that had never been, a marriage that had ended in tragedy.

The bride had been Ming’s first wife, a woman whose love for him was as fierce as it was unrequited. She had died young, leaving behind a broken heart and a young son who never knew his mother. The photograph had been the last thing she had seen of her husband, the man who had remarried, leaving her behind in the shadows.

Ling realized then that she had been chosen to carry the bride’s story, to bear the weight of her unspoken words and the love she had lost. The whisper had been her plea, a call for Ling to leave behind the past and embrace her own future.

The next morning, as the wedding preparations commenced, Ling found herself at the altar, the bride’s story still fresh in her mind. She looked into Ming’s eyes, and there, she saw not just a man but a legacy, a past that needed to be acknowledged and moved beyond.

As they exchanged vows, Ling whispered to Ming, "I will love you, but I will also remember her, for she is a part of us, too."

The wedding was a beautiful celebration, filled with laughter and love, but it was also a bittersweet moment, a farewell to the past and a hello to the future. The Lament of the Forgotten Bride had come to an end, but its message would live on, a reminder that some stories, though hidden, are never truly forgotten.