“I can’t see anyone!” Kira held Ori’s hand tightly, their fingers intertwined, both refusing to move an inch, frozen to their position, under the lamp, ten feet away from their car. “She is looking out to the other side, she is wearing a red dress and her hair is all chunky… looks like… huh… dry blood… Oh Dio! Aiutaci per favore!” Ori stepped further away, taking a scared and confused Kira with him.
The lady slowly turned around, her neck bruised and lopsided, hair in clumps knotted with dried blood around the large wounds on the misshapen head. As she turned around and looked sightlessly towards the trembling couple, Ori’s blood ran ice cold. There were only dark sockets, as if the eyes had rotten away and the face was badly battered, thin dry lips were covered with blood. She had no expression, like she didn’t know where she was and had stumbled into someone else’s car. Ori suddenly realised with absolute dread that she wasn’t wearing a red dress, she was wearing a white dress which was soaked in blood… she was a bride.