Stale, nippy air drifted through the jazzy Ball and Socket Pub, chilling all those with a beating heart. Fortunately, only one soul had to bear it: Guest, the new arrival. A reasonable crowd of cadavers and skeletons gathered around them conversing with one another in utter fascination. After all, Guest wasn't exactly dead.

Yet, could the undead groom be blamed? Stuck, frozen in the lonely woods for years, made him more than eager to meet his spouse-to-be. Certainly, Guest must have been eager too, because they did not waste a second to propose. Their vows to him, perfectly spoken, were exactly as follows: “With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine”

Honestly, Émile would happily freeze under that old oak tree again, so he would be able to hear it a second time; so he could feel Guest set the golden ring set snuggly on his boney digit once more; so he would be allowed to return to the sensation their soft lips warming his mouth, kissing under the serene moonlight. Meeting his love for the first time was a dream come true.