Beware of a Jilted Bride
She stood over his corpse using her sword as a cane to keep upright as she stared down, the blood flowing around her boots, his and hers mixing indistinguishably.
She had stalked him for months. Always just a few towns behind him, following rumors and hearsay searching. As she followed her bitterness grew more and more.
When she first took off after him, she had only a small dagger and her wedding dress. Through her travels she had picked up armored shin guards, discarded body armor, two swords and various daggers. She kept having to replace those daggers. Every time she arrived at a village where he had stayed, she inquired at the local brothel. Had he been a customer there? If he had she'd ferret out his whore and dispatch her to the Great Goddess after whispering hoarsely, dagger at their throats. "He's Mine."
The blood had congealed around her feet, her wounds had clotted up and yet she still stood there, leaning on her sword, staring at his lifeless form, the bugs begging their work. Finally she sneered, let loose a hoarse laugh and spit down on him. Hoarsely, "I told you you would pay. You should have *never* left me at the alter."
With that she turned and limped away.
She had only gotten a mile or so away from him before she collapsed, dead. Nay, not from her wounds, but from lack of desire to go on. She had made a promise to herself. She would marry him or she would die.
Beware the jilted bride, they are a vengeful breed.