Based on the WattpadCreepypasta prompt: Jan 2022 | Scare of Red
Prompt: The new year was near. Roads covered with red lanterns, auspicious signs in abundance and a selection around the corner; the bride selection of the village chief's dead son. Is it really a pride to be selected?

Image: dreamstime.com

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Miora awoke up to the din outside.

The streets were festooned with lanterns and confetti. The atmosphere was nothing short of a festival. Today was the day of the bridal selection. The village head family would choose the future wife of their sole heir.

The rank brought with it all that a bride's family could ask for - money, prestige, power. Only if one ignored the minor inconvenience that the groom was, in fact, already dead.

Marrying him would seal the new bride to vows of eternal celibacy. How else would she remain faithful to her departed husband? However, that was no obstacle to the families. Offering their daughters in exchange for so high a prize was a tiny sacrifice for most. 

A few of their daughters were willing participants to the process. These were mainly girls from impoverished families who had little chance of getting married on their own. For them, this match was an honorable settlement that would lift their families out of poverty while earning them financial independence.

For most others, girls from families better off, this was a dreaded match. They were horrified by the prospects of a barren, lonely future as a widow locked away in a mansion. They would never know marital bliss before resigning themselves to the harsh penances of widowhood.

Miora was not of either flock. She belonged to a stable middle-income family. They had neither pressing debts nor the lust for power to volunteer their only child in this unearthly match. It was she who insisted on going to the selection, much to the horror of her parents.

"You don't need to," her mother repeated.

"But it is customary for all women of marriageable age to participate."

"Yes, but there are many participants already. I'm sure, the headman will not miss a girl or two," said her father.

"Father, I must. If they find out I did not partake in the selections, they will isolate and boycott our family,"

"If they find out," he emphasized, "Fret not, I have already made arrangements with the village water-carrier. His family will vouch for you, if the question comes up,"

"We must not resort to trickery, father, it will be a hassle if I don't go. Besides, there will be more eligible women from higher families. No one will notice me. We need not lie,"

"But,"

"I will dress in the most unimpressive way. It is all for formalities,"

Her parents could not understand the reason for her insistence. In the end, they agreed to let her go if she promised to do nothing to draw attention to herself. She promised.

*****

The moment was finally here.

All prospective brides were shown to a waiting chamber in the headman's house. The girls were asked to wait and a servant called them one by one to an inner chamber. The girls that went in did not return to the waiting room. 

They all realized this was some kind of test. The girls that had taken the test were not allowed to return to the others lest they disclosed the specifics of the trials.

Miora was next in line. The servant came to her in turn and asked her to follow.

The two walked down a long corridor. Folding doors painted each side of the corridor in their intricate floral patterns. Their very fabric spoke of luxury. It would have tempted many but the girls on trial were too nervous to notice anything.

She was led to a room deep inside the house. When they reached, the servant opened the door and showed her inside.

Miora stepped into the simple bedchamber. In the middle lay an open casket. No one else was inside. She knew on instinct what or rather who lay in that casket. Nevertheless, she stepped forward.

When she saw the days old corpse, she did not flinch. She did not step back in fear or disgust as any other person would. She sat down next to it, looking sadly at the inert, young face.

After a few minutes, tears flowed into her eyes as she recalled their childhood together. Secret memories of long summer days spent together, of times when they had playfully pledged marriage, of a certain youthful spring when he had proposed to her. How did it come to this?

"Splendid," a voice broke through her meditations. It was a woman dressed in mourning robes. Miora recognized her as the groom's mother.

She came closer, "You have shown genuine emotions for my boy. You have mourned him. Truly, you are the most fitting bride for my son. Do you pledge to be with him forever?"

Miora did not hesitate, "I do."

"It is decided then," she turned and started to walk out of the room, "Everyone, make haste, we have found our bride. My child, your name?"

"I'm called Miora,"

"Miora will be the wife of my son," she declared to the servants, "Child, please wait here a moment, while we complete the arrangements and inform your parents. And you may call me mother, from now on,"

"Yes, mother," she blushed slightly at the word.

*****

The dignified woman had left the room to prepare for the upcoming ceremonies.

They were alone now. Miora her dead fiance.

"That was some act," the ghost whispered to her.

"Act?" she replied, unconcerned by the spirit's presence.

"The tears were a touch excessive, I'd say. I know I'm dead but you can still see me,"

"Oh shush, you're dead. It's sad,"

"Really?"

"Want me to leave?" she teased.

The spirit smiled, "Just checking. Say, are you sure you want to be a dead man's wife? It'll be a tad weird, especially if try to talk to me in public. And that's just one thing,"

Miora rolled her eyes.

"Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you."

It was the girl's turn to smile. The spirit floated closer to her.

"I will always love you," Miora whispered to her husband-to-be.

"Me too,"

The lovers held each other in a tender embrace.