Alabaster angels face the open gates of Luctus Cathedral, smiling figures dressed in white chattering of family stories and anticipating the taste of red wine. The pointed steeples touch the chilling fog brought in by the salty air of the ocean, the bright light from the sun filtering through the parted clouds behind the church in an ethereal blessing to wedded couple.

“On my way here, I saw three white doves,” a portly elderly woman veiled with lace and pearls announces to her company, as she enters the interior of the church and kneels on the polished flooring before taking one of the front pews. Her husband sits quietly beside her, ushering in two young girls with white feathers in their hair. “There he is girls, your cousin is finally getting married!” The man laughs coarsely, crow’s feet by his eyes complimenting the dimples of his smile. His hand slaps the back of his wife a bit too roughly, and she shoots him a glare that has him straightening his posture and holding his hands in his lap.

“Doves?” A tall man with long black hair takes a seat beside the older woman. “Doves are a sign of love and peace. A sure sign from God that Johnny and Skyla will be enjoying their union for many years. I never thought I would see my brother married, but it should come to no surprise that it’s her. She changed him.”

The children glance at each other rolling their eyes at sentimentality, but their eyes sparkle with awe in the magic of spiritual signs and supersitition. At the mention of the bride, the grand doors open once more to frame a woman with a billowing veil and silk dress that trails elegantly behind her with every slow step. The two girls leave the front pew and throw white feathers across the aisle along with three girls that sat opposite, a few feathers still floating as the bride approaches the dais where a nervous looking groom adjusts the hem of his well-tailored suit. Stationed in the balcony above the entrance; the organist begins his tune. The organ pipes drown out the noise of a the passing murder of cawing crows that sweep over the entrance and settle on the ornate iron steeples of the church. The crescendo of the regal timbre matches the heartbeat of the man standing at the altar, his hands clasped together in anticipation. “Crows,” The veiled bride whispers lowly as the priest opens his arms to the seated guests, his booming voice speaking of their union in this life and the next. The groom’s nerves seem to settle as he smiles back toothily. “Crows.” He combs a gloved hand through a lock of her black hair, falling down her shoulder as he let’s it pass through his fingers. “A good sign, I am sure of it.” He steps back and straightens his posture as the priest finishes his speech, the vows just as beautiful as the pictured glass panes and divine patterns etches into the walls of the cathedral, and the kiss though brief a heavy symbol of unity that causes the guests to caw and clap in celebration.

This spirit carries on the after party, children and grandparents stay the first hour or two, and by the first hour of day in the blackest of the night only the must drunken revelers stay and dance. Their families have departed and now strangers have replaced them, something normal in the coastal town of Luctus. Everybody is family when there is a potluck, wedding, or even funeral. The rented ballroom is filled with the sound of strings and piano, the casual attire of passerby joining in the dance a contrast to the opulence of the space and luxurious banquet. Chandeliers cause rainbow fractals and candlit shadows show twirling partners laughing and dining without a care. The bride has taken off her veil, taking her gloved hand in her lover’s guide as they share a final dance, their feet wary from the night. They are hungry, and they have not touched any of the food. Not yet. “Her hair as dark as charcoal, and skin porcelain white, she takes a hold of the candles, blowing out the light,” her lover whispers as he spins her into his arms. “I’m hungry too. So much food, and I don’t know which to choose.”

They approach the banquet table, squeezing past the line to shut the lights, the bride blowing softly as one by one the table candles die, and the groom aiming his head high blows out the chandelier candles, blanketing the room in shadow that immediately starts to dissolve into chatter, some tripping, some murmur and laugh, and some stand in confusion. The noise sharpens into a blade with a scream, one after another as the couples feast. The groom groans in annoyance as the man he bit gets blood on his pants, brushing it off before letting the body hit the floor with a thud. The bride sinks her fangs into a man behind them, the wine glass shattering on the ground as she licks her reddened lips. Guests run for the door, the musicians abandoning their stations, a drunken woman pushing the bodies in front of her to the side as she blindly runs to the dim light of the closed door. It’s locked. The crows outside circle the coast, their caws drowning out the screams of the revelers as the wedded couple enjoys their feast. They drank the cup of life, and they spill the blood of death, creatures of the night feasting until the eternal rest.