Cinderella's Blood Slipper

The tragic deaths of the previous three lives were seared into my very marrow like a brand. In the first life, the eldest one of three of us, Yvonne Lynn, clad in the blood-red wedding dress, was pushed from the Guthrie Manor's top floor, her brains splattered upon the bluestone pavement. In the second life, the second eldest, Nina Flores, donned the identical wedding dress and at the wedding banquet drank poisoned wine, bleeding from all orifices until death. Then came the third life. It was me — Quinn Sullivan. I was burned alive in the bridal chamber; the searing pain of the flames consuming my skin still wakes me in the dead of night. At dawn of the fourth life, just as the morning light filtered through the windowpanes, Mr. Duke, the Guthrie family's butler, entered carrying a gift box. The moment the rosewood gift box was opened, the glaring red light blinded me, making it impossible to keep my eyes open. The cloud brocade wedding dress, worth billions, embroidered with golden entwined lotus patterns, was exactly the same as the fatal wedding dresses of the previous three lives. "Miss Sullivan, Miss Lynn, Miss Flores," Mr. Duke's voice was icy and unwavering, "Mr. Guthrie has decided to choose one among you to wed." Yvonne took a sharp step back, her face as pale as death: "No way! Anyone but me!" Nina clenched the hem of the dress, her voice trembling: "You all know the fate of the previous three lives; to marry him is to invite death!" I stared at that wedding dress, my fingertips growing ice-cold. In the previous three lives, we all tried to escape, yet ultimately, we could not evade the fate of death. "Mr. Duke," I forced myself to speak through the fear, "on what grounds does Mr. Guthrie believe that his beloved is among us?" Mr. Duke sneered coldly, "Mr. Guthrie says his beloved would recognize this wedding dress." "I do not recognize it!" Yvonne howled, "I have never seen this wretched dress before!" Nina hastily nodded in agreement, "I haven't seen it either! There must be some mistake!" Mr. Duke pulled a document from his pocket and tossed it onto the table: "If you refuse, the Guthrie family will ensure your families are bankrupt within three days." "You can't be so unreasonable!" Nina trembled with fury. "The Guthrie family has never needed a reason for what it does." Mr. Duke suppressed his smile. "In three days, Mr. Guthrie will come to confirm the bride's choice. You're on your own." After Mr. Duke left, Yvonne sank into the chair, tears streaming down her cheeks: "What are we to do? Are we doomed to repeat the same tragedy?" Nina clutched her head and wept uncontrollably: "I don't want to die; I truly don't want to die." I caressed the cloud brocade fabric of the wedding dress, the terror and bitterness of the previous three lives rising in my heart. This is not a simple wedding; it is a doomed cycle of death. And this wedding dress is the death sentence stitched upon us.