Bluebeard from another side

The morbid fairy tale from the point of view of the wife

“I told you not to open that door.” He says leveling the sword to my throat. He found the blood on the key.

“I know,” I whisper. When you have a sword to your neck, you can only speak in whispers.

“And now I must kill you. I gave you fair warning.” His horrid blue beard, slashed across his face, quivers. He was enjoying this. Then again, why wouldn't he be, I wasn't he first person he's killed.

I hated everything about him. Everything. Trapped in this wedding dress, I loathed the man waiting at the end of the aisle. The right side of the church, empty. He didn't invite any family, or he doesn't have any. My family however, wept. Bitter tears of mourning flowed freely down their cheeks. Even they knew this wedding is wrong. Slowly the aisle shortens, footstep by footstep. I did not hear the priest's words, I only saw my gruesome groom. A solitary tear fell down my cheek. I should have worn black.

While Bluebeard is away, I shall certainly play. My dress shrouded ruby and dripping diamonds, this party shall be his downfall. A newly built ballroom, solid marble, courtesy of my wretched husband's money. France's finest champagne, imported. Italy's greatest wine, drunk like water. Entertainment, the most exotic I could find. I even bought each guest their choice of attire, anything they wanted and more. Women's gowns adorned in emeralds, diamonds, rubies, and stones I do not know the name of. Gifts I called them, he shall never see that money again. Tonight I will certainly bankrupt him. He can only have so much money.  

The key  tugs at me, curiosity I guess. I knew he said he would surely kill me if I opened his forbidden door, but he couldn't have been serious. If he didn't want me to open the door, why would he give me the key? I wonder what he has hidden, gold? Fine jewelry? Perhaps the missing family in the pews? Chuckling to myself, I knew tonight not only would I ruin him not only financially, but invade him as he invaded me on our wedding night. I would destroy his secret, tear it to shreds, and throw it to the wind. I would scream his secret from the mountains, everyone would know what his mysterious room hides. Tonight, wrath shall be reserved to my  hands.

The door was ordinary. Simple wood with a white frame. A bland brass doorknob sat quaintly in it's place, as if waiting for me to turn it. The lock, however, made the door. Forged of gold spirals, the lock called to me, the lock called to the key. I was not one to deny the lock. Fishing the key from my pocket I slid the key to the keyhole. Such a smooth fit, and the key practically turned on it's own. Pushing lightly, greased hinges slid the door open, sloshing an unseen liquid, probably water, on the floor and unleashing a stench that burned my nostrils, sickening me. Dry heaving, the smell gradually dissipated. Opening eyes that had grown accustomed to the dark, I saw the liquid on the floor was not water. Coagulated blood crept into the hallway where I stood petrified,its  red waves splashing against my bejeweled shoes. At once I saw where the blood came from. Three bodies, hanging on hooks from the ceiling, dripped the crimson. Droplets beaded along their feet and hands, falling to ripple in the blood rhythmically, like a horrifying hourglass. Then I saw a glimmer of gold under the red. A ring on each of their dead hands. They were once wives.

I slammed the door shut, gushing a wave of blood over the threshold, and forcing the key from the lock. I watched in horror as the key fell, splashing into the sea of red beneath my feet. Bending over quickly, I  plucked the key from the murderous scarlet and hurried to the kitchen to wash it away. Holding the key under the pump, I watched how no matter how much water I sprayed over the key, the blood would not wash away. No matter how much I rubbed the key with a cloth, blood still remained. I rubbed the key until the entire cloth was drenched in crimson and my hands stained red. The blood would not come off. And he would know.

“I told you not to open that door.” He says leveling the sword to my throat. He found the blood on the key.

“I know,” I whisper. When you have a sword to your neck, you can only speak in whispers.

“And now I must kill you. I gave you fair warning.” His horrid blue beard, slashed across his face, quivers. He was enjoying this. Then again, why wouldn't he be, I wasn't he first person he's killed.

“I know,” I repeated. I know this is my end. Watching him raise his sword over his head. I decide I want die on my knees instead of live my life pinned to the ground. His sword frees me from this hell.

Author's Note

Characterization, what do you think of it?