Page 5 of Beneath Scarred Vows

Leading away from the pole to a box just up ahead is a trail of liquid that's hungry for fire.

I watch Katerina closely, waiting for horror, for disgust, for her to turn and run.

Instead, she looks at me and asks, "What the hell is this?"

"A bride is supposed to unwrap surprises on her wedding day," I say and continue walking to the box in front of us. "Mine comes tied to a post, drenched in gasoline."

I approach the box and pick up the lighter that's set on top of it.

She doesn't say anything. She just stands still.

"Come over here," I call to her, but she doesn't move.

"Katerina. Come over here."

Nothing.

I walk over, grab her wrist, and pull her back to the exact spot I picked out for us to stand.

"Now, you should watch. I thought you'd want to see justice."

I flick the lighter open, and the small flame glows in front of me. I glance at the tied-up man, at her, and then I toss the lighter.

It spins through the air before it lands in the gasoline-soaked path leading to the wooden post.

A flame erupts instantly. It races along the trail like a living thing, devouring the ground between us and him. The fire roars as it reaches the post, climbing up the man's legs.

He starts to scream.

Not just any scream—a sound that tears through the countryside, primal and raw. His body jerks against the ropes binding him to the post, the sudden surge of adrenaline giving him strength he didn't have moments ago. His eyes bulge, fixed on Katerina in desperate, wordless pleading.

The flames consume his pants first, then crawl higher. His screaming intensifies, becoming something inhuman. I've heard men die before, heard them beg and plead, but this—this is something else. This is thirteen years of living after what he'd done suddenly coming to an end.

The faint scent of burning flesh starts to fill the air, the gasoline fumes disappearing. Black smoke billows upward, the sacrifice's offering to the heavens.

I don't look at the man anymore. I watch my bride.

"Look at him," I say, not bothering to raise my voice over the screams.

She remains steady. Her breathing doesn't quicken; her chest rises and falls in the same rhythm it has since we arrived. The breeze stirs loose strands of her hair, but she doesn't move to brush them away. She simply stands, watching.

She doesn't move. Not even when the screams reach their peak and begin to gurgle as the flames reach his throat.

Something shifts in me. A recalculation.

Even more than the wedding, this isn't the reaction I expected. The quiet, submissive bride I was promised is nowhere to be found. Instead, I've been given something else entirely.

I step closer to her, studying her profile as it's illuminated by the dancing flames. "Is this how you pictured it?" I ask, genuinely curious.

She doesn't answer immediately. The flames grow higher, the screams weaker. Finally, she speaks, her voice soft but steady.

"You think this was something for me."

It's not a question.

"Wasn't it?" I reply.

Katerina turns to me, and for the first time since I met her, I see something real in her eyes.