Page 25 of Buried in Blood
They disperse like shadows at dawn.
I walk to the altar. Her body is just a shape now. A pile of charred ruin. Her jaw is fused shut. Her ribs cracked open like burnt sticks.
Still, I lean down and whisper, “You never mattered. But now? Now you’re useful.”
I spit on what’s left of her and turn away.
I have more important things to do than stand around and mourn the dead. She wasn’t worth mourning, anyway. No one is.
13
Harmony
Sunday, 10:42 P.M.
The fire’s still burning.
I can smell her. Not her perfume. Not her shampoo. Just… her. Her skin. Her hair. The blood. The fear.
At one point, I thought I heard her scream my name. That’s the part I can’t stop hearing. Not “please.” Not “help me.” Just my name. As if she thought I’d save her.
But I was the one who chose her.
The flames cast a warm glow on the trees, but I’m freezing. My teeth chatter, but I’m not shivering. I don’t even think I’m really here. Damien’s voice rings in my ears, “Pick one. Or I’ll pick two.”
And I believed him.
Because he would.
There were three of them lined up—barefoot, trembling, blindfolded. I couldn’t even see their faces. Didn’t ask their names. I just pointed to the one in the middle because she wasn’t crying.
I thought maybe it would hurt less that way.
For me, not her.
After it was over, everyone dispersed like shadows—back into the dark,back into the trees. Not a single word. No screams. No prayers.
Just me, still standing there, watching her body turn to ash.
Damien brushed his lips against my temple before he left, whispering, “You did good, my queen.”
And I wanted to vomit.
I still do.
I stumble into the bathroom. I don’t even remember getting back to the house. My fingers shake as I turn on the faucet. I scrub my hands, even though I never touched her.
Blood gets under your skin anyway. I scrub until the skin turns raw, then I stare at myself in the mirror. My face is blank. But my eyes? They look like hers.
I can’t remember the last time I looked at myself and saw someone human.
Damien says I’m his queen.
But I think I’m just another girl he’s set on fire—I’m just still breathing.
I drop to the bathroom floor and pull my knees to my chest.
The tile is cold, grounding. I need it. I need something.
