So weird, this image of me reflected back from the mirror. Three days ago, I'd worn white. Smiled, laughed, danced. Married a sweet, caring man who loved me with all his heart and never once asked anything of me but to be my husband.
To be my life.
And I said yes. I do. Accepted all he had to offer.
Selfish. Heartless. Put him in the line of fire.
And now, I sat in the same spot, with the same dazed look on my face. Only this dress was black.
I'd felt like an angel the day of my wedding.
I understood now, I had been.
Of death.
Three nights since I first wore his wedding ring. One since he died. And tonight, I readied to send my husband to his funeral pyre.
I smelled smoke on me already, but not some evil anticipation rising, no. This scent was real. I'd just been to another burning, hadn't I? Fate, the bitch, made sure Liam's funeral happened the same day they sent Mia to the stake.