The doctor passed judgment: my wife has only a few days left. Have you already picked out the wedding dress, Leonora? We’ll hold the engagement right after the funeral.
They rehearsed my death while I was still alive. My husband kissed his future bride openly at my bedside. The servants carried lilies into the house—“so everyone believes in his mourning.” And the very next day he announced the engagement.
But I didn’t die. I came to in the family crypt—and the gift for which you pay in pain returned with my breath: I can stitch the severed thread of life… giving up part of myself in the process.
Now he insists that I am his True One. Funny. True Ones aren’t left to die alone while her husband discusses the style of another woman’s dress. He wants to take me back: he kisses the neck where the golden mark burns, whispers that without me he can’t even breathe.
But I remember everything: his indifferent words, his gaze past me, the kisses he gave to Leonora. And if he decided my gift would make me obedient—he miscalculated. I won’t forgive.
What will he do to win my love again? And who, in truth, is my mysterious bodyguard?