So the Bride, plucked from the homeless and the destitute (because no one will miss them) was cleaned up, dressed, and fed. I assisted with the clothes but broke the rules and told her what she would be facing. As punishment, I was tasked to wait for after the wedding so I could prepare her body for the funeral.
At the wedding, things didn’t go as expected by the public. The Bride, instead of allowing the King to mount her then kill her in a public ritual meant to secure the fecundity of the kingdom, fought back. No one intervened because if the King couldn’t complete this rite then he was unworthy anyway and deserved to die.
The Bride came to me, her white dress still spotless, carrying a plastic bag. I asked her if she was okay but she didn’t answer. Her eyes were wild and teary. She handed me the bag and mumbled, ”They said you should have this. They aren’t done. I have to go finish fixing things.”
She turned and went back in the cathedral.
The bag contained the King’s head. It had been ripped off his neck. His face was more surprised than pained.
A sudden cold wind carried a message to everyone willing to hear. ”The Gods have reentered the physical world.”
Well, shit.