Member-only story
Death Takes a Bride
Fantasy
Mala should have known what all the rites meant. The runes wound around her wrists like bracelets, all the protections in the world for what they called the killing tide. It was supposed to strike only the frailest of women, and the elders made sure she had taken her cups of herb concoctions in the event that something happened on the day of her ceremony. She hadn’t glimpsed her soon-to-be husband yet, though they had spoken on either side of a curtain to share their first words to each other, and through the gap he had grasped her hands in a firm yet gentle grip. Just that one touch had been enough to make a spark light in her heart.
The morning of the ceremony, the elders painted her face and wrapped her up in seven layers, each one having a special meaning in their small village. The first innermost layer was yellow like the rising sun — a reminder of the beauty of a new beginning. The second, third, and fourth layers ran from deep purple to burgundy to a pale shade of crimson — the colors of the three goddesses who were said to be incarnations of the the crone, the mother, and the maiden. The fifth layer was midnight blue for the Sky Mother while the sixth layer was dirt brown for the Earth Mother. And then the last, white, was the layer of innocence, the first that would be stripped away when her new husband undressed her before they shared their marriage bed for…
