The bells rang across the city of Cardania — solemn, elegant, and final. A flock of white doves lifted from the spires as if they too, were feeling the weight of the day.
The grand cathedral double doors opened, the music swelling gently as the first notes of the bridal procession hummed through the marbled air.
Marcella stepped into the aisle, her arm looped through her father's arm. The red pendant hung heavy around her throat, a gift no bride should ever wear.
Not after what it had shown her. Not after the vision of the weeping bride who had been chained, kissed on the forehead like a blessing, then offered like a lamb.
Her fingers brushed the jewel absently, and the long-dead bride's scream curled in the back of her throat. Marcella had told no one.
Not Sister Evelyne. Not even Anthony.
The sun filtered in through the stained glass in soft, colored beams painting the floor. Incense lingered in the air, clove and myrrh, carried in waves through the chapel's vast stone halls.
