The Unholy Bride: In God's Name, I Kill

Chapter 27: The Reenactment

I walked down the aisle, holding a bouquet of white roses with their heads missing, savoring each moment as my wedding song played gently in the background. Every soft beat of the melody seemed to sync with each step I took.

I smiled bitterly to myself, my eyes lingering on the sacred relics that still clung to the walls of this abandoned church. I had walked this aisle three times—first when I married the Lord, then when I died and wed Satan, and now, for the third time, as I returned reborn to reclaim what had been stolen from me.

As I took the final steps toward the altar, I paused just in front of the man bound to a wooden chair—his hands secured behind him, his mouth sealed with a strip of masking tape. My husband's eyes burned with a glare that promised death, and it was clear he wanted nothing more than to see me gone at this very moment. He had just woken up after being knocked down earlier by the bat I struck against the back of his head, though blood still trickled down his forehead.

I gave him a faint smile before setting my bouquet of headless white roses on the table beside me. Then, I calmly walked over and peeled the tape from his mouth.

"Fuck you!" he spat as soon as he was free to speak.

I rolled my eyes. "You already did, Roman. I didn't quite like it."

He was always calm, even in the most twisted of situations. Composed, confident that he was always in control—the one with the upper hand. But now, he was utterly helpless. It was almost thrilling to watch him struggle, trying to break free from the chair that seemed like it might complain if it could talk.

I watched him flush with frustration, his face turning red, until he suddenly froze and looked at me intently. His eyes traced my body from head to toe, as if a sudden realization had hit him. I followed his gaze and couldn't help but chuckle softly when I understood why he was looking at me that way.

"Do you like it?" I asked, spinning around to show him my habit more clearly—the very one I wore when he raped me. The blood I bled and the dirt that stained it were still clinging to the fabric. "You liked these clothes so much, so I thought I'd wear them today. Isn't it romantic of me? After all, everything started here, so it only makes sense that it should end here too."

I glanced around the dark room, pausing for a moment to wait for his response as memories rushed through my mind. Every corner of this place reminded me of us—the Bible readings, the first time I held his hand in an attempt to comfort him, and the first time I saw him break down in tears while sharing the loss of his first love. But most of all, I remembered the moment I begged him to stop. Even now, I could still hear my own cries, the images of my tears replaying over and over in my mind.

"Remember what your attorney said in court?" I asked. "He said women subject themselves to sexual harassment based on the clothes they wear. I was wearing this when you raped me. So I guess my habit is too... cunty?"

Disgust made my skin crawl, earning a shiver down my spine.

"You killed my family!" Roman snapped, squirming on his seat once more.

"Your family?" I snorted. "I didn't kill your family, Roman." I paced slowly in front of him, my fingers delicately tracing shapes in the air. "Enzo killed your sister and your best friend, and YOU killed Enzo."

Halting in my pacing, my eyes lingered on the blood staining his clothes—the blood of the man I had just mentioned, a silent proof that I wasn't truly the one who killed him.

I sighed. "Don't put the blame on me. I only killed Noa. Is he your family?"

For the second time, he was caught off guard. His head dropped, his chest rising and falling quickly—the only sign that he was fighting to maintain control. On the surface, he seemed composed, but I knew his thoughts were clashing. Perhaps, in his mind, he was already killing me.