Fyn.
The metal concave mirror, which was erected centuries ago, has continually been used to light the ritual torch with the sun's rays in Gashea. The flickering torches served as a reminder of the women who had been chosen as the demon's bride and the sacrifices they had made. It was a constant reminder of how easily life can turn for the worst, and the struggles of those who came before him were a testament to that.
The choosing would take place in the morning, as was the custom. In the village square, the townsfolk would gather to add white baby's breath flowers to the hair of the next demon's bride, a tradition that had been passed down for generations. The bride would climb up the wooden platform to reach the metal concave mirror and light the torch. As the flame ignites, the bride raises the torch high, showcasing her courage in confronting the demon for the greater good.
As soon as night fell, the townsfolk would cover the demon's bride with a protective brown cloak. They would accompany her all the way to the edge of the forest and watch her walk the well-worn path most brides usually took as they entered the chilling woods. And once the townsfolk could no longer see her, once the dense trees and shrubs swallowed her whole, the townsfolk would return to their beds, sleep in their minds.
Fyn was no exception to the townsfolk who had lived here.
The ones who would turn their back once the bride had disappeared from his line of sight. Not once had he considered the fear that was running inside the bride's mind when she walked along the dark path, towards a future she knew she would never be alive to see.
And now, as tears streamed down Fyn's cheeks, he gritted his teeth and tried once more to escape the tight grip of the restraints on his wrists.
They had placed him inside the chief's station, and he could hear the chatter of the officers outside. Fyn had no trouble remembering the place. The room was furnished with large, square wooden pieces that matched. Varied animal furs served as the room's carpet, and the chief had papered the walls with light hues. Inside, the only source of light came from the lanterns and table lamps scattered throughout the space. At the heart of the room was a dark wooden table, which served as the chief's desk for calculating taxes and budgeting expenses.
"This is wrong!" With a voice laced with desperation, Fyn cried out in anguish. "The demon would kill me, sir! A beautiful woman is what it's after for a bride. The moment he lays eyes on me... I'd be dead in seconds. Sir, please! Show some mercy. Please."
The village chief kept his gaze fixed downward, not acknowledging Fyn's presence. He lay on the floor, feeling the cold, hard surface beneath him, and knew that the men who had kidnapped him had taken no care in placing him there. As he lay there, he realized that every part of his body was hurting, making him wonder how he ended up here.
Suddenly, Fyn's body jerked as if he had been startled. He whispered slowly, as he began to comprehend what was happening.
"You do have a list, do you not, sir?"
The village chief seemed engrossed in the paper he was reading until Fyn's words caught his attention. Fyn has his undivided attention now. Fyn could tell the village chief wasn't pleased by the way his eyes narrowed at him. The way the chief's lips curled in anger did not go unnoticed by him. The chief's face turned red and his hands crumpled the paper he held as his veins bulge.
From the beginning, there had been a list. The choosing had everyone on edge, and the townsfolk were taking extra precautions to protect their daughters and wives. To ensure fairness, they had created a comprehensive list. Fyn, who had isolated himself and lived far from the village, was still knowledgeable about this.
In addition, he was aware that the chief was a proud father of a daughter.
"Your daughter was destined to be the bride of the demon." Fyn stated matter-of-factly, leaving no room for doubt. "Sir, it is expected to be her. It makes no sense for a man to be a bride. With all the lives we've sacrificed, it's not the right time to be unjust."
Fyn felt a rush of adrenaline as he challenged the chief. The thought of being thrown to his death by the chief without a fight filled him with a fierce resolve. The closer he got to the chief's table, the more his brows furrowed, and his eyes blazed with fury.
"Let me go," He continued to demand his release, his wrists wriggling and straining against the restraints. "Sir, you cannot deny that this is unfair! Numerous women had lost their lives. I see it every day where I live. Your daughter is not exempt from the rules just because of her relationship with you. If you untie me, I would feign ignorance about everything that occurred. I swear it!!"
There, Fyn thought. That was terrifying, wasn't it?
Contrary to what he expected, the chief did not rush to untie him, but instead chuckled darkly. Fyn's body tensed up as he felt a wave of shivers travel down his back. He gulped, the panic rising in his chest as he fought against his bindings. The burning sensation in his wrist intensified, and he suspected that it was both bruised and bleeding. He pushed himself up to his knees, wincing at the sharp pain shooting up his leg.
Fyn made another attempt to reason with him.
"Please, sir. Untie me immediately, this is hardly reasonable!"
"What do you know by fair?" With a sneer, the chief crumpled up the paper he had been holding and threw it on the table. Rising to his feet, he advanced on Fyn, every step heavy with malice. Getting within reach, he crouched down and forcefully grabbed Fyn's chin, making him look directly at him. "Don't take me for a fool, Fyn. You have failed to pay taxes for an extended period."
Fyn's breath caught in his throat as he felt a sudden surge of terror. "Death seems like an extreme punishment for a small number of unpaid taxes, sir."
"Are you sure it's just a few?" The chief's words were punctuated by a hiss of frustration. The man's breath was hot and foul as he leaned in close to Fyn's face. "I have no memory of your parents making a payment. Do you?"
Fyn cursed silently as he bit his tongue, trying to hide his discomfort.
The chief's face twisted into a malevolent sneer.
"You can't even remember how they look, can you?"
Fyn tried to fight it, but tears filled the corners of his eyes, betraying him. As he wept, the most traitorous tears fell freely from his eyes and onto his cheeks. Upon witnessing this, the chief erupted into even more uncontrollable laughter. Fyn winced as the man's grip on his chin tightened, becoming more brutal. Fyn's skin felt tender to the touch, and he knew that a bruise was inevitable.
"It's such a shame," The chief muttered under his breath, his words barely audible. The chief leaned in close to Fyn and spoke in a hushed tone, as if he didn't want anyone else to hear. "Your mother's delicate features seem to have been passed on to you. The same soft, black eyes. The very same long lashes that brush your cheek with every blink. Those clusters of freckles scattered on your cheeks and nose. The same golden skin. Had your black hair been longer, I would have mistaken you for her."
The chief's gaze made Fyn's skin crawl, and he fought the urge to flee as it turned from curious to lustful in a matter of minutes. The idea of resembling a woman he hardly knew, and being reduced to a mere shadow of her, always bothered him. He hated the way people looked at him, especially when it was with the same look of lust that the chief was giving him.
Fyn didn't care about his looks and was comfortable in his own skin. He couldn't help but feel angry about the fact that his looks were entirely inherited from his mother. A memory of his parents would have been more meaningful to him than delicate features. The memory would serve as a reminder to him during times of sadness and loneliness.
He found comfort in a silly rhyme instead.
The chief's gaze lingered on Fyn's lips, causing him to inhale sharply. No!
He desperately tried to pull himself away from the man's grasp, fear rising in his chest. He couldn't remember how long it had been since he last saw the village, now a place of nightmares with monsters as its inhabitants. Those men that kidnapped him and teased him, the man holding him now, face inching closer to his.
Fyn had thought that the only demon in Gashea was the one within the woods, but he was wrong. It seemed that the monsters had made their way into the town as well.
They were startled by a sharp knock on the door.
A flicker of surprise crossed the chief's face before he quickly regained his usual demeanor. He took a step back suddenly, as if awoken from a dream. His eyes held a look of confusion. The moment passed quickly.
Fyn barely had time to process the chief's confusion before his anger flared up, and he found himself knocked down on the floor, his cheeks stinging. Lifting his eyes, he noticed the chief's hand raised high in the air.
He could feel the sting of the chief's slap long after it had happened. Hard. The impact was so strong that his teeth clacked together, and he tasted blood.
Peeking through the half-opened door was a face that Fyn recognized instantly and would always remember. She was almost unrecognizable, her braids gone, her baby fat gone, replaced by a more mature look. Looking at her now, he could hardly believe that she was the same person he had seen as an awkward teen. Time had passed, and she was now a full-grown woman.
The chief's daughter, Hana.
"H-hana," Fyn muttered in pain from the hard, cold floor. "Untie me, please."
With a quick, cursory glance, Hana barely acknowledged him. Walking towards her father, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. She tilted her head and twirled her long brown hair absentmindedly on her forefinger. The expression on her face made her look almost innocent. "The townspeople were curious about the plans for today. The flower crown is prepared, and so are the torches. The only thing left is..."
She drawled, her eyes wandering until they settled on Fyn. "The bride."
Hana's unwavering stare made Fyn feel uncomfortable as he watched her back. He watched how her face seemed to melt as she smiled mischievously down at him. He could only look up and watch as her once beautiful brown hair turned greasy to reveal her bony, horrendous face. The townsfolk knew Hana for what she really was - a true opportunist who always found a way to get what she wanted. She stands tall and imposing, using force and aggression to bully her way to the top.
Fyn's gaze falls on her father, the chief.
There's something about them that fills Fyn with a sense of dread. The exhaustion hit him like a ton of bricks, and he slumped to the ground. Fyn put up a fight, even though he knew he couldn't rely on anyone else for help. He was a stranger to most of the villagers, only a select few knew his name. He closed his eyes slightly, wondering what lay ahead of him.
The realization hit him that this was likely the universe's way of balancing things out - karma.
Fyn wasn't the first sacrifice to become the demon's bride - there had been many before him. Together with the other townsfolk, he walked the women towards the forest's edge. They walked shakily inside, unknowingly taking their first steps towards their own demise. It never crossed his mind to offer help, and he saw nothing wrong with his behavior.
Fyn's only concern was making it back home safely. He showed little regard for anyone else, only looking out for himself. The universe had a way of balancing things out, and this was his karma.
"Call the men," Fyn heard the chief's order loud and clear, as if it was meant for him alone. "Let's get the bride all dolled up. We can't have him looking ugly on his big day, can we?"
Hana's giggle, which once sounded like music to Fyn's ears, now sounded like a cackle from a witch. "Anything for you, father!"