Bodyguards swarmed in, hauling the piano away. Moments later, flames roared into the night sky.
Linnea screamed and bolted after them—straight into the fire.
The heat scorched her skin instantly. The stench of burning flesh filled her nose, but she didn’t let go.
She clung to the blazing piano, and through the flames, she saw her mother’s gentle smile.
Linnea, you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.
I’ll give this piano to you as a dowry.
Then—blood on the stairs. Her mother’s body crumpled.
“Mom!” Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry—”
Through the haze, she thought she saw Soren drop Agatha and run toward her.
“Linnea!”
Tears slid down her blistered cheeks.
Was this a dream? How could he possibly call her that now? Care about whether she lived or died?
No. He should be happy she was burning.
With that thought, she let go—and let the fire take her.
When she woke up, the pristine white ceiling of the hospital greeted her. She rolled her eyes numbly, her sore eyes no longer able to shed tears — perhaps they had dried up at that wedding five years ago.