Seventeen men, one secret… and a love built on blood.
Part 2: The Cold Awakening
With those final chilling words, the seventeen men vanished into the shadows. The blood disappeared from the ground as if it had never been there, leaving behind a coldness so intense it resembled that of a grave.
Jane lay on the ground, her body wracked with violent, silent sobs. I watched her, my heart pounding in my ribs. “Jane,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “What have you done? What vows have you made to these things? Have you bought our wealth? Have you asked them to keep me from dying?”
She slowly raised her eyes to mine, her gaze empty and dark. “I didn’t care about money, and I didn’t care about years,” she murmured, her voice lifeless. “Don’t you remember ten years ago? The night you told me you didn’t love me anymore? The night your suitcases were packed to leave me forever?”
A memory flickered in my mind—a freezing Tuesday night, a suitcase, and a sudden, crushing change of heart that had kept me by her side for a decade.
“I couldn’t let you go,” she choked out. “The seventeen men…they were the guardians of your devotion. Every day, they came to reweave your love in your heart. These trousers were the only thing that bound your soul to mine.”
As she spoke, a terrifying sensation washed over me. The warmth I had felt for Jane for the past ten years—that fierce, protective love I believed to be mine—simply evaporated. It didn’t fade; it died instantly. I looked down at the woman I had cherished just moments before and felt…nothing. No anger, no pity, just a vast, icy emptiness.
The spell was broken. The man who loved her was gone, murdered by his own hand in a fit of jealous rage. I turned away from her shouts and walked towards the door, finally realizing that for ten years I had not been a husband – I had been the sons’ prisoner.
