Standto look at him? Uh, it wasn’t like he was hard on the eyes.
“My wife,” said Shukra. “She loved me, and so I killed her.”
The Tale of Shukra
It was said that, when I was born, the sun was so revolted it went into hiding for a full month. Scars riddled my skin. My smile was gruesome. But though I was ugly, I was a good king. Beloved, even. What I could not perfect in my body, I tried to perfect in my mind.
For many years, I was ashamed to show myself to my subjects. I chose to rule from the shadows. But I could not wed in darkness. When my bride first looked upon me, her smile never wavered. She held her palm to my cheek and said, “Our love is what will make us beautiful.”
And so it did.
The changes in my appearance were small. So small that at first I did not recognize them, for I was not used to gazing at myself in the mirror.
Four years passed, and by then her love had made me more handsome. And my wife? She was resplendent. The moon stayed out longer just to gaze upon her. The sun lingered to witness her grace. I no longer had the kind of ugly face that incited horror or pity, but now I was made unremarkable by my passing good looks.
I wanted more. I started noting the changes in my appearance each day. My wife assured me that, as our love grew, so would our beauty. For her, beauty went hand in hand with joy.
I grew impatient.
I installed mirrors everywhere, even in the floors. I made checklists by which I might daily appraise my altering visage. I was continually discarding my clothes and trying new outfits. I neglected my people.
I began to shun my wife. Every time I saw her, I was filled with fury. Why should she grow more beautiful than I? She, who had so much beauty to begin with.
One day I confronted her. “Do you still love me?” I asked.
She did not meet my gaze. “How can I love someone I no longer know? You have changed, my king. I would have loved you until Time itself had ended. Perhaps I still could, if you would only—”
But I did not hear beyond her first words.
I do not remember doing what I did.
It was only when the red had cleared from my eyes that I saw her corpse. I tried to tear at my skin. To burn every trace of her love—my ill-gotten beauty—from my body. But it was too late. I could not escape her love, so freely given, even in her final moments.
I smashed every mirror. Broke every window. Drained every pond.
And yet I could not escape the truth of what I had been given, and what I had lost.
***
When Shukra finished speaking, tears ran down his cheeks.
“Now I live surrounded by the memory of my mistakes,” he said, gesturing at the mirrors that accompanied him. “Without these, the snow would steal my memories, as it does for all who visit here.”
“I’m sorry,” said Mini softly.
Aru said nothing. Part of her did pity him, but the other part was disgusted. He’d killed someone who loved him, someone who had given him a special gift. He was selfish.
Shukra brought his hands closer together. “It is time for you to make your choice. Should you not succeed in crossing the bridge, you will fall into one of the fires of hell and be forced into the next life.”
“You mean…we’ll die?” asked Mini.
“Oh yes,” said Shukra, waving his hand as if Mini had asked something as casual asDo you have chocolate ice cream?
“How do we succeed?” asked Aru.
“To cross the Bridge of Forgetting, you must pay the toll.”
“And that is…?” asked Aru.
