“Everyone is collateral to you.” It felt so good to say, to scold him.
“Yet the papers would rather know the inches around your waist than report on the expendables dying somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Don’t be foolish. You know it too. One lowly farmer dies, three more show up to take his job. They died serving a greater purpose—medical advancement. Who knows, if someone else is doing whatwewere doing, we may have a cure for your monstrous disease.”
“Expendable,” I repeated, breathless. “You are all the same, you know.” I laughed, rubbing my face tiredly. “You chew away at everything, down to the bone, until the carcass is no longer fruitful.”
I turned to Arkady, noticing a sternness to his brow as he listened.
“I don’t want to disappear, to let it eat me alive,” I said softly. “I am spent, I’ve given all I can. I don’t want to give any more.”
He approached. Before he could take my hands, I stepped away, back to the edge of the stage.
“Let’s see. Father, are you replaceable? Expendable? You think of yourself as God, you play His game. Tell me—does God burn?”
I lifted my skirt, using my foot to tip over one lantern.
It shattered on the floor of the orchestra pit, oil spilling, as well as the flame.
The audience lurched in the opposite direction, muffled shouts in reaction to the bright light.
Then the next lamp, the oil spilling farther, closing in on the spectators.
One after the other, they spilled and caused such a brilliant light that the chandelier seemed to glitter.
“Petre!” Arkady shouted.
I turned to him, and he embraced me. The firelight danced in his eyes as he looked at me, his hands caressing my neck, my face. Then, he kissed me. So deeply that I thought I may float, the heat of the moment or the blaze sending me afire in more ways than one.
He broke the kiss with a faint laugh. A gleaming smile met with a warm caress. “A beautiful farewell to a stunning career, your artistry will be deeply missed.”
“May our next chapter be brighter than the last,” I breathed.
“You fools! You’redead!” my father screamed, thrashing in his seat as the fire crept closer. My mother sobbing, wailing beside him, slumping in her seat and kicking at the flames, her skirt catching.
I couldn’t pull away, entranced by the sight. My father’s slicked-back hair now disordered and ashy from the toil between the blackened smoke. His breathing rough, spit misting like an angry bull with bared teeth. In the reflection of his eyes, the fire blossomed.
In every woman’s life, she must either overcome her parents or join them. The apple falls beside the tree, or a bird carries your seeds somewhere unknown, uncertain you will ever grow.
This was my moment, my time to plant new seeds.
It would almost be worth it to die here, just so I could watch my parents burn.
Arkady grabbed my hand, pulling me offstage past the curtains. I got only a single glimpse of my handiwork before I no longer felt the heat on my face or the smoke in my nose. It was like the lights aglow after the final act.
Revenge was an unconventional choice of gift, notably in the form of hellfire.
Epilogue
The Performer
The mountains guided coastal winds through the river valley.
This time of year was lighter in all ways, more vivid in all ways, than can be interpreted by the senses. The mountains greened as they met the river, its waters a seamless match with the cerulean sky. The town a beating heart in the distance, a humble steeple keeping steadfast watch for centuries, and it would continue to do so for many more.
The sky concentrated from blues to soft pinks and reds. My cheeks tingled, burnt as proof of my daily devotion to the sun. A testimonial to freedom. Basking in it every day.
A wreath of apricot blossoms adorned our villa’s front door, the sweet smell of them greeting us every time it opened and closed.
My window was shaded by the surrounding trees, the orchard blossoms beginning to wilt and flutter through the sky, littering the ground in preparation for the next growth.
