I back away, scanning for anything, really anything, I can use. My hand closes around something cold and metal on the altar table. A ceremonial knife, its hilt encrusted with ornamental gems.
The thing lunges. I slash wildly, the blade glancing off its shoulder without even cutting the fabric of its suit.
“It’s decorative!” The reverend huddles behind the altar. “That’s not a real knife! It’s ceremonial, for symbolic cutting of?—”
“Super fucking helpful!” I drop the useless weapon, dodging another lunge that sends me crashing into a row of prayer candles.
The man’s hand shoots out, grabbing my veil, and I feel the pins tear from my hair.
“The crucifix!” the priest shouts. “Behind you!”
I wrench the veil off, letting it tear away, and scramble for the crucifix. It’s heavier than it looks, the metal cold against my palms. I rip it free just as the thing closes in, its fetid breath hot on my face.
My arms shake with the effort of keeping it at bay, its teeth snapping inches from my face.
Is this really how I die? In a wedding dress I never wanted. Never having lived?
Fuck that.
I drive the pointed base into his eye with all my strength.
The crucifix pierces in with a sickening squelch. He screams—another sound no human throat should make—and thrashes. Dark fluid spurts around the metal as I push harder, driving it deeper.
His hands claw at my arms, nails raking bloody furrows in my skin. I grit my teeth, ignoring the pain, and twist the crucifix.
Please.
The body goes rigid, then limp.
I let the thing crumple to the floor, the crucifix still protruding from its ruined eye socket.
Blood. His blood?—
My hands shake.
I—Did I just?—
A hysterical giggle comes to my lips.
I just killed somebody?
My hands shake uncontrollably, blood cooling against my skin. Twenty minutes ago, I was walking down the aisle towarda marriage I didn’t want, playing the perfect daughter. Now I’ve driven a crucifix through someone’s eye. The disconnect is so complete my mind can’t bridge it.
I wipe blood from my face with the back of my hand, smearing it instead of clearing it. My wedding dress is shredded, stained with whatever just tried to hurt me.
I scan the space, heart hammering while everything around me seems to slow down.
The church has mostly emptied, pockets of struggle still happening near the exits. Bodies litter the aisle. Some move. Some don’t. Across the room, Sienna grapples with an older man in a gray suit. Her blonde hair whips around as she smashes her elbow into his face, but he doesn’t slow down. He grabs her arm, yanking her toward his snapping jaws, and she strains to hold him back, her face twisted with effort.
This isn’t an older man anymore.
I start toward Sienna.
“Leave her!” The reverend grabs my wrist. “She’s already lost!”
“Let go of me.”
“Please don’t leave me here! We need to hide, to pray?—”
