Smoke hung in the air, mingling with the scent of my lie.
“What will happen to him, Papa?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He turned to me, his eyes hard yet full of paternal warmth.
“The groomsman awaits him in the barn,” he said. “Francesco will be whipped at dawn.”
My breath caught.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. Inside, I felt frozen, trapped in a lie I could never take back.
Still, I made my voice break on command and let the sobs course through me.
“Oh, thank you, Papa,” I wept, curling into his arms again. “Thank you for protecting me.”
He pulled me close again, stroking my hair with a father’s love.
And I…
I stared into the fire, watching it burn.
I buried my face against his chest and let a few more tears fall.
The morning sun crept over the horizon, its golden light slicing through the cool mist like a blade. I slipped from the house in silence, every step careful, every breath shallow. My heart fluttered wildly, like a thousand caged birds trying to escape.
Across the yard, they dragged Francesco into view.
He was shirtless, his hands bound tightly behind his back, the raw muscles of his shoulders pulled taut. They lashed him to thetree, bark digging into his skin, and I crept behind the barn, pressing myself into the shadows as if they might swallow me whole.
The groomsman stood a few feet away, silent and grim, holding a long, braided whip. It glinted in the morning light—ugly, cruel, alive.
Francesco’s face was a mask of quiet defiance, but from where I stood, I could feel the terror radiating from him in waves.
Then—crack.
The first strike landed with a sickening sound. Francesco jerked, but he didn’t scream. A bright line of red opened across his back, stark against his pale skin.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, tears sliding freely down my cheeks. With every lash, his body twitched. The sound echoed across the grounds like thunder, again and again and again.
Time distorted, each second stretching into eternity.
The groomsman was merciless and mechanical. And finally, after what felt like forever, he stopped.
Without a word, he untied the ropes and walked away, the whip dangling at his side like a snake that had just fed.
Francesco crumpled to the ground, a heap of blood and broken pride. He didn’t move.
For a long time, he remained utterly still.
Then he pushed himself upright. His body shook. Blood dripped from the angry welts carved into his skin. And then, he looked at me.
He stumbled toward me with eyes that burned like fire, no longer full of love but hatred. Pure, righteous hatred.
“You,” he yelled, his voice ragged. “Your lies will never go unpunished. You’ll burn in the everlasting flames of hell.”
A spray of spittle struck the grass at my feet.
I stumbled backward, my legs quaking. A chill gripped my spine, coiling tight in my gut.
