Salt in the Wound (Lyonesse)

by Sierra Simone

When he finished, I held it up to stare at it. A cluster of rubies dotted the middle like ripe fruit, and the band was made of twisting gold, wrought like vines and leaves. “Honeysuckle,” Mark said softly. “My grandmother told me once that it was the symbol of a good marriage.”

Some people had men woo them with jewelry, with roses and orchids and champagne. I had a man who sent me knives and parasitic flowers. I was smiling the rest of the day.

I want you mine. That should be enough to terrify you, because I would hold nothing back until I’d eaten your very soul. I would hold nothing back until it was written on your skin and scratched into your bones how much I crave you.”