End Me, Mend Me
The deafening crash of the splintering door echoed in my ears. Through the billowing smoke, a familiar figure burst into the room like a madman.
It was Damien. He was still wearing the impeccably tailored black tuxedo from his wedding. Now, it was covered in wood splinters and dust, leaving him utterly disheveled.
When he took in the scene, he froze. The room was thick with the haze of smoldering charcoal, and there I lay on the floor, in a red dress. For the first time, the eyes that always held possessiveness were filled with panic.