I am far from looking like a bride.
My face has smudged mascara, my hair is disheveled and my bare arms show purple bruises that gleam against the white of the simple wedding dress.
I look like the Corpse Bride, a sadder, more chaotic version of her.
I don't know how many hours I've been unconscious, I don't know how long I've gone without food, but somehow my body feels adrenaline and that adrenaline keeps me on my feet, even though inside I'm in chaos.
As the night begins to creep in through the window, the door opens again.
I am there, sitting obediently on the bed as I await my death sentence.
Demyan and Killian approach.
I stand motionless, staring impassively in front of me.
"That's it, Milaya," Demyan whispers, "I like that attitude. However, cuff her, Killian. I don
