Bought by the Cerberus: Monsters' Bride Market

“Barren witch! How dare you deceive us?”

A rotten tomato landed on my cheek, and I flinched. Not because of the disgusting smell and taste of the fruit, but because I knew I was far more disgusting.

They’d bound me to a stake in the middle of the clearing near Agrion, and the tight rope around my wrist sliced into my flesh. It hurt, but I barely registered the pain. It couldn’t compare to the crushing weight threatening to tear my heart out of my chest.

Three years. Three years of careful lies, of dawn trips to gather herbs, of choking down bitter tea every morning. All destroyed by one satyr’s nose. I couldn’t even say I didn’t deserve it.

Syagros paced around me like a predator, his polished horns catching the sunlight. “Look at her!” he snarled. “This cursed woman’s presence among us brought death to our doorstep!”

He was still favoring his left side, every step he took lacking a satyr’s usual grace. My stomach plummeted. I’d always known he’d mention the recent massacre, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear.

Just a week ago, the Korinos Wilds that were our home had been struck by the anniversary of the Shift. For lucky settlements, that day meant nothing but a distant memory of the cataclysm that had torn the world apart. But we lived in the shadow of the Blighted Lands, the terrible place where the Shift had struck hardest.

Every year, its plague seemed to expand further. Finally, Syagros had made the call. He’d gathered the strongest from multiple villages, hoping to contain the contamination. Only a handful had returned, wounded, lost, and broken.

I’d tried to help them, brought them into my cottage, tended their wounds. That was when he’d leaned close enough to catch my scent. And he’d known.

Just like that day, Syagros pointed an accusing finger at me. “The Blighted Ones came for us because of her! Her curse drew the death-creatures like flies to rot!”

Every villager sneered at me, their faces contorted with disgust. A woman in the crowd let out a wail. “My husband is dead because of you! The monsters tore him apart!”

I couldn’t breathe under the weight of their blame. They believed my barren womb had somehow called those creatures from the death-lands, that my very existence had painted a target on their ceremony. How could I make them see otherwise, when I myself didn’t know what I’d done?

“I would never wish death on innocent people,” I croaked out. “I don’t understand why those monsters came, but I never called them. I tried to help the survivors when they returned wounded.”

“Liar!” The widow lunged forward, as if wanting to grant me the same fate that had befallen her husband. “Your evil has cursed us all!”

“There is proof that she premeditated her actions.” Syagros produced a bundle of familiar-looking herbs. The precious plants that had hidden my curse dangled before the crowd like evidence of murder.

“Moon-bane and bitter root, to mask the stench of a barren womb!” he explained. “She poisoned herself daily to lie to us!”

Melos the blacksmith spat into the dirt beside my knees. “Three years she’s been hiding among us, drawing curses down on our heads.”

My throat burned with the need to defend myself, but what defense did I have? I was exactly what they said I was, a woman whose womb would never quicken, whose body had betrayed every expectation.

I made one last attempt, because I couldn’t help myself. I needed to make them see. “I never harmed anyone. I worked honestly, kept to myself.”

Syagros stopped pacing. His furious eyes bored into mine, darker than the Blighted Lands themselves. “Honest? You’ve been spreading poison with every weave, every touch!”

With every word he spoke, the crowd’s outrage increased. Another tomato landed on my cheek. And then, the villagers decided even rotten fruit were far too good for me. An old man threw a stone that caught my shoulder, sending sharp pain down my arm.

Melos began tearing at his shirt, and the fabric ripped with a sound like breaking bones. “This cursed shirt… My forge work’s been weak since I started wearing it!”

He hurled the ruined cloth at my feet, and others followed his lead. Agrion’s aged midwife stumbled forward and threw down a baby blanket I’d embroidered with tiny flowers.

“My grandson burns with fever!” She collapsed to her knees, tears trailing down her cheeks. “I should have known… I should have known it was your fault.”

More fabric flew through the air. Wedding linens, work shirts, winter cloaks, all landing in a growing pile around me. Each thrown piece tore something loose in my chest. These weren’t just garments. They were my pride, my skill, my only value in a world that had no use for broken women.

A dryad stepped forward, her bark skin rippling with disgust. “The earth itself sickens where your fabric touches it!”

Someone struck flint near the pile. Flames caught the cotton and spread quickly to the wool. I should have looked away, but I couldn’t. Frozen in horror, I took in the sight of everything I’d ever created turning to ash.

It shouldn’t have been possible for things to get worse. But what little luck the gods had given me, I’d spent throughout these past three years. It was time to pay the price.

A group of mothers pushed through the crowd, led by a woman I recognized with sinking dread. Elena, whose sheep provided the finest wool in the village. She’d been bringing me fleeces for my weaves, always proud of her animals’ soft coats. We’d spent countless hours discussing which wool would work best for which projects.

Elena’s eyes burned with a fury that went beyond Syagros’s disgusted hatred. In her hands, she carried that beautiful dress I’d woven from her wool. “My daughter wore this to the bride market.” She trembled with barely controlled rage. “Because of your weaving, your cursed needlework... The monster sniffed once and turned away!”

Other mothers nodded, their expressions grim. One stepped forward, her hands clenched into fists. “Three markets ruined! Our girls go unchosen because of your taint!”

I wanted to deny it, to defend myself, like I had before. But in my heart, I knew I couldn’t. All those beautiful gowns I’d labored over… I’d thought I’d been helping, thanking these people for sheltering me. Instead, I’d been marking innocent girls as corrupted. Every careful stitch had been a brand of shame. I’d passed my curse onto other women, without even knowing it.

“I didn’t know about the weaving,” I whispered, and every word tasted like ash. “I never meant for anyone else to suffer.”

Elena threw the dress onto the fire, where it caught and burned with unnatural brightness. “Intent means nothing when our daughters face spinsterhood because of you!”

The smoke grew thicker, acrid and choking. Elena and the other women formed a tight circle around me. The peaceful woodland clearing had become a tribunal, with ancient oaks bearing witness to my judgment.

“My Lydia was beautiful!” Elena screamed, her whole body shaking with outrage. “Perfect! She would have made any monster a fine wife!”

There was a pause, as if the air itself was holding its breath. And then, Melos laughed, a harsh sound that cut through the crackling flames. “Your Lydia? That plain girl? She wouldn’t have gotten chosen even without the curse.”

Elena went white. “What did you say?”

“I said your daughter’s homely as a mud fence. No monster would want her even if she smelled like roses.”

“You bastard!” Elena’s frame shook with fury. “How dare you—”

“It’s true though, isn’t it?” The midwife spoke up, her own grief making her cruel. “My grandson may be sick, but at least I never fooled myself about his prospects. Your girl looks like the back end of a mule.”

Elena reached for her wool shears, drawing them from her belt. “Shut your mouth, you dried-up crone!”

“Make me.” The midwife stepped closer, clenching her hands into fists. “At least I’m not delusional about my family.”

“Stop it!” One of Elena’s friends got between them, trying to calm them down. “We’re here for the witch, not to tear each other apart!”

But something had changed. Elena’s anger went much deeper than I or anyone else had expected. Her pupils dilated until only thin rings of color remained. When she spoke again, each word dripped with venom. “Delusional? I’ll show you delusional.”

She shoved the midwife hard, sending her stumbling backward into the fire. The old woman’s scream split the air as flames caught her clothes. She rolled away, beating at the burning fabric.

“Elena!” The villager who’d tried to intervene grabbed Elena’s arm. “Have you lost your mind?”

Elena whirled and slashed with the wool shears, opening a gash across her friend’s forearm. Blood sprayed in an arc, and the wounded woman staggered back with a cry of pain and shock.

“You’re all against me!” Elena shrieked, and the sound barely seemed human anymore. “All of you jealous hags!”

Melos stepped forward, clutching the same hammer he’d used to repair my loom. “Someone needs to put you down before you hurt anyone else.”

“Try it, you drunken fool!”

The blacksmith swung his hammer, but Elena ducked and drove her shears toward his throat. He caught her wrist, and they grappled, crashing into other villagers who had been trying to back away.

What was going on? These were my neighbors, people I’d known for years. Elena brought me wool every month, always stopping to chat about her sheep, her daughter, the weather. The midwife had helped deliver countless children. Melos had always been gruff but fair, never cruel.

People didn’t just turn on each other like this. Not over insults, not over old slights. But Elena had transformed into someone I didn’t recognize. And then, Melos brought his hammer down on her skull, and there was nothing left of her at all.

“Stop!” I screamed, but the sound disappeared into the escalating violence. “Gods, please stop this!”

But they were beyond hearing now. The crowd had become a pack of animals, and I was trapped in the center of their madness. Another villager grabbed Elena’s fallen shears and drove them into Melos’s back. The blacksmith roared and spun, catching his attacker by the throat and squeezing until bones snapped.

It should have sickened me, and in a way, it did. But for the first time since this whole nightmare had started, Syagros turned away from me. With a bellowing cry, he launched himself at a nearby villager, his anger at me forgotten.

I had no idea why this was happening, but it didn’t matter. No one was watching me anymore. They were all focused on each other. This was my chance, and I wouldn’t waste it.

I twisted my wrists against the rope binding me to the wooden post, It would be difficult to break free, but not impossible. Syagros had been rough when he’d bound me, but he’d never intended me to be unwatched.

As I worked on the rope, the midwife picked up the log that had burned her and impaled our innkeeper with it. A nymph shrieked about stolen lovers and raked her branch-fingers across a human woman’s face. A dryad used her fingers to disembowel a screaming man. Glistening coils of intestines spilled onto the forest floor while she giggled like a child.

How was this real? How had a trial become a massacre? These people were farmers and crafters, mothers and fathers. They weren’t warriors or criminals. They had lived together peacefully for decades. They shared meals, helped with each other’s children, worked side by side through every season. It was almost perverse to use their insanity for my own freedom, but I had no choice.

I found a sharp splinter on the post and rubbed the rope against it desperately. The coarse fibers slowly frayed and weakened with each frantic scrape. My shoulders screamed from the awkward angle, but I gritted my teeth and ignored it.

Bodies hit the ground with heavy thuds. The air filled with a metallic stench so thick I could taste it. The peaceful village clearing became a slaughterhouse, illuminated by the hellish light of my burning life’s work.

Our village was lost to this incomprehensible insanity. Throughout it all, I’d remained forgotten in the center of the massacre. I stood there, invisible as my neighbors murdered each other with farm tools and household implements. And I’d made good use of the time.

With one final pull, the weakened rope snapped and my hands came free. I flexed my fingers, hardly believing I was no longer bound to the post.

Just like that, the strange spell that had kept me safe finally broke. Syagros shoved aside the man he’d just killed, his elegant clothes now soaked with gore. “Die with your cursed threads, barren whore!”

I scrambled backward desperately, my newly freed hands shaking with exhaustion. It was not enough. Surrounded by the chaos, I had nowhere to go. He lunged forward and tackled me to the ground, his weight crushing me against the filthy grass.

As he reached for my throat to strangle me, I tried to claw at his face. My human, broken fingernails were a paltry weapon against his satyr skin. And then, I remembered. I’d been the one who’d cared for him when his people had dragged him into Agrion, wounded. I knew exactly where his wounds had been.

Praying to all the gods that this would work, I punched him in his left side. He grunted and doubled over, his grip on me loosening. That moment of weakness was all I needed. I grabbed his left horn with both hands and twisted with every ounce of strength I possessed.

His lingering injuries had weakened the horn’s base. It snapped off with a wet cracking sound, and Syagros screamed, a sound more animal than satyr. He staggered backward, clutching the broken stump.

I scrambled to my feet, brandishing his broken horn like a dagger. “Come and get me! Come on, if you’re not afraid to die.”

I’d expected him to pounce on me like he had before. He was far too arrogant to consider me a threat, and that was another weakness I could exploit. But perhaps I’d been just as foolish, because what he actually did took me completely by surprise.

With a snarl, Syagros lowered his head like a maddened beast. In his fury, he charged at me with his remaining horn. I’d never seen a satyr fight like this. I wasn’t ready for it.

I tried to dodge, but my exhausted body moved too slowly. His horn caught me between the ribs, punching through skin and muscle with a wet tearing sound. The impact drove me backward, his weight crashing down on top of me as we both hit the gore-slick ground.

Agony exploded through my chest, so intense I almost blacked out on the spot. The broken horn was buried deep inside my chest. This was it. This was how I would die.

But even as darkness crept into the edges of my vision, my rage burned hotter than the pain. I refused to die alone. I tightened my hold on the broken horn I’d torn from his head, still clutched in my trembling hand. With the last of my strength, I drove it deep into his throat.

Syagros’s eyes went wide with shock and fury. Blood poured from the wound as he choked, his hands clawing at his ruined throat. He tried to speak, but only wet gasps emerged, growing weaker with each attempt.

“See you in the afterlife, you son of a diseased goat,” I snarled, twisting the horn deeper into his flesh.

He thrashed above me, every frantic motion jolting the horn in my chest, cracking me open. It hurt so much, but I didn’t even care anymore. The knowledge of my triumph tasted much too sweet.

He tried to speak, but the words barely made it past his lips. “You... cursed...”

I smiled and watched the life drain out of his arrogant face with a glee I didn’t bother to hide. “This is for every day you made me feel worthless.”

Slowly, his struggles began to grow weaker. After what seemed like forever, he went still. His weight settled fully onto me, pinning me underneath his corpse.

Around us, the madness finally burned itself out. The clearing fell unnaturally quiet except for the crackling of dying fires. Blood pooled beneath me, warm and thick, soaking through my clothes and into the earth that had witnessed my shame. Each breath came harder than the last, shallow and ragged. The horn buried in my ribs shifted with every movement, sending fresh waves of agony through my body.

Strangely, the physical pain didn’t bother me. If anything, all the pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place. Maybe this was always how it was supposed to end. My body could never give me the one thing that made a woman valuable. Why, then, was I even bothering to live?

My sisters had bled and grown round with children while I remained empty, barren as winter fields. I’d run away from them, perhaps hoping that if I tried hard enough, I’d find some reason to exist. I’d been a fool. The herbs had bought me time, but they couldn’t change what I was. A broken thing pretending to be whole.

My heartbeat stuttered, missing beats like a broken clock. Numbness spread from my fingertips inward. The world began to blur at the edges, the sounds growing distant and muffled.

“It’s better this way,” I murmured, even if there was no one there to hear me.

I’d been dead inside for years anyway. A ghost haunting my own life, pretending my empty womb didn’t make me less than whole. Now my body was finally catching up to what had always been true.

Darkness pressed in from all sides, soft and welcoming. I stopped fighting it.

My vision went dark, and I sank into nothing.

Chapter I. The Trial

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