Madeleine Belshaw tossed the smoky remains of her torch into the fiery blaze, as the man’s screams faded and the unmistakable stench of burning flesh filled the air. She smiled at the body hanging from the makeshift crucifix, but there was no kindness in the upturn of her lips. He deserved none, this lying, simpering bastard. And that kindness? He’d taken advantage of it and her generosity, all under the guise of loving her.
So she had let him go, because she deserved better after two centuries, not more of the same. And when his world crumbled around him, she’d even felt a minor note of remorse. But when he’d feigned wanting to commit suicide over her departure, then recanted that he’d even said such manipulative things, she’d had enough.
If he wanted death, she was more than happy to deliver.
Hence the bonfire. In the middle of the desert. In Arizona.
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