"Under no circumstances will this marriage be called off!" My father yelled. "It is done."
I had returned from the mountain, the gold arm band on my upper arm. My mother had noticed it and accused me of stealing. I told her, then my father, about the crone on the mountain. My father demanded that I give him the arm band. I refused. He muttered about devilry, but did not try to take the band. Instead, he slapped my mother and told her to prepare for the wedding feast in three days.
My father dragged me into the square on the third day,my mother fluttering nervously behind. The crone was waiting the moment we stepped past the doorway. She hadn't been there before; her sudden presence gave everyone pause. The crone's eyes were opaque once more, yet she was not disoriented.
"What do you do to this child?" The crone's voice was chilling in its ecstasy. The villagers who had gathered for the wedding grew silent.
"That is no concern of yours, old woman!" My father screamed.
"You shall reap what you have sown." The crone's prophecy swirled around us.
A golden man came striding into camp, the burning light of the sun radiating from his pores. He approached my father, a stern look on his face.
"You would refuse the will of a god?" Apollo asked. "The arm band was a sign to you that she is my betrothed. And you chose to ignore it? You chose to covet my gift?"
"Oh great Apollo!" My father, and all of the villagers, threw themselves prostrate before him.
"I do not like it that my betrothed is treated so poorly," Apollo towered over my father.
At his words, my father sat up, his face a rictus of horror, and burst into flame. The Sun God then pointed at my old home; everything seemed to burst into flames.
I watched my village burn from the back of my beloved's chariot.
This is a continuation of a story I started here.
: trance; especially : a mystic or prophetic trance