Karol (cuckold)

The sun of that September afternoon was no longer summer, but still golden and warm, as befits an Indian summer. Filtered through the stained glass windows of the old church, it fell on the stone floor in streaks of colored light, in which the dust of the ages danced. I stood before the altar, in the stuffy corset of my suit, and felt my trousers shiver. Not from the cold—though a chill hung in the nave—but from the absolute, overwhelming focus of all my senses on the doors that were about to open.

The priest was muttering something under his breath, and I couldn't hear a word. I could only hear my own breathing and the loud beating of my heart, which seemed to be trying to escape my chest. The scent of incense, wax, and the old wooden pews mingled in the unique scent of the sacred, which today, instead of calming, filled me with a strange fear. Fear of the end of something and the beginning of something entirely new, unknown.

And then the door opened.

And then I saw her.

Kasia. My Kasia. Dressed not in a fluffy, contemporary outfit, but in a gown from another era – simple, creamy silk, heavy with carefully embroidered pearls and lace. It wasn't a flowing curtain, but a veil of black lace, fastened on her head with a wreath of bird cherry blossoms, whose ripe, almost navy blue berries gleamed like pupils in the semi-darkness. Her face, usually so radiant, was pale, almost transparent, and her lips the color of a ripe plum. She walked slowly, majestically, her hand resting on the shoulder of her father, who looked older than usual, as if carrying a burden greater than the responsibility of this moment.

As she approached, our hands met. Her fingers were as cold as porcelain, cool despite the summer day. Her scent—jasmine mixed with a hint of damp earth and crushed leaves—filled my nostrils, pushing aside the incense. I looked into her eyes. They were dark, deep as wells, and in their depths sparks of unknown fire seemed to flicker. She smiled, but the smile didn't reach that deep. It was a smile of mystery, a promise of something that lay beyond the horizon.

We whispered our vows, like incantations. Her voice was melodic, but it had a metallic tang. As I said "I do," I felt a shiver run down my spine. It wasn't a shiver of anxiety, but something deeper, primal—the feeling that I was bonding not just with a woman, but with something older than her, than me, than this church.

As we exchanged rings, her hand trembled. I slipped the gold disc, smooth and cold, onto her finger, and she onto mine. Her touch left a mark on my skin, a feeling of cold that refused to fade. When the priest pronounced us husband and wife, I leaned in to kiss my wife. Her lips were soft, sweet, but in that sweetness I detected a bitter aftertaste, as if of herbs or poison. As we kissed, I noticed a tiny, crimson mark, as if from a pinprick, at the corner of her mouth.

We left the church under a shower of rice and rose petals, but the sun suddenly set behind the clouds, plunging the world into a bluish hue. A wind rose from nowhere, ruffling Kasia's veil and carrying with it the scent of an approaching storm and rotting leaves. She laughed, lifting her face to the wind, and in her laughter I heard the echo of something wild, untamed.

In that moment, holding my newlywed's hand, I felt not only euphoria. I also felt a shadow fall on my heart. A shadow that said I had vowed more than just love, obedience, and fidelity. I had vowed something more. And that promise, newly made, was already demanding fulfillment.

The car that would take us to the wedding hall was a shiny black limousine, resembling a hearse. The interior smelled new and enclosed. As the doors slammed shut, cutting us off from the cheering guests, a sudden silence fell, thicker than air.

Kasia leaned her head back against the velvet seat, closing her eyes. Her hands, still cold, rested on mine.

"I'm yours, Karol," she whispered, her voice seeming to seep from the shadows rather than from her lips. "Completely and forever."

I kissed her, and on her lips, beneath the sweetness of the champagne, I could still taste that bitter note. It was a taste that was already becoming familiar to me, like a signature on my soul.

The journey to the restaurant seemed to take forever. Beyond the city windows, the darkness of the approaching evening slowly gave way to the country road winding through bare autumn fields. The wind tore at the treetops, their branches like claws reaching for our passing vehicle.

Finally, hidden in an old park, the villa we'd rented for the occasion appeared. It was a turn-of-the-century building, beautiful but scarred by time. The wooden shutters were closed, and light seeped from the windows through narrow slits, like pupils peering into the darkness. The music that reached us as the driver opened the door wasn't a joyful polonaise, but a deep, pulsating rhythm that vibrated in our bones.

We climbed the lantern-lit stairs. The doors to the wedding hall opened, and a wave of sound, smell, and gazes hit us with physical ****.

The hall was vast, with dark oak paneling and a crystal chandelier that cast flickering, restless shadows. The head table groaned under the weight of food, but the dishes were anything but typical. Amid the traditional roasts and salads stood platters of dark, bloody meat in a deep burgundy sauce, tureens of thick, dark soups, and bowls of fruit so ripe they burst, oozing juice like blood. The aroma was intense, intoxicating—peppery, sweet, and wild.

The guests, our friends and family, smiled and cheered, but their smiles seemed too wide, their eyes too bright. As I spoke to them, their voices blended into a single, strangely melodic hum. The kisses and hugs they bestowed upon us left a damp, cool sensation on my skin, similar to the one I felt from Kasia.

First Dance The orchestra played a slow waltz. The music was beautiful, but it had an archaic, almost funereal quality to it. Kasia nestled against me, her body perfectly molded to mine, moving with instinctive, almost animalistic grace. Her head rested on my shoulder, and her breath, warm and moist, caressed my neck.

"See?" she whispered, her lips brushing my skin. "Everyone is here for us. Our whole family."

I glanced at the dancing couples. Their movements now seemed too synchronized, as if they were performing an ancient, forgotten ritual. The chandelier dimmed for a moment, and in the darkness, I saw their shadows lengthen on the walls, taking on grotesque, inhuman shapes.

When the music stopped, applause erupted, sounding like the cracking of dry branches. Kasia pulled back slightly, and her eyes, now gleaming like wet stones, looked at me with an unknown depth. "Now," she said, squeezing my hand, "We are going to do ouer wedding photography sesion"