From the unfinished novel
That evening, Panayiotis made her his for the first time. As his lips met hers and his body struggled against hers, his desire did not subside — it flared even hotter.
He felt like a stormy sea crashing against rocks, only to pull back and strike again with greater force.
The flame that had burned inside him for so long did not die down; it roared suddenly, fiercely, consuming every inch of his body and soul.
He understood then that he would never escape this feeling. It was beyond his power.
As he kissed the untouched skin of her neck, the raw intensity in his eyes frightened Vaso.
This man — her husband now — felt things for her so immense that she knew she could never fully return them.
Still, she gave herself to his experienced hands and lived her first night with him with all the strength she possessed.
But for Panayiotis, it was not enough. When dawn found them exhausted in each other’s arms, he whispered hoarsely:
“Even though you became mine, you are not mine. And if my eyes ever see you looking at another man, or another man looking at you… I will kill you first, and then myself.”
……………………
The funeral procession moved slowly up Maratou Street toward Anthoupoli Cemetery.
The coffin was carried by the dead man’s brothers, followed by his mother and a large crowd of relatives and friends.
Alexandra walked at the head, almost defiantly, though her occasional unsteady steps and waxen face betrayed the turmoil inside her.
Vaso had been waiting at her front door. When she saw the procession, she turned to her sister Nikolitsa and said, “Give me your red jacket.”
“Go inside,” her sister replied. “What you’re about to do is wrong.”
“Right or wrong, I’m wearing it.”
She took the bright red jacket, slipped it on, pulled out a tube of red nail polish, sat on the top step, and began painting her nails slowly and deliberately.
Nikolitsa tried to drag her inside. “Have you lost your mind, Vaso? He was your husband, after all. Get inside — you’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
“Oh Death, the joy you bring me today,” Vaso answered, “and sorrow you take away.” She stood her ground, refusing to move.
And they all saw her. They saw the unquenchable hatred burning in her eyes — a hatred that refused to die even with Panayiotis.
Had there not been so many people present, his brothers would have attacked her on the spot. Instead, they only muttered curses under their breath, their teeth clenched.
For Vaso, this funeral procession was her triumph. Her justice. A joy she would never trade for anything in the world.
When they reached the grave, the priest spoke the final words. The brothers lowered the coffin.
It was the only moment Alexandra broke. Her legs gave way, and she collapsed.
Perhaps then she finally realized her beloved son was gone forever. Or perhaps she understood — too late — that when fate writes something, we have no right to interfere.
And if we do, the price is too high, too painful, and lasts forever.
