The soft organ music floated through the church like a drifting memory, weightless and solemn. Candles flickered from brass holders on the walls, casting halos of gold across the aged stone interior. The bride, radiant in lace and tulle, stood across from her groom beneath an arch of white roses. Every eye in the room was on them—except for Joanna’s.

Joanna sat in the third pew, near the center aisle, her smile polite but distant. Her dress was a muted wine red, modest but elegant, and it hugged her curves just right. One hand rested on her lap, but the other stayed hidden in the folds of her dress pocket, fingers gently rolling a glass vial between thumb and knuckle.

The vial was warm now from her touch, the contents sloshing ever so slightly. Inside, a tiny, terrified figure pressed against the glass—a man no taller than a pinky nail, limbs trembling, his mouth moving in a silent scream. His name had been Ethan. Once, he’d cut her off in traffic and laughed as he did it. That had been enough.

Joanna didn’t look at the vial. She didn’t have to. She could feel the weight of it, the power of it. Her secret pulsed there in her pocket like a second heartbeat. No one around her knew what she truly was—what she could do.

As Mark began to recite his vows to Hannah, Joanna's gaze finally lifted, her eyes locking briefly with the bride’s. There was warmth there, sincerity. But behind Joanna’s smile was something colder. More calculating.

She leaned slightly in her seat, angling the vial just enough to feel the tiny body slide within. The sensation sent a tingle up her spine.

One day, she thought, I’ll decide what to do with you.

The church was filled with love and promises. But in the middle of it all, in one quiet pocket of darkness, Joanna nurtured something far more dangerous.

And she was just getting started.

The ceremony continued, the officiant’s voice calm and steady as he guided Mark and Hannah through the sacred steps. Vows were exchanged, and the couple held each other’s hands tightly, trembling just slightly with the enormity of it all. A few sniffles echoed from the pews—mothers dabbing at their eyes, old friends smiling through the emotion.

Joanna tilted her head slightly, watching the exchange with the expression of someone witnessing a beautiful painting they felt nothing for.

“To have and to hold, in sickness and in health…”

Her fingers still circled the vial in her pocket, her painted nails lightly tapping the glass. She imagined the man inside tumbling again, clinging to the smooth walls like a bug in a bottle. She didn’t need to look—she could feel his movement. He was learning the same lesson they all did eventually: that Joanna’s mercy was as fragile as the world at five millimeters tall.

Mark said “I do,” his voice cracking with joy. Hannah beamed, cheeks flushed, tears in her eyes.

Joanna leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs slowly and smoothing the hem of her dress. Her eyes drifted to the altar, but her mind was somewhere else—far from the roses and vows and golden light.

Her thoughts flicked to the rehearsal dinner the night before, where Hannah had laughed a little too hard when someone joked about Joanna always being single. “Some girls are just better off alone,” someone had said.

A careless comment. A harmless joke.

Was it? Joanna mused.

Applause erupted as the officiant declared them husband and wife. Mark kissed Hannah, and the crowd rose to their feet in a storm of clapping and cheers. Joanna stood with them, smiling on cue, clapping softly.

But her other hand stayed in her pocket.

She gave the vial one last spin, then curled her fingers around it like she was holding a coin. She could end his suffering right now, crush the vial in her fist—or keep him, like the others, part of her growing little collection.

As the newlyweds walked back down the aisle, beaming and hand-in-hand, Joanna stepped aside to let them pass. Hannah's perfume followed them like a cloud—honeysuckle and something faintly citrus.

Joanna watched them go, her smile widening slightly.

“Congratulations,” she whispered, though they didn’t hear.

Then she turned toward the exit, already planning which face in the crowd could be the next to disappear.

The reception hall shimmered with warmth—string lights hanging like fireflies from the rafters, centerpieces of white lilies and pale roses glowing under golden candlelight. Laughter rippled through the room, and the soft clink of silverware and glasses created a background rhythm to the celebration.

Joanna stood near the dessert table, her glass of champagne untouched in her hand. Her eyes were fixed on the centerpiece of it all—a towering, four-tiered wedding cake, frosted in pale ivory with delicate, edible petals curling along its edges. It looked like it had been carved from clouds.

She didn’t need to eat it. She had another idea in mind.

A quick glance—no one was watching her. Everyone was gathered around the newlyweds at the far end of the hall, raising their glasses and toasting their love.

Joanna moved with quiet elegance, almost like she was dancing to music no one else could hear. From her pocket, she slipped the vial out and cradled it in her palm. Inside, the man inside screamed—though of course, no one could hear it. His face was red, and he banged tiny fists against the glass in panic.

Joanna quietly popped the cork off the vial.

“You’re lucky,” she whispered, voice soft and dripping with irony. “You get to be part of something beautiful.”

She tipped the vial just slightly over a pristine slice of cake that had been plated early and set beside the main structure. The man tumbled out, landing with a muffled thump onto the soft frosting. He struggled to stand, slipping on the sugary surface.

Joanna pressed her finger to him gently, like pushing a bead into warm wax. He squirmed, but her finger was too big, too heavy, too deliberate. She didn’t crush him—just sank him in up to his chest, surrounded by thick ridges of sweet white. Helpless. Present. Waiting.

She adjusted the frosting around him with the tip of a spoon to disguise the disruption.

Then she walked away.

Back at her seat, she rejoined the crowd, folding her hands in her lap as Mark raised his glass and began to thank everyone for being part of the happiest day of his life.

Joanna smiled politely, nodded in the right places. The speeches followed one after another—laughs, sentimental stories, old college memories.

But her gaze kept drifting.

To the cake.

To that part of it.

It sat undisturbed on the edge of the table, glowing under the soft reception lights, innocent and untouched. She watched it like one might watch a fuse burning slowly toward a powder keg. At any moment, the couple might walk up, take it, carve it with a fork and lift that first sweet bite to their mouths…

But not yet.

Joanna folded one leg over the other, chin resting on her hand, pretending to listen as Hannah’s father gave a heartfelt speech. But inside, her heart drummed in quiet anticipation.

Any moment now.

The world was a blur of glass and motion, a sickening roller coaster he couldn’t escape. The vial had been his prison for what felt like hours—maybe days. The walls were slick and smooth, impossible to climb, and every time Joanna walked, the jarring sway sent him tumbling into the curved walls.

Then came the noise. Rhythmic scraping. The cap was being unscrewed

Light poured in as the cap was lifted off free. He scrambled, slipping on the sweat-slicked glass, his voice cracking from screaming. Joanna’s massive face hovered overhead, her eyes glittering with something cold and cruel.

“You’re lucky,” she whispered. “You get to be part of something beautiful.” Her breath was warm. It smelled faintly of champagne.

He didn’t feel lucky.

Gravity seized him. He fell, screaming, into a soft, white surface—sweet-smelling and sticky. Frosting. He flailed, trying to push himself up, but everything was unsteady. The world spun. Then the shadow returned.

A fingertip.

It pressed against him, impossibly huge. It didn’t crush him. No, Joanna wasn’t that merciful. She pressed slowly, deliberately, forcing him down into the frosting until it swallowed him up to his chest. Cold, thick, suffocating. He couldn't move. He couldn’t even wipe the icing from his eyes.

Then she was gone.

He screamed for her to come back, to do something. Anything. But the world stayed still. Giant voices thundered around him, laughter and music like distant storms. The frosting began to harden slightly around his legs.

Time passed.

And then, movement.

The cake shifted violently—lifted, tilted. His world spun again. Plates clinked, a knife screeched against porcelain. He saw her: the bride. Towering. Radiant. Laughing.

She didn’t see him.

He tried to scream, to wave, but his arms were coated in thick layers of sugar. The plate jostled. He slid slightly. Then—a fork. Gleaming metal, fast as lightning. It sliced through the cake, barely missing him. The wedge disappeared.

He struggled harder. He begged. He prayed.

The fork came again.

This time, it pierced the edge of his world—slid beneath him, tearing through frosting and sponge. He was lifted. He screamed.

The bride brought the bite to her lips.

A shadow. A cave. The hot breath of a giant.

He was inside.

Darkness. Warmth. Crushing, sticky weight as the cake collapsed around him. A thunderous chew, like the crack of boulders splitting. The sound of teeth grinding through sponge. He was flung to the side, battered by her tongue, buried under layers of sugar and spit.

Another chew. And another.

Then—it all went tight.

A swallow.

And everything fell.

Darkness, absolute and wet, wrapped around him like a grave.

And Joanna, somewhere far away in the light, was smiling.

The speeches ended in a chorus of clapping and laughter, champagne glasses raised high as the newlyweds kissed once more, basking in the joy of their closest friends and family. The lights dimmed slightly, the music swelled—soft jazz drifting like perfume through the air—and attention shifted toward the towering wedding cake.

Mark and Hannah stood before it, hand in hand, the silver cake knife glinting between their fingers. Cameras flashed. Guests gathered around, smiling, waiting for the classic moment.

Joanna stood at the edge of the crowd, hands folded neatly, face composed, but her heart now beat faster. Her eyes locked on the second slice—the one she knew held him.

The man she’d pressed into the frosting.

They made the first cut together, laughing as the blade slid through the dense sponge and cream. Mark gently lifted the first slice onto a small white plate, and Hannah handed it to him with a sweet kiss on the cheek. The room melted into adoration around them.

Then came the second slice.

Hannah, still smiling, wiped her fingers delicately with a napkin and turned back to the cake. She cut again, slower this time, more focused. Joanna’s stomach tightened as she saw the frosting smear slightly on the knife. That was it. That’s the one.

Hannah placed the slice onto a second plate, seemingly unaware of anything unusual. She turned from the table, swaying gracefully in her beautiful white wedding dress, and carried the plate back to the head table where she and Mark would eat.

Joanna followed her with her eyes alone. Everything else—voices, laughter, music—faded.

She sat across the room, silent and still, as Hannah picked up her fork and took the first bite.

Joanna’s breath caught—not out of guilt, not fear, but something darker. A slow, curling satisfaction. Not because she wanted him dead. No, she wanted him consumed, forgotten. A meaningless snack at someone else's happy ending.

She watched as Hannah laughed with her new husband, chewing happily, the fork sliding through the cake again and again. She even licked a bit of frosting from the corner of her mouth, dainty and oblivious.

Joanna didn’t blink.

Was it quick? Was he still alive, just before the bite? Did he scream, unheard beneath the layers of sponge and buttercream?

It didn’t matter now.

He was gone.

And no one—not a soul—knew.

Joanna sipped her champagne, eyes never leaving the bride in white, and thought to herself:

She really does look beautiful today.