Psychological traces of burnt liquor were found against my scarred tissue. The scent of last nights dessert mixed with the sour smell of my singed skin, sweet and sour a deadly delight.

Fearless battle cries came from the husband besides me; caring not of how much of a female he had sounded. He whimpered of how he loved me so and that he could never another. He begged for my return and for the first time in his life he had prayed that 'It was only a dream,' burying his head in my bosom he beckoned repeated words of 'Why and how?"
From his pocket he retrieved a newly polished wedding ring that somehow disappeared from my dresser; he placed it on my finger and kissed my seared lips quoting "I love you," as his tears again were shed.

I could see his partially tanned skin.
I could see his blue eyes that seemed like pools of angry blue flames.
I could see his silky blonde hair which quilted over his face and rested on my chest.
I could see everything about him as well as my scorched body and eyes placid and left open.
I ran my fingers through his hair, oh how I longed to tell him that I was still near, that I was fine, that the pie was for our dessert upon which he didn't arrive to till early this morning and of course I was in fact the main course both literally and mentally.
To tell him that the liquor that filtered throughout my body was actually wine I had been drinking as well as mixing on the stove in a pan until I spilt it on my apron and of course was set a fire and to make it worse the pie had started to burn in the oven anyhow...

And to finally tell him: I love him too and congratulations, your wife is dead because she was set ablaze while cooking with wine.

Merely a chance to stabilize this feeling, I am indeed somewhat sad that now he must suffer... or kill himself; there isn't exactly much I can do. I honestly regret cooking dinner and now I shall go take a nap and hopefully this will resolve all of this and I will wake up to find that it was only a dream.

I'm sorry... I'm in denial.