There is a woman, with a veil made of smoke. You draw near and you notice the flames flickering at her feet. Yet she doesn't scream, she doesn't cry out in pain. She bears the torture without a sound as she draws near enough to raise a hand and brush a finger against your cheek. You feel a sudden rush of heat, as if someone splashed boiling water on your skin. The Burning Bride speaks to you in a voice that crackles like the last coals on a fire.
"Your children don't respect you."
You feel the tears at the corner of your eyes. You don't know if it's from the physical pain of the burns, or the emotional pain from your wayward children.
"Teach them how to respect you."
You look into her eyes and see the unwavering flame of righteousness.