Bride of the Underworld King

On the day I was born, death followed. My father—butchered by his own pig. My mother—driven mad, her skull shattered at the cliff's edge. Then plague swept our village like wildfire. They called me cursed, a child whose fate devoured all who came near. When they dragged me to the ancestral pyre, eight men went with me into the flames. None returned. What they didn't know: I wasn't meant to burn. I was meant to wed the King of the Dead himself.