Alika's POV
I stood before an old mirror, its glass fractured like a spider's web. My ivory wedding gown trailed along the cold, polished floor. No laughter echoed through the room. No bridesmaids fussed over me with makeup brushes and final touches. Just the groan of wooden floorboards and the scent of damp earth drifting in through the half-open window.
This day was supposed to be the happiest moment of a woman's life.
But for me—it felt like a funeral rite.
The Damar family estate was nestled at the edge of a forest, far from town, cloaked in moss and shadow. They said the house was over two hundred years old, passed down through generations. But what sent a chill down my spine… was the rumor. Not one marriage ever ended happily in this house. Not one bride ever left.
"Citra." A calm but cold voice called me from the doorway. Raditya's mother, Mrs. Sekar Damar, wore a black lace dress with a golden snake-shaped brooch pinned to her chest. "It's time."
I nodded slowly, lowered my gaze, and followed her down a long corridor lined with family portraits. The eyes in those paintings seemed to follow me—as if judging whether I was worthy of carrying the Damar bloodline. Some even looked like they were smiling. Or maybe it was just the light… playing tricks on me.
The wedding took place in the estate's grand hall—a dust-covered room filled with faded tapestries and old furniture. The marble floor was dulled with age. Deep crimson curtains hung heavily over the tall windows, and only ten people attended—all from the Damar side. No one from mine.
My parents had died in a strange accident just a month before.
Raditya called it destiny.
But in my heart, I knew something was wrong.
He stood at the altar, carved from dark mahogany, wearing a black suit embroidered with barely visible symbols—ancient glyphs resembling forgotten scripts. His gaze was deep. Blacker than night.
The ceremony was brief. Hollow. Devoid of warmth.
No kiss.
No vows exchanged beyond what was necessary.
No music. Just silence.
As he slipped the ring onto my finger, a chill surged up my arm. My fingers trembled—not from nerves—but from something else.
A voice.
A whisper.
Soft, but clear.
"He's not human..."
I jerked my head toward the sound, but saw no one.
The guests remained still. Faces pale. Empty.
After the ceremony, Mrs. Sekar escorted me to a room on the upper floor. She called it the bridal chamber.
But stepping inside felt like falling into a nightmare.
The canopy bed was draped in black lace. A massive mirror sat across the room, its golden frame etched with serpents and roses. In the corner, an old wardrobe loomed like a sealed tomb. The scent of jasmine and incense filled the air—not soothing, but suffocating.
"Your husband will come at midnight," she said, her tone like a warning. "Do not leave this room until he arrives. No matter what you hear... do not open the door."
I nodded, though my instincts screamed to run.
---
Time crawled.
The old clock struck eight. I sat at the edge of the bed, breath shaky. Then… the sounds began.
Footsteps in the hallway. Heavy breathing outside the door.
Then crying. A woman's sobs—soft, broken, full of grief.
I covered my ears. But the voice pressed into my mind.
"Help me... I was once a bride too... Don't open the door... Don't make the same mistake..."
I stood, heart pounding, ready to flee. But before I reached the door—
The wardrobe creaked open.
A long moan echoed as its doors swung back. Inside hung another wedding dress—stained with blood across the chest.
A small mirror fell to the floor and shattered.
I knelt, drawn by something I couldn't explain, and saw—not my reflection—but a woman.
Her face was ruined, eyes blackened and hollow. She wore my dress.
She stared at me… and smiled.
I screamed, flinging the glass across the room.
Everything vanished.
The wardrobe was shut. The blood—gone. The room, silent once more.
Then the clock struck midnight.
The door creaked open.
Raditya stood there.
But it wasn't the man I'd married.
His eyes glowed crimson. His skin was pale, like marble. And his smile—wasn't human.
"Good evening… my bride," he said, his voice deep and echoing, like something rising from the ground beneath the grave.
I tried to back away, but my legs wouldn't move. They felt nailed to the floor.
"I know you're afraid," he said. "You should be. But you've been chosen. No one escapes the blood oath."
"Who are you?" I asked, barely whispering.
He stepped closer, brushing my cheek with his cold fingers.
"I am the heir. But not just of the Damar bloodline. I am the guardian of the curse. Each generation must wed a pure soul under this roof, during the new moon. If the ritual is broken... our lineage ends."
Tears streamed down my cheeks. "So I'm just... a sacrifice?"
He nodded. "But you're special, Citra. You're stronger than the others."
He picked up the broken mirror and held it before me.
"Look. See who you really are."
I stared into it—and saw not myself, but a girl with golden eyes and a strange birthmark on her neck—the same symbol carved into the wedding altar.
"Who... is that?" I whispered.
Raditya smiled. "That was you, before your old soul was sealed. You're no ordinary woman, Citra. You come from a bloodline older than mine. That's why you can hear them... see them. And that's why... you're the only one who can break this curse."
I looked at him, not with fear anymore—but with devastation.
Everything I'd ever believed… was a lie.
"So I'm not just a victim?"
"You're the key. But to free yourself… you must choose: save yourself, or save us all."
Before I could answer, a blood-curdling scream erupted from downstairs.
We turned at once.
And that's when I realized—
The wedding was far from over.
And the guests... were no longer human.
Doors creaked open down the hallway.
Footsteps echoed.
Heavy. Too many.
Tonight… wasn't just a marriage.
Tonight… was the beginning of a war between blood and curse.