Alika's POV
The air was heavier tonight.
It wasn't just the chill anymore. The Blackwell mansion had turned sentient. I could feel it in the way the floorboards creaked without weight, the way every shadow seemed to stretch toward me like it was hungry.
I clutched the old grimoire I had stolen from the study—an ancient book bound in dark leather, written in a language that almost seemed to breathe. It had taken me hours to decipher even a few pages, my fingers trembling with each turn as if the ink itself was judging me.
But I had finally found something.
A way to undo it.
The curse.
A reverse ritual. A way to sever the Bride's Bond and escape this nightmare. My blood, willingly given. My body, willingly seated. In the Bride's Throne. Before midnight of the third night.
And tonight… was the third night.
I pressed my hand against the page, rereading the phrase over and over:
"She who breaks the vow must bleed her truth where the first bride wept."
A chill slithered down my back.
I knew where the Throne was now. The torn drawing in the book, the fragmented whispers from the mirror—they all led to the same place: the attic. A forbidden room sealed by time and dust. I had never dared to open it. Until now.
I tightened my grip on the book and stepped into the corridor.
The lightbulbs flickered above me, buzzing like angry wasps. My breath came out in puffs, fogging in the air like I was outside in the middle of winter. But I wasn't. I was still inside the Blackwell mansion.
And the house knew I was trying to fight it.
Suddenly, a loud bang echoed from the end of the hall.
I froze.
The shadows moved.
No—crawled.
Darkness peeled from the corners of the walls, thick like tar, slithering across the wooden floor. Shapes began to form—twisted figures, elongated limbs, eyeless faces. One of them screamed. Or maybe it was me.
I ran.
The stairs groaned beneath me, every step heavier than the last. I could hear them—those things—chasing me, whispering in languages no living throat should know. I kicked open the attic door and slammed it behind me, twisting the rusted lock until it clicked.
Silence.
For a second.
Then a low moan began to rise from the floor beneath me.
I didn't look down.
Instead, I turned on my phone flashlight and scanned the attic. Dust choked the air, thick enough to taste. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling like curtains. But there it was.
The Throne.
A faded red velvet chair, carved from black wood, shaped like a blooming rose with thorns for armrests. A chair fit for a queen—or a sacrifice.
My knees almost buckled.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Blood had already soaked the floor beneath it. Old. Dried. Crusted into the grain of the wood.
I approached it slowly.
With each step, the whispers in my ears returned—stronger, closer. They weren't just in my head anymore. They circled me like a wind, calling my name.
"Alika…"
"Alika…"
"Sit, and remember…"
Remember? What?
I stared at the chair. My hands trembled as I drew the silver dagger I had taken from Ethan's study. Its edge was still clean. It wouldn't be for long.
I took a deep breath, then slit my palm.
Pain burst through my nerves. Blood pooled quickly, hot and slick, dripping onto the dusty floor.
I stepped forward.
But just as I was about to sit—I saw her.
In the reflection of the broken attic window.
A woman in a torn wedding dress.
Standing right behind me.
I spun around.
Nothing.
Only shadows.
But the air shifted again. Warped.
The chair pulsed with heat. My blood had touched it, and it was responding. The curse was waking up.
"I have to finish this," I whispered.
I sat.
The moment my body touched the Throne, the world split.
I couldn't scream.
Everything around me twisted. The attic faded. My mind tore through time and memory, flung backward into something that wasn't mine.
I saw a woman.
Pale, trembling. Sitting in this same chair, weeping.
The First Bride.
Eleanor Blackwell.
But she wasn't alone.
Ethan was there.
Only… it wasn't Ethan.
It was someone who looked exactly like him. His face. His eyes. His voice.
"You promised me," Eleanor wept. "You said you'd set me free."
"I lied," he said gently, brushing her cheek. "You always knew I would."
And then he stabbed her.
Right through the heart.
My chest burned with the memory, a phantom pain that ripped through me like lightning. My eyes flew open, gasping for air. The attic returned—but the Throne beneath me was gone.
Replaced with a circle of ash.
And blood.
My blood.
The book fell from my lap, pages fluttering wildly as if caught in a wind only it could feel. I scrambled to pick it up, but the symbols had changed.
No… they were gone.
Every word had vanished.
As if the ritual was complete.
But it wasn't. I could feel it.
The house had gone still.
Too still.
And then—the door creaked open.
I stood quickly, heart in my throat.
"Ethan?" I called out.
No answer.
I crept toward the door and peeked out into the corridor.
It was empty.
But the mirror at the end of the hall—the cursed one—was glowing.
With red light.
Drawn like a moth to flame, I walked toward it, step by step. My blood still dripping onto the wooden floor. The glow brightened, pulsing like a heartbeat.
And then I saw something in the glass.
Not my reflection.
A child.
A little girl in a white dress, crying.
She looked up at me, face streaked with blood.
"Mommy," she whispered.
I froze.
"What…?"
She pressed her hand against the inside of the mirror.
And that's when I saw it—her eyes.
They were mine.
Before I could speak, the glass cracked.
And the child vanished.
I stumbled back, breath shallow, heart galloping.
"No," I whispered. "No, no, no…"
Had I just seen the future?
A child… my child?
But how? With who?
My stomach twisted.
I turned away from the mirror—but standing behind me now… was Ethan.
His face pale. Eyes hollow.
But not in surprise.
Not in fear.
He knew.
"What did you do, Alika?" he asked softly, his voice trembling. "What did you remember?"
I couldn't answer.
Because suddenly, I remembered something I wasn't supposed to.
A memory that wasn't mine.
A vow.
Spoken in the dark, under a blood moon.
A promise.
Between me… and Ethan.
Only it wasn't this Ethan.
It was the man from the vision.
His ancestor.
Or maybe…
Him.
Over and over again.
Reborn.
Bound to this curse.
And I had been here before.
A bride before.
Dead before.
The ritual hadn't freed me.
It had unlocked me.
The true key… was me.
Ethan stepped closer, his face unreadable.
"We're running out of time," he whispered. "You opened the door, Alika. Now they're all awake."
"Who's awake?"
He didn't answer.
But I heard it.
Footsteps.
Dozens of them.
Marching through the house.
Dragging chains.
Laughing.
Weeping.
The dead brides.
The cursed.
Coming home.
I looked at Ethan, tears stinging my eyes.
"What do we do?"
He looked at me like he wanted to say something—something important.
But all he said was:
"Run."
And then the lights went out.