Aarav's breathing was ragged, his palms slick with sweat as he clutched the jagged metal shard. The inn's air was heavy, tasting of dust and something older—like soil that had been sealed in a tomb.
The old man behind the counter didn't move. His eyes gleamed in the candlelight, fixed on Aarav with unnerving calm.
"Wh—what is this place?" Aarav stammered, forcing himself to stand. His injured arm throbbed, but adrenaline kept him upright.
The man's smile widened, revealing crooked, yellowed teeth. "The Inn Between. A refuge, of sorts. A thin crack between her world… and yours."
Aarav swallowed hard. "Her world?"
The man leaned forward, his voice low and raspy. "The bride. The one who walks the cursed road. You've met her, haven't you?"
Aarav's mind replayed every moment—the veil, the scream, the chain searing into his flesh. He shuddered. "…Yes."
The old man chuckled softly, as though amused by Aarav's terror. "She's old. Older than this land. Betrayal forged her. Chains bind her. But every curse has its seams."
Aarav's heart raced. "So there's a way to break it? To get out?"
The innkeeper's eyes glittered. "Perhaps. But the price is steep. Few who come here dare to pay it."
Aarav stepped closer, desperate. "Tell me. Please. I can't stay here—I'll go mad."
The man tapped a long, bony finger against the counter. "To leave her realm, you must understand it. The curse feeds on one thing: promises broken. Oaths shattered. If you want freedom, you must either… mend her vow, or destroy the chain that binds it."
Aarav's mind spun. "Mend it? How do I—?"
The innkeeper's grin sharpened. "Marry her."
Aarav recoiled, horror flooding him. "What?!"
The man's voice echoed, chilling in its calm. "Take her hand. Accept the bond she was denied. In her eyes, you will not be the groom who abandoned her… you will be the one who stayed."
Aarav's chest tightened. The thought made bile rise in his throat. "And if I refuse?"
The old man leaned back, shadows swallowing his face. "Then destroy the chain. The very one she clings to. But beware—it is not just metal. It is her heart, her soul, her grief. Strike at it, and she will strike at you with everything she is."
The room darkened, the candle flames bending toward the innkeeper as if pulled by some unseen gravity. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Choose carefully, traveler. Chains or vows. Love or destruction. There is no middle path."
Aarav's head spun. Every instinct screamed to refuse both choices. Yet the memory of her hollow eyes, the weight of her chain, pressed against him like a vice. He couldn't stay here. He had to choose.
The floorboards creaked. Aarav turned sharply—shadows shifted at the edge of the room. Figures sat at the tables now, cloaked in darkness, their faces hidden. Dozens of them, silent, unmoving.
The innkeeper's grin widened as Aarav realized he was not alone.
"They're all like you," the old man whispered. "Travelers who stumbled into her curse. Some chose vows. Some chose war. All of them… stayed."
One of the shadowed figures stirred, its head snapping toward Aarav. Its face was pale, stretched, its mouth sealed shut by threads of chain. Its eyes burned with despair.
Aarav stumbled back, nearly tripping over a chair. "No…"
The innkeeper's voice was calm, almost soothing. "The curse isn't just hers anymore, boy. It belongs to all who touch it. Including you."
The room pulsed, shadows creeping along the floor toward Aarav's feet. The candlelight dimmed, as if smothered by invisible hands.
"Make your choice," the innkeeper rasped. "Will you bind yourself to her… or break her forever?"
The door behind Aarav shuddered, chains rattling on the other side. The bride's veil fluttered in the crack, her whisper curling into the inn.
"Aarav… don't leave me again."
His body froze, torn between terror and pity. His mind screamed for escape, but his heart ached with something else—a twisted compassion for the sorrow he had witnessed.
The innkeeper's eyes gleamed. "Well? What will it be?"
Aarav's throat went dry. He realized then: whatever he chose, there would be no turning back.