The inn was swallowed in darkness. Every lantern that lined the corridor had died, leaving only the faint glow of the blood-red ring on the floor. Aarav's breaths came fast, ragged, and each exhale seemed too loud—as though the walls were listening, waiting.
The innkeeper stood still, his milky eyes turned upward as if he could see beyond the ceiling. "It begins," he muttered.
Aarav swallowed hard, his throat dry. "What begins?"
The old man's lips tightened. "Her first test. The Bride always begins with silence… and then she sends the shadows."
Almost on cue, a groan echoed through the inn. The wood above creaked as though something heavy crawled across the ceiling. Dust fell in tiny clouds, landing softly on Aarav's shoulder. His heart skipped.
"Stay close," the innkeeper warned. His voice had lost its calm edge, replaced with urgency. "The walls will try to separate you. Don't listen. Don't wander."
But even as he spoke, the corridor stretched before Aarav's eyes. What had been a short hallway now seemed endless, doors multiplying on either side, each door identical, each whispering faintly.
Aarav blinked, shaking his head. This isn't real. It can't be.
The innkeeper reached out a hand to guide him forward, but Aarav hesitated. "Where are we going?"
The old man's grip was iron. "To the chapel."
"Chapel?" Aarav echoed.
His guide nodded. "Every groom must attend the Bride's chapel. If you refuse, she drags you there herself. Better you walk with your own legs."
Before Aarav could argue, the whispers swelled into laughter—dozens of voices cackling, as if mocking him. His ears rang with it. He clutched his head, stumbling forward. "Make it stop!"
The innkeeper's voice cut through, sharp and commanding. "Rule one! Do not answer! They will twist your words into vows."
Aarav bit down hard on his lip, tasting blood, forcing the scream back into his chest. His vision blurred as the corridor shifted again.
One of the doors swung open on its own.
A pale hand emerged from the darkness beyond—slender, feminine, fingers tipped with cracked nails. It curled in a beckoning motion. And then came the voice.
"Aarav… it's me."
His body froze. That voice—he knew it. It was his mother's.
Heart hammering, Aarav stumbled closer to the open door. His mind screamed against it, but his chest ached with longing. "Mom?"
The innkeeper's cane slammed into the floor, the sound sharp as thunder. "Not her! Never her! She wears their voices like veils!"
The pale hand withdrew, and the door slammed shut so violently the frame splintered.
Aarav's legs shook. He could barely breathe. His chest heaved, and tears burned his eyes. She sounded exactly like her…
The innkeeper grabbed him by the collar, forcing his gaze upward. "If you chase ghosts, you'll join them. Do you want to be trapped here forever?"
Aarav swallowed the sob threatening to escape. "No…"
"Then walk."
The two pressed on, the endless corridor groaning beneath their weight. The air grew colder, each breath forming pale mist.
Finally, a pair of massive doors loomed at the end of the hall—carved with roses, their wood stained dark as dried blood. A faded wreath of flowers hung crooked across them, petals long dead, stems brittle.
The innkeeper stopped, his face drawn tight. "The chapel."
The whispers ceased. Silence fell so absolute that Aarav could hear his own heartbeat. He almost preferred the noise.
The innkeeper reached into his robe and pulled out a small brass key, rusted with age. His hand trembled as he fitted it into the lock. "I can take you no further," he murmured.
"What? Why?" Aarav demanded. His voice cracked with fear.
"This is your trial, boy," the old man said, eyes heavy with sorrow. "Each groom must face her alone. Survive until the bell tolls once, and you may leave."
"How long is that?" Aarav asked quickly.
The innkeeper hesitated. "One hour. An hour in her chapel will feel like a lifetime."
Before Aarav could protest, the doors groaned open on their own, spilling cold air into the corridor. A faint glow pulsed within—pale, like moonlight reflected on water.
The innkeeper pushed him forward gently. "Remember the rules. No words when the walls whisper. No answer when she calls. And above all—do not touch the ring."
Aarav staggered inside.
The chapel was vast, impossibly large compared to the inn's size outside. Pews stretched endlessly in rows, all draped in white sheets like shrouds. The air reeked of wilted flowers and candle wax. At the far end, an altar stood—covered with a veil.
And before it, rows of figures sat in silence.
Aarav's breath caught. They were dressed in wedding clothes—suits, gowns, tuxedos—yet their skin was gray, hollow, faces hidden beneath veils of cobwebs. None moved. None breathed.
A chill crawled up his spine. "Are they…?"
As if in answer, the figures turned their heads toward him in perfect unison. Dozens of lifeless faces staring, empty sockets glowing faintly red.
Aarav stumbled back, heart hammering. His instincts screamed to run, but the doors had already closed behind him with a resounding slam.
Then the altar veil lifted.
And she stood there.
The Bride.
Her gown was white but stained, dragging across the floor in tatters. Chains clinked at her wrists, dragging behind her like tails. Her face was obscured by a veil, but beneath it, Aarav glimpsed hollow eyes and lips twisted in something between grief and hunger.
The pews shook as the corpse-like guests rose to their feet, bowing their heads. The silence was suffocating.
Then the Bride raised her head.
And in a voice both beautiful and broken, she whispered:
"Aarav… you came."
The words slid into his ears like knives. His knees almost buckled.
She raised one chained hand. A ring of pure black metal appeared in her palm, glimmering in the pale glow. She extended it toward him.
The pews chanted in unison, hollow voices echoing: Take it… take it… take it…
Aarav's throat closed. His hand trembled, almost lifting on its own.
He remembered the innkeeper's warning. Rule three: never accept her ring.
But her voice—sweet, familiar, aching—slipped through his defenses. "Don't be afraid, my love. With me, you will never be alone again."
For one heartbeat, he saw his mother's face beneath the veil.
His chest ached. His hand moved closer.
The chapel doors rattled violently behind him, and the sound of a bell began to toll.
The first trial had begun.