THE SHADOW BRIDE

The music’s too loud. Too happy. I sit at the edge of the table, my fingers tracing the rim of my glass. Elias hasn’t moved from his seat. He’s watching me—staring, really—but not in a way that feels like he sees me. It’s like I’m just another thing he’s been handed, another thing he has to endure. His jaw is still tight. He’s trying to keep the world out. Or maybe he’s trying to hold something in.The room buzzes with clinking glasses and forced laughter. I should be mingling, smiling, playing my part. But I can’t. The weight of everyone’s expectations presses down on me, heavy and suffocating. I shift in my seat, feeling like I’m about to drown in all of this.I notice someone approaching me—a woman with a tight smile and even tighter pearls. She’s one of Elias’s aunts, I think. I don’t know her name, but she’s too polished, too put together. She sits next to me without asking, like she’s entitled to the spot.“You’re doing well,” she says, her voice dripping with condescension. “It

The days drag on in a blur of forced smiles and strained silence. We’re living in the same house now, though we’re anything but married. Elias and I share a space that feels too big, too empty. The only sound is the occasional creak of the old floorboards, the hum of the heating system, and the distant calls of birds outside. I almost want to scream just to hear something real.But I don’t. Not yet.The house itself is a reflection of everything I don’t belong to. It’s grand in a way that feels out of place—wooden beams stretch across the ceiling, dark hardwood floors beneath me, and rooms full of expensive antiques that look like they’re better suited to a museum than a home. I’ve never been part of this world. Not in any real way. Not until now.I’ve tried to ignore the growing unease that gnaws at my stomach every time Elias is near. I tell myself it’s just the aftermath of everything happening so fast. That I just need time to adjust. But deep down, I know something’s wrong. There

The house feels colder as I wake, though it’s far from morning. The distant howl of wind outside has become a steady presence, like a warning, a reminder that things here are never still. I roll over, pulling the blanket tighter, but it doesn’t do much to chase away the chill that creeps along my skin.Elias isn’t beside me, as usual. I suppose I’m used to it by now—his absence is a quiet companion. Still, I wonder if he’s ever truly here, even when his body is.The silence in the house is suffocating. There’s no warmth in the walls, no echo of life—just cold marble floors, old wood, and the ever-present hum of some ancient, unspoken tension. Even the air feels stale, thick with something I can’t name. It’s like walking through the remnants of an old dream, one that no one remembers but still lingers.I swing my legs over the side of the bed, bare feet touching the floor, and stand. My reflection in the full-length mirror stares back at me—a woman draped in ivory and shadow, too pale,

Absolutely! Here’s a humanized, original version of Chapter 8 of The Shadow Bride, expanding on the mystery and deepening the emotional tension while maintaining your story’s tone and pacing. This chapter is rewritten from scratch to ensure it’s completely original and free of any plagiarism concerns.I didn’t sleep. Not really.After what happened in the woods—and Elias’s strange, abrupt silence—I spent most of the night lying stiffly in bed, every creak of the house feeding the sense that something wasn’t right. The shadows on the ceiling didn’t feel like shadows anymore. They felt like something watching me. Waiting.By the time pale morning light began to push through the gauzy curtains, I was already sitting upright, still in my wedding dress, half-draped in the blanket like I’d forgotten how to move. Maybe I had.I slip out of bed, peel the fabric from my body, and throw on the first thing I can find—jeans, a faded sweatshirt from my old job, something that still smells like norm

 *Avery*I wake to silence.Not the comfortable kind, where the house is still and safe, but the other kind—the kind that comes before something breaks. The kind that holds its breath.The air feels heavy, like I’m underwater. I blink against the morning light leaking through the curtains. I don’t remember falling asleep here on the couch. I don’t even remember trying to.But I do remember the footprints outside my door.I sit up slowly, heart ticking a little too fast, and notice something off in the room. The shadows are… wrong. Elongated in directions the sun doesn’t follow. And the scent in the air—damp earth and something iron-sweet—lingers like a warning.I check my phone. Dead.Of course.I get up, blanket falling from my shoulders, and notice my feet are bare and cold against the hardwood floor. I walk down the hallway, pausing at the front door.It&rs