Chapter 2: The Wedding at the Cursed Estate

Alika’s POV

***

I stood before a tall mirror, its glass fogged with time and laced with silver cracks, like veins under old skin. My white wedding gown—soft as smoke—dragged behind me, whispering across cold marble.

No laughter echoed in the room.

No bridesmaids fixing my hair.

No music. Only silence and the ticking of an unseen clock.

They say your wedding day is the happiest day of your life.

But standing here—alone, watched only by my reflection—I felt like a lamb draped in silk, walking into a storm.

This house… wasn’t made for joy.

It breathed sadness from the walls.

---

The estate stood like a mausoleum at the edge of the forest, wrapped in ivy and fog. I’d only arrived hours ago, but already the place felt older than the trees surrounding it. Its halls whispered. Its shadows moved a little too thoughtfully.

They say no bride has ever left this house unchanged.

Some never left at all.

I didn’t want to believe the rumors—until I saw the woman in the portrait by the staircase.

She wore a wedding gown identical to mine.

But the paint couldn’t hide her terror.

---

A knock on the door.

I turned.

Standing in the doorway was her—his mother.

Black lace wrapped her like mourning. Her brooch was a coiled golden serpent, and her eyes were colder than the marble beneath my feet.

“It’s time,” she said. Not unkindly. Just… inevitably.

I followed her through the corridor, lined with portraits that blinked in the corners of my vision. One woman’s eyes followed me. One man’s mouth curled into something almost like a smirk.

The great hall was dim, lit only by dozens of aged candles.

Crimson drapes choked the windows.

No sunlight entered.

There were ten people in the pews. All silent. All from his family.

No one from mine.

Of course not.

I clenched my fists, grounding myself in reality.

You said yes.

You signed the papers.

You made this choice.

But my body trembled.

Not from nerves.

From something else.

Something… watching.

---

He stood beneath the altar.

Tall. Silent. Waiting.

His black suit shimmered with a pattern I hadn’t noticed before—glyphs. Ancient, curling script woven into the fabric like a secret prayer.

When our eyes met, I forgot how to breathe.

He wasn’t smiling.

But there was something in his gaze—like he was memorizing me.

Not adoration. Not hunger.

Recognition.

The ceremony passed in fragments.

A priest whose voice never rose above a whisper.

A ring colder than bone sliding onto my finger.

And his hand—brushing mine, warm and still… too still.

No kiss.

No music.

Only silence.

And a storm rumbling just beyond the horizon.

---

They led me to the bridal suite after.

No one spoke. Not even him.

The room was beautiful. Velvet. Candlelight. Gold.

But it felt like a cage.

A large mirror loomed opposite the bed. The corners were carved with snakes and blooming roses. An old wardrobe stood in the corner like it hadn’t been opened in decades.

The scent of jasmine filled the air—but it was thick, almost choking.

His mother stood in the doorway, hand on the doorknob.

“Midnight,” she said. “He will come then.”

Her voice wavered. Just for a second.

“And until then?” I asked.

She looked at me—not with malice, but pity.

"Whatever you hear, do not open the door.”

Then she left.

And locked it from the outside.

---

Time melted.

By eight o’clock, the shadows had lengthened. The wind howled against the windows, though the trees outside were still.

And then—came the crying.

A woman’s sobs. Barely audible.

Mourning. Shattered. Ancient.

I pressed my hands over my ears. But her voice—her grief—seeped through my bones.

> “Don’t make the same mistake. He’s not who you think. The wedding isn’t for love…”

I stumbled to the wardrobe.

It creaked open without touch.

Inside… another wedding dress.

Identical to mine.

Stained with blood.

A small mirror fell from the top shelf and shattered on the floor.

I crouched, heart racing.

But the reflection staring back wasn’t mine.

Her face was half-missing. Burned. Eyes like empty wells.

But she smiled.

I screamed.

The mirror vanished.

The wardrobe door was closed.

I was alone.

Again.

---

Then—midnight struck.

The door opened with a breath.

He stepped in.

My husband. And yet… not.

He was dressed in the same suit.

But his skin was pale, like carved alabaster.

And his eyes—glowed faintly, like embers in a dying hearth.

“Good evening,” he said. His voice echoed too long for the room.

“My bride.”

I couldn’t move.

I wanted to run.

But something in his presence wrapped around my limbs like silk and stone.

He approached slowly. “You’re afraid. You should be.”

“Who are you?” I whispered.

He smiled. Not cruelly. Not gently. Just… knowingly.

“I am what remains. I am the vow that outlived its speaker.”

He lifted a hand. His fingers brushed my cheek. Cold.

And my skin burned beneath his touch.

“You think this marriage was about love?”

His words shook the room.

“No. This is a pact. You are not here to love me. You are here to finish what you began long ago.”

I stared at him.

> “What did I begin?”

He tilted his head.

“You were never meant to be mortal. That’s why you hear them. That’s why the mirror showed you what you forgot. Look closer—at yourself.”

He handed me the broken shard of mirror.

And there—through the cracks—I saw her again.

Golden eyes. A mark on her neck like an ancient seal.

My face.

But… not mine.

Something deeper. Older.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered.

“You will. Soon.”

---

A scream echoed from below.

Not human. Not animal.

And then… footsteps. Too many. Moving in sync.

He turned to the door, frowning.

“They’re early,” he muttered.

I backed away.

“What is happening?” I demanded.

He didn’t answer.

He just looked at me—like someone seeing the moon for the last time.

“I chose you,” he said. “Not because I had to. But because I remembered.”

He stepped closer.

“If you still want to run, run now.”

I didn’t move.

Not because I trusted him.

But because something inside me whispered:

> You’ve been here before.

---

The door burst open.

The hallway was filled with… them.

Brides.

Pale. Hollow. Veils trailing behind them like smoke.

Eyes shining like mirrors. Blood dripping down their dresses.

He stepped between me and the door.

But they didn’t attack.

They only whispered.

> “Wake up…”

> “Finish it…”

> “Or become one of us.”

I fell to my knees, gripping the mirror shard tight.

In its surface, I saw myself.

And behind me… a crown. Bone. Shadow.

Not a victim.

Not a bride.

> A queen.