Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Wedding Night Curse: Kabanata 91 - Kabanata 100

Alika's POVI didn’t whisper the words.I said them clearly.No.I reject you.I reject your crown, your curse, your kingdom of bleeding brides.I reject love that demands sacrifice, love that devours instead of protects.And most of all, I reject you, Sybilla—no matter whose face you wear.The moment those words left my mouth, something shifted. The air trembled. The sky cracked. A sound like bones being split apart echoed through the entire manor.The spirits froze.Their silk dresses floated midair, unmoving. Their hands—clutching wedding rings, baby shoes, candles, and bones—trembled violently before dropping everything to the floor.Then came the scream.It wasn’t Sybilla.It wasn’t even a voice.It was the house.The manor itself screamed as if it had been alive this whole time, and now that I’d rejected its p

Alika’s POVI opened my eyes to a darkness that didn’t surprise me. The spirit world. But this time, it was different.The sky above had no color. Just gray. Like ashes that never got a chance to settle. The ground under my feet was cold and damp like a tombstone that had just been laid. I smelled rotting flowers, and I heard footsteps—slow, synchronized, deliberate.I stood in the middle of a long aisle. On both sides of me were rows of figures dressed in silver burial robes. They didn’t speak. They didn’t move. But they were all staring at me.My dress… wasn’t mine. It was black. Heavy. It dragged behind me and clung to my arms like a shroud. At the center of my chest, a silver brooch shaped like a skull-rose—Sybilla’s symbol. I tried to rip it off. My fingers broke skin, but the brooch didn’t budge. It clung like it was a part of me.At the far end of the aisle stood a blood-red altar, built from rough stone. There were two stairways leading up to it, like a stage. And standing at

Alika’s POVI should’ve forgotten him.I should’ve forgotten everything—the manor, the blood-stained veil, the promises whispered through broken mirrors. That was the cost. That was the deal.But as the purple fire devoured him, and his voice said, “My love is stronger than fate”, I felt something burn into the deepest part of me. Not pain. Not grief. Something else. Something forbidden to remain.When I opened my eyes, I was standing in an open field.There was no Blackwell Manor behind me. Just a stretch of green hills under a cloudless sky. The altar, the gate, the spirits—all gone like a fever dream. My dress was no longer soaked in blood. It was a plain white sundress, soft and dry against my legs. My hands were clean. No sigils. No cuts. No Ethan.I turned around once. Twice.Nothing.No one.I walked.I don’t know how long. Hours? Days?I reached a small town. It

Alika’s POVI stared out the window for hours, hoping something would change. The sun did rise, its rays landing warmly on the glass, but the light felt hollow—like a stage lamp trying to pretend it could bring warmth. In this house, night never really left. Its shadow lived in every corner, between dusty photo frames, inside the creaking floorboards, and most deeply... inside my chest.Ethan was gone. I didn’t know if what I saw last time was truly him, or just the echo of someone who once loved me. After everything, all that’s left is an empty space between the beats of my heart.Last night I slept with the lights on. Not because I was scared—I passed that phase years ago—but because I couldn’t stand the voices that came when I closed my eyes. They didn’t scream. They whispered. And somehow, that was worse."Alika...""It's time...""He’s still with you..."I sat at the edge of the bed, my hand over my flat stomach. There were no signs of life there, but the voice in my dream wouldn

Alika’s POVThis town is too quiet for someone like me.Its streets stay busy only until seven p.m. After that, all the shop lights go dark, as if obeying some unwritten rule no one dares break. The sea breeze brings the scent of salt and rust, slipping through the cracks of my loosely shut windows. My new house is small, a single story, colonial-style, patched up here and there by the previous owner. And yet, there's always a patch of wall paint that peels off every morning.They said this place was perfect for starting over.But how do you start over when the footsteps of your past still follow you?It’s been two nights since I moved here. And for two nights straight, I’ve heard footsteps in the attic—despite the fact that this house has no stairs leading up, just a narrow space above the kitchen, its door hidden in the ceiling. I haven’t found the courage to open it. Maybe it’s just mice. Or maybe I’ve lived in fear for too long, and now even shadows feel like threats.I try to liv