บททั้งหมดของ The Wedding Night Curse: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

The moment the heavy double doors creaked open, Alika knew something was terribly wrong.This wasn't the same hall she had walked through days ago. The space felt warped—elongated, darker, filled with shadows that breathed. Crimson light poured from the dozens of tall, black candles arranged in a circle around the center of the room. Their flames twisted unnaturally, as if recoiling from something unseen.The scent of the air struck her like a slap. Dried herbs, melted wax… and blood. A lot of it.Her stomach turned.Ethan’s grip on her wrist was like iron. He didn’t speak as he dragged her across the cold marble floor. His eyes were empty. His jaw clenched tight.“Ethan,” she rasped. “Please. Don’t do this.”Still nothing. He walked like a man in a trance.The throne came into view.Made of blackened wood, ancient and grotesque, it looked more like a sacrificial altar than a seat. Twisting symbols ado

Alika's POVI remember darkness.Not the kind that comes when you close your eyes, or when night falls gently over the land. This was different. This darkness breathed. It pulsed. It whispered in tongues I was never meant to understand.And in the center of it—I stood. Alone.I had stepped through the mirror for Ethan.But Ethan wasn’t here.The space wasn’t quite a room. It was like floating inside grief itself. The walls—if they existed—were made of mist and silence. My steps left no trace, and my breaths fogged the air in silver wisps.Then a sound cut through it.A groan. Long. Deep. Like the ancient bones of the house were stirring after centuries of slumber.Suddenly—I was no longer inside the mirror.I was back.Blackwell Manor.But something had changed.***The moment I blinked, the walls around me trembled. The chandelier above spun m

Alika's POVIt had been almost a week since I last saw him.In the second-floor window of Blackwell Manor. Behind the dusty, sealed glass that hadn’t been touched since the house consumed him. He stood there, unmoving, watching me—like a shadow of the past refusing to die.I know it sounds insane. But I know what I saw.Ethan.Or at least something that looked like him.Since that night, the world hasn't felt the same. The mirrors in my little cottage seem to have eyes. Water bowls reflect more than just my face. And every night—always around two a.m.—I jolt awake, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding like I’m being chased by something I can’t see.But tonight was different.Tonight, he didn’t just appear.He called me.***It started with the voice.“Alika…”Soft. Familiar. But it came from the wrong place.Not from the window.Not fr

Blackwell Manor, New England – Autumn, 1893Fog slithered between the bare trees, cloaking the grounds of the Blackwell estate in a thick, suffocating silence. The wind whispered through brittle leaves, and in the tallest tower of the manor, candlelight flickered behind the dusty stained glass, casting quivering shadows across the stone walls.That night, Alaric Blackwell — the founding patriarch of the family — would write history in blood.He sat slumped in a carved wooden chair, his eyes fixed on the altar before him. A brittle parchment lay open across the blackened surface, etched with ancient symbols in red ink — or what looked disturbingly like dried blood.Standing beside him was a man cloaked in shadow. His hair was long and gray, his eyes an unnatural shade of green-yellow. He was known only as Malachai, a fallen cleric excommunicated from the colonial church after being accused of heresy and witchcraft. Since then, he had served somethi

The dreams had returned.It had been years—decades—since she last heard the voices, since the dead dared speak her name in the dark. But tonight, they came again. Not as shadows or cries in the wind—but as memories. Vivid, breathing memories that tore her from the comfort of old bones and reminded her of the girl she used to be.She wasn’t Mrs. Whitmore in the dream. Not yet. She was simply Lenora, seventeen and wild-haired, feet bare as she ran through the stone garden behind the old Blackwell church, the hem of her ivory dress stained with dew and dirt.The bells were ringing.But they weren’t ringing in celebration.They were tolling in warning.Dong... dong... dong...Lenora stopped running. Her chest heaved as she turned toward the chapel. Its windows glowed crimson. The altar was drenched in a light that did not come from candles or sun.Someone was getting married tonight.But no one was inv