All Chapters of The Wedding Night Curse: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Alika's POVI was alone again.Or at least, I thought I was.The night had grown unusually still—too still. Not even the wind outside dared to rustle the curtains, and the usual creaks of the old manor had faded, as though the house was holding its breath.That should have warned me.But it didn’t.Because something else filled the silence.A sound.Faint at first.A melody.---It came from nowhere and everywhere.A woman’s voice, soft and ancient, singing in a language I didn’t understand—but somehow still knew. The tune curled around my ribs like fingers laced in silk. Gentle. Intoxicating. Dangerous.I stood, unsure when I had even risen from the bed.My feet moved without permission.The dress I wore felt unfamiliar—white, trailing, embroidered in symbols I’d never seen before.I tried to stop.I couldn’t.

Alika's POVTarget: ±3500 kata | Gaya: Emosional, manusiawi, horor psikologis | Ending: Menggantung, tanpa menyebutkan "cliffhanger" secara eksplisit---I no longer recognized myself.It began subtly—like a dream you half-remember upon waking. A flicker in the mirror. A shadow where a smile should’ve been. My eyes avoiding their own gaze.But now, it was undeniable.The reflection before me… had no face.No eyes.No mouth.No emotion.Just a pale blur of skin stretched over bone, like someone had wiped away the memory of who I was.And yet, the figure moved exactly as I did—tilting its head, lifting a trembling hand, mirroring me with surgical precision.I stepped back from the vanity mirror in the east wing.So did she.I turned to flee——and walked straight i

Alika's POVI never liked this room from the first time I stepped into Mrs. Whitmore’s old house. It was too quiet. Too thick with the scent of dead wood rising from antique furniture and stacks of aged spellbooks. But today, the room felt colder than usual—as if the air itself refused to come in.Mrs. Whitmore sat in her rocking chair, her wrinkled fingers spinning a small object that oddly reflected light, even though no candle was lit.“This is for you,” she said, her tone too flat for something she claimed to be a protective charm.I hesitated to take it. The necklace was cold—not like metal, but like... bone that hadn’t fully dried. It was a pale yellowish white, shaped like a carved fang in a swirling pattern, hanging from a blackened leather cord.“Made from a young bride’s bone,” she murmured. “It protects the soul, but... the price isn’t cheap.”I stared at her. “You’re giving me a charm made from... a victim?”Mrs. Whitmore raised an eyebrow. “The dead can’t complain. But th

Alika’s POV---They say time heals.But they never talk about wounds that aren’t meant to heal. Wounds that were never just physical—etched not into skin, but into soul.Mine began when I was five. A fall, they told me. A shard of glass, they said.But even at five, I knew better.The pain didn’t start when I hit the floor.It started when I looked in the mirror afterward... and saw something looking back that wasn’t me.---For years, the scar beneath my rib cage remained faded—a whisper of something forgotten. Ethan once asked about it, fingers brushing over the thin line.“Looks like it never fully healed,” he’d said.“I guess I didn’t want it to,” I had answered with a forced laugh.He didn’t press further.Now, I wish he had.Because tonight... the scar reopened.And it wasn’t blood that poured out.It was a petal.

Alika's POVI didn’t know what brought me back to that basement room—perhaps curiosity, or maybe the faint whispers that had been guiding my steps since that dream. My hand trembled as it touched the rusted iron handle, and the moment the door creaked open, the scent of damp earth, dust, and withered roses hit me like a memory I never lived.In the center of the room stood a mannequin. Draped over it was a black wedding dress that shimmered like living midnight. But what made my chest tighten in dread… was the absence of any shadow beneath it.My heart pounded as I stepped closer. I reached out with trembling fingers.“This dress...” I whispered. This wasn’t ordinary fabric. It wasn’t made for ordinary people.The moment I touched it, the world went still.The dress clung to me like memory, warm and familiar, like an embrace from someone long dead. I didn’t remember deciding to put it on, but suddenly, it was wrapped around my body. It fit too perfectly. Like it had been waiting.Then