After the carriage had vanished, Fanaza found herself deep in the forest. She was confused, because she remembered she had been inside the carriage with Rwaine and Percival, chasing after the deadly carriage of Lazarus. She had no idea how she had ended up in the deep red woods—a forest rumoured to exist only in mythical books.
Her chest tightened. This isn't real… 'It can't be real,' she thought. Rwaine was right there beside me. Did he abandon me? Or was I pulled away from him on purpose?
The trees were alive. Their bark wept red sap like blood, and each time Fanaza breathed, the branches seemed to bend closer, whispering her name.
"Fanaza," a scary voice sang out in a soft, eerie tune.
Her heart skipped a beat; the woods knows her name.
"Fanaza…" it called again, a cold breeze rushing through the woods, almost tearing off her cloak.
"Hello!" she screamed, her voice trembling. But all she heard was her own voice echoing back through the forest.
"Hello…" she said again, softer this time, clutching her cloak tightly around her shoulders.
Her throat went dry. If Rwaine were here, she wouldn't be afraid. He makes danger feel less deadly.
She walked further in, her boots crunching leaves beneath her feet. Suddenly, she heard a twig snap. She turned around—and to her surprise, she saw a woman in a plain white gown, spotless as snow, her face hidden beneath a white veil.
"Hello?" Fanaza called again, her voice shaking.
The woman suddenly turned and ran.
"Wait!" Fanaza shouted, chasing after her, desperate for answers. She ran as fast as she could, but the woman's speed was unnatural—too fast for her to catch.
Panting, Fanaza stumbled into a secluded clearing. Rose petals lay scattered across the ground like a path. She followed slowly, her heart racing in her chest.
From afar, she saw six women dressed exactly like the first woman she saw—white gowns, veils covering their faces, each holding bouquets of flowers. They stood still, like brides waiting at the altar.
Fanaza's stomach twisted. "No… not brides. Not me as Percival's bride."
Fear was eating her up slowly as she remembered she was going to marry Percival and be a bride.
She stepped back, but her foot caught on a tree log. She tripped and fell hard. The brides turned their heads toward her at the same time.
She froze for a few seconds before speaking. "What are you people?" she whispered.
"We are the bride, but we are forced to marry the
bridegroom", they answered in unison, their voices hollow and cold.
Her whole body shivered with terror. This was her nightmare come alive… a forced marriage, a life chained to Percival, a man she doesn't love.
Fear engulfed her. One of the women stepped forward, lifting her veil. What Fanaza saw made a cold run down her spine—the woman's face was exactly like hers.
"Today is our wedding," the woman said.
Fanaza's lips trembled as she shook her head. The other brides lifted their veils too, and her heart almost stopped. They were all Fanaza—exactly the same, with no difference.
Her thoughts spiralled. "Why do you all look so much like me?" she muttered, her voice shaking in confusion.
"We are waiting for our bridegroom. He is late," one replied with tears running down their cheeks.
Her heart hammered in her chest, and she couldn't stop thinking about her marriage, a duty she can't escape, but then she was also sure her heart beats for someone else. For Rwaine.
She turned and bolted, running as fast as she could. But her fear dragged memories with it, her marriage to Percival, the very thing she dreaded since arriving at the palace. His calm, unreadable eyes haunted her.
"He feels nothing for me… but Rwaine, with just one look, makes me feel seen." Her thoughts broke when the ground gave way beneath her feet. She screamed as she fell into quicksand.
The red earth swallowed her legs instantly. She kicked and clawed at the ground, struggling to free herself. The sand sucked her deeper, pulling her waist down, then her chest. She gasped for air; her arms swung helplessly as she tried to grab a tree branch. Her fingers slipped on the wet bark, and she began to panic.
"No, no, no!" she cried, fighting wildly. The sand dragged her lower, covering her shoulders. She could feel it tightening around her body like a thousand hands.
"Fanaza…" the whisper came again.
Her head snapped up, and through blurred tears she saw the brides walking toward her slowly. Their white gowns dragged across the ground, unstained, their faces hidden.
"Help me!" Fanaza screamed, struggling harder. Her mouth filled with the taste of dirt. She choked and coughed, her body sinking deeper—only her head above the surface.
The quicksand closed around her neck. She clawed at it desperately.Just as her head was about to disappear, a hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her upward.
Fanaza coughed and gasped for breath as she was pulled free from the quicksand. She looked up, trembling. A woman stood before her, veil lifted just enough for her mouth to move.
"If you want to live… defeat the bride and your fear," the woman said.
Fanaza's heart pounded.
"Defeat the bride? Defeat my fear? But how can I?"
The forest went dark, and shadows spread across the ground. The brides appeared again. But this time, someone stronger stood among them. She lifted her veil, and her face was not Fanaza's. It was an old woman's, wrinkled and bony.
Fanaza forced herself to fight her with all her strength. I will not be chained to a life I don't want. Not with Percival. My heart belongs to Rwaine, even if I must bleed for it. Blow after blow, until finally the woman fell into a dark pool of water. Fanaza looked down—but the woman had no reflection.
Her voice shook. "They are not real; they are just my fear turned into flesh."
"And only a true blood from a future bride can save you; your time is up. Don't keep him waiting," the old woman whispered.
Fanaza raised her trembling hand, cut her palm with a sharp stone she picked on the floor and smeared her blood across the veil. The white fabric turned red.
The bride screamed. Her body crumbled into ashes that melted into the red woods. One by one, the others collapsed, their dresses falling to the ground—empty, with no bodies inside.
Fanaza stepped forward cautiously. She bent down and picked up one of the gowns. To her shock, she saw a tag stitched inside. A name was written there: Esther Lazarus.
Fanaza froze. "Is this Lazarus's wife?" she muttered, her mind racing.
"This isn't only my fear," she whispered. "This
could also be a part of Lazarus's story."
Fanaza was confused; things weren't making sense anymore.
And then, from the shadows, Lazarus appeared.
"Good girl," he said as he laid his cold hand on her head.
Fanaza's vision blurred. Darkness swept over her, and she fainted just like Percival.