The wardrobe door creaked open, exhaling a gust of cold, stale air.
Elara flinched as shadows spilled out like ink, pooling at her feet. Inside, there were no clothes, no shelves, no walls. Instead, the wardrobe was hollow — a tunnel of endless blackness, leading down, down, down into nothing.
Her breath hitched.
Something moved inside.
Not footsteps. Not breathing. But something alive.
"Elara…" The voice was a hiss, drawn-out and inhuman. "Another bride… another feast…"
Her blood ran cold.
Before she could slam the door shut, a pale hand shot out from the void, its fingers long and clawed. It swiped at her face, grazing her cheek with icy sharpness. Elara screamed and stumbled back.
The shadows in the wardrobe writhed, clawing at the edge of the doorframe, trying to crawl out.
Then — bang!
The wardrobe door slammed shut on its own.
Elara gasped for breath, clutching her chest. Her cheek stung where the claw had cut her, blood warm against her skin.
She didn't realize the Shadow King had returned until she felt his presence filling the room like a storm. His silver eyes glowed, narrowing at the sight of blood on her face.
"You opened it."
Elara's lips trembled. "I—I thought…"
"You thought you were clever?" His voice was sharp as thunder. The shadows in the room quivered, mirroring his fury. "The wardrobe is a gate. Every bride who opened it was devoured."
Her stomach twisted. "Then why put it in my room?"
"Because," he said coldly, "I don't save the weak. If you cannot resist the manor, you don't deserve to live here."
Elara stared at him, fury rising in her chest despite her fear. "So you brought me here to test me? To watch me die like the others?"
For a long moment, silence. Then, to her shock, the faintest smile curved his lips.
"You're not dead, are you?"
Before she could respond, he turned and strode toward the door. "Survive the night, little bride. If you can."
The door slammed shut, leaving her alone again.
Elara sank to the floor, her hands trembling. The wound on her cheek burned, but she refused to cry.
She whispered into the silence, "I will survive. Even if this house hates me. Even if he hates me."
But as she lay down in the vast, shadow-haunted bed, she couldn't shake the feeling that something — or someone — was still watching her.