Even after all the warnings, even after the book, the whispers, the servants' advice, curiosity got the better of me. My heart pounded in my chest as I quietly rose from my chair, leaving the warmth of the fire behind. The corridors were dark, the only light spilling faintly from the pale moon filtering through tall windows. Shadows stretched long, twisting along the walls like living things, but something stronger than fear pushed me forward.
I moved silently, my bare feet brushing the cold marble. The mansion felt different tonight—alive, watching, waiting. Every door I passed seemed to hold a secret. Every corner seemed darker than the last. I followed the faint echo of voices, straining to catch even a fragment of their sound. They were low and urgent, overlapping with sobs and cries that made my stomach twist.
As I descended to the ground floor, my pace slowed, and I froze. From a darkened corner of the hall, I could see movement, jagged and unnatural. My heart stopped.
Elara.
She was on the floor, struggling, her silver gown soaked red with her own blood. A monstrous shape loomed over her—a creature too twisted to be human, its limbs long and grotesque, its eyes burning with an inhuman light. Its claws tore through the air, rending and striking, and I could hear Elara screaming, her voice raw with terror.
No. No, this couldn't be happening.
The voices I had heard earlier—now I realized—they were not whispers from the shadows. They were the sounds of destruction, the monster tearing through the hall, and Elara's cries for help. Each scream made my stomach churn and my chest tighten. I gasped, and my knees buckled beneath me. I sank silently to the floor, pressing my hands over my mouth, desperate to remain unseen.
The monster's attention seemed fixed entirely on her, its movements cruel, deliberate. I watched, frozen in horror, as she tried to defend herself with the only weapon she had—her arms and grit. Her small frame was no match, yet she refused to give up, striking, dodging, clawing at anything she could reach.
I wanted to rush to her side, to fight alongside her, but every instinct screamed at me to survive. I turned, desperate, looking for a hiding place. My eyes landed on a door—a heavy, forbidden door I had never noticed before. I stumbled toward it, every step shaking beneath me, and slammed it shut behind me.
I sank to the floor, pressing my back against the door, my breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Only then did I notice the room's contents, and the terror shifted into something else—shock, disbelief, nausea. The room was filled with dresses, jewelry, and trinkets soaked in dried blood. Wedding gowns of every shape, every age—some tattered and yellowed, others pristine—hung in disarray or piled on the floor. The jewels glinted in the faint moonlight, each stone heavy with something more than beauty, something dark and sorrowful.
This was no ordinary storage. No ordinary room. This was a disposal room, a tomb of past brides. The horror of it struck me in full—these were not clothes to be worn, but remnants of lives taken, forgotten, or destroyed.
A memory surfaced suddenly, sharp as a knife. I remembered two guests I had overheard talking during one of the ceremonies. They had spoken quietly, joking—or perhaps not joking—about the brides. One had asked, "How long do you think this one will last?" The other had laughed, leaving it uncertain whether they meant weeks, days, or hours. At the time, I hadn't paid it much thought.
Now… everything clicked.
The blood, the dresses, the monstrous figure outside… all of it made sense. The mansion, Anthony, even the servants—they were part of something darker than I had imagined. And I had been blind. I had thought myself safe, insignificant. Invisible.
I wrapped my trembling hands around my knees, my body pressed against the door as the sounds of tearing and screaming reached my ears again. My mind flashed through the days I had spent with Elara—the quiet talks, the hesitant laughter, the shared indulgence in the luxury of the manor. Even in the short time we had known each other, we had grown close, had built a fragile connection in this twisted place.
And now she was fighting for her life.
My fear, my survival instinct, wavered. Something deeper, fiercer, stronger than fear surged through me—determination, a sudden courage I hadn't known I possessed. I could not let her die alone. Not after everything. Not after the bond we had forged.
I pressed my ear to the door, listening intently, every scream, every tearing sound, every inhuman growl. My stomach churned, bile rising, but I forced myself to focus. I remembered the book—the black leather one I had discovered in the library. Silver. Ordinary weapons were useless. Silver could harm such creatures. My mind raced, trying to piece together what I knew and what I could use.
I looked around the room again. The dresses, the jewelry—so many remnants of the past. Perhaps some could be of use. Perhaps a brooch, a pin, anything sharp and metallic. The thought gave me a spark of hope. Not much, but enough to steel my nerves.found it, a hairpin made silver. I clutched it and tugged it under my sleeve.
I swallowed hard, letting my resolve harden. The fear in my chest was still there, but it was now joined by something else: purpose. I had to save her. I had to act.
I rose slowly, pressing myself against the wall, creeping toward the door. The sounds of struggle continued, relentless and horrific. I could hear Elara's cries, her voice raw, desperate, pleading for any help, for anything that could save her.
I stopped for a moment, my hand trembling on the door handle. My mind spun with questions. How could I fight such a creature? Was I prepared to risk my life? Could I even survive?
And yet… I could not remain hidden. Not now. Not when Elara was fighting, bleeding, and alone. Every memory of our days together, every small moment of connection, strengthened my resolve.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. The moonlight spilled through the windows, casting silvery shadows across the room, and I felt a strange calm settle over me. I was scared—terrified, even—but I could not let fear paralyze me. Not this time.
Tonight, I would no longer be invisible. Tonight, I would act.