Dawn came too soon.
Aria had not slept. She lay on her straw pallet watching the faint light creep across the ceiling beams, every passing minute tightening the knot in her chest. Outside, roosters crowed, their calls sharp and jarring against the stillness in her bones.
Today she would leave.
Not for market, not for a healer's errand. Leave forever.
Her mother stirred first, her breath ragged as she pushed herself upright with effort. Lines etched deeper into her face overnight, carved by grief and fury both. Tomas slept curled at her side, his small hand still clutching the edge of her sleeve as though even in dreams he feared she might vanish.
Aria rose quietly, stepping into the cool morning air before her tears could betray her.
The village was subdued, its usual morning bustle muffled as though the whole place had wrapped itself in mourning cloth. Women drew water in silence. Men gathered tools with lowered heads. Children did not chase each other across the paths but clung to their mothers' skirts instead.
Aria walked through it like a ghost, unseen though every eye followed her.
"She's the one," someone whispered as she passed.
"Poor girl."
"Better her than mine."
The words stung, but she did not falter. She kept her back straight, her steps steady. If this was to be her last day in the only home she had ever known, she would not walk it bowed.
At the baker's house, Mira met her at the door. The woman's eyes were swollen, her son pale but recovering thanks to Aria's poultice.
"You shouldn't be out," Mira whispered, as though saying it too loud might break her. "But… thank you. For what you did for him."
Aria forced a smile. "He's strong. He'll be fine."
Mira clutched her hands, tears spilling. "If there were justice, they would never send you. You've saved more lives than anyone in this village. If the Shadow Prince has any mercy, he'll see your worth."
Aria didn't answer. She couldn't. Mercy was not a word she trusted anymore.
By midday, the council sent for her.
Councilwoman Elda and two others came to the healer's house. They carried a bundle of white fabric and a crown woven of withered flowers, brittle from a land that no longer bloomed.
"This is the custom," Elda said, her voice heavy. "You will be dressed as a bride, so that the Shadow Prince cannot mistake the offering."
Her mother's face twisted. "Offering. You speak as if she's bread for slaughter."
Elda's gaze softened, if only for a moment. "Would that I could change it. But the ways are older than us all."
She set the garments down and left without another word.
Aria sat as her mother brushed out her hair, fingers shaking through the tangles. Tomas hovered nearby, his face pale and blotchy from crying.
"You don't have to wear it," Tomas burst suddenly, his voice fierce with a child's desperation. "Don't let them put you in their stupid dress. Don't—don't go."
Aria turned to him, catching his hands. "If I fight them, they'll only drag me. And if I go in rags, they'll call it blasphemy. This way… at least I keep a little dignity."
Tomas's lip trembled. "I hate them. I hate all of them."
Aria pulled him close, pressing her forehead to his. "Then hate me enough to live, little brother. Hate me enough to keep breathing, even when I'm gone."
He broke then, sobs racking his small body. Their mother wrapped them both in her arms, her frail strength holding them together like threads trying to bind a torn cloth.
For a moment, Aria let herself weep too, silent tears soaking into her mother's sleeve. Just for this breath, this heartbeat, she was not a bride, not an offering, not a girl chosen by chance. She was only a daughter, a sister, clinging to the family she loved.
Evening came faster than it should have.
The council returned as the sun dipped low, their faces grim. Outside, the villagers had gathered with torches, their glow flickering against the deepening blue of the sky. The forest loomed beyond, its shadows already thick.
Aria stood as her mother fastened the crown of brittle flowers into her hair.
"You walk to him," her mother whispered, her voice steady despite the tears glistening in her eyes. "But remember this, Aria: you are mine. You are ours. No curse, no prince, no darkness can take that from you."
Aria nodded, her throat too tight to speak.
When she stepped outside, a hush fell over the crowd. Torches swayed, firelight painting faces with sorrow, relief, fear.
The path had been marked with lanterns leading toward the forest. A bridal procession. A funeral march.
Aria walked forward, each step heavy but unbroken. The villagers parted, their eyes following, some with pity, some with shame, some with the terrible relief that they had been spared.
Her mother's cries broke behind her. Tomas's voice shouted her name until it cracked. But no one stopped her. No one ever stopped the chosen.
At the edge of the trees, Elder Marrek raised his staff. "The bride goes forth."
And the villagers echoed, a dull chant: "The bride goes forth."
The words hammered in Aria's skull as the forest swallowed her.
The forest swallowed her like a living thing.
Lanterns flickered along the narrow path, casting uneven shadows on the twisted roots and gnarled trunks. The air smelled damp, earthy, and strangely metallic, as if the soil itself bled underfoot.
Aria kept her steps steady, though her heart thundered in her chest. Every snapping twig, every rustle of leaves, made her pulse spike. She wanted to run, to turn back, to throw herself into her mother's arms and refuse this fate.
But she could not.
Behind her, the village receded, the torches growing dimmer, smaller. The chanting had ceased. No one called her name anymore. She was alone, a single thread between life and the unknown darkness ahead.
The first whispers came as she entered a grove where the trees arched overhead like cathedral spires.
They were faint, almost indistinguishable from the wind through the branches.
Aria…
She froze, every muscle taut. The sound was soft, seductive, like a voice she should know but could not place.
Aria…
Her breath caught. She spun, lantern raised, but the path behind her was empty. Only shadows, shifting unnaturally in the torchlight, answered her gaze.
Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her shawl. "Stay calm," she whispered to herself. "It's just the wind. Just trees."
Yet the voice persisted. Softer now, curling into her mind.
You are mine…
Aria stumbled forward, tears pricking her eyes. Her mind recoiled at the familiarity of the tone. It was not just a voice—it was a memory she could not name, a pull she could not resist.
She shook her head, forcing herself to focus. "No. I am mine," she said aloud, though the words felt hollow.
The lantern cast trembling light on the path, revealing carvings in the bark of the trees. Symbols she had never seen before: spirals, crescent moons, jagged lines that seemed to writhe under her gaze.
Elder Marrek had mentioned the Shadow Prince's palace, but nothing of this forest. Nothing of the shadows that remembered.
She knelt to trace one of the carvings with her fingers. The wood was cold, rough under her skin. The symbols seemed almost… alive, pulsing faintly beneath her touch.
Leave… a whisper echoed.
Aria jerked back. The forest was alive, watching her, marking her. Each step she took felt heavier, as though the ground itself tried to hold her back.
Hours—or was it minutes?—passed. Time here had a way of stretching. Lanterns swung, though the wind was still. Shadows moved against the grain of reality, bending corners, curling around trunks. Every so often, Aria glimpsed forms just at the edge of her vision: fleeting, human-shaped, and impossibly tall.
The bride…
Her skin prickled. Her throat tightened. Was it him? The Shadow Prince? The stories said he did not appear until the bride reached the palace. But the forest was his realm too, and he did not need to be seen to be felt.
Aria pressed her palms to her eyes, breathing in the musty scent of moss and rot. When she opened them again, the path had shifted. Lanterns farther ahead flickered, though no one had passed them.
A figure emerged from the shadows, thin and glimmering as if woven from the mist itself.
"Who's there?" she demanded, voice steadier than she felt.
The figure stepped closer, and the lantern revealed nothing more than a silhouette, tall and impossibly still.
"You fear me," the voice said, silk over steel. "But fear is your companion, little bride."
Aria's heart froze. She did not answer.
The figure tilted its head, studying her. It vanished before she could see its face, dissolving into shadow like smoke caught on the wind.
And yet the whisper remained, curling around her like a second skin.
You cannot hide.
The path narrowed, hemmed in by dense thorns. Lantern light caught on their thorns, glinting like jagged teeth. Aria stumbled over a root, sprawling across the dirt. Pain lanced through her knee, but she forced herself to rise.
The whispers multiplied. Not just one voice now, but hundreds, faint and overlapping, weaving together into a chorus of accusation and longing.
You belong…
The curse claims you…
Do not resist…
Aria staggered forward. She wanted to scream, to throw the lantern into the thorns and run blindly. But she could not leave the path—not yet. She remembered her mother's words: Do not look afraid.
So she pressed on.
The forest thickened. Mist rose from the ground, curling around her ankles like fingers. Shapes moved in the fog, sometimes human, sometimes monstrous. Her lantern cast shadows that twisted unnaturally, stretching across the mist as if they were alive.
A sudden sound—a snap behind her—made her spin. Nothing. Just the mist and the low, constant whispering.
Aria's mind reeled. Was this part of the curse? Or had the forest always been like this, and no one had dared enter at night?
Her feet slipped in the mud, and she fell forward, lantern clattering to the ground. Light bounced off the trees in fractured patterns, and for a moment, she thought she saw dozens of eyes staring back at her from the mist.
A hand, cold and impossibly fast, closed over her shoulder.
She screamed, but the sound was muffled by the fog.
"Shh," the voice whispered. Soft, velvet, impossibly close. "Do not be afraid. Not yet."
Aria froze. Heart hammering, every nerve alight with terror.
The hand released her. She scrambled back, lantern clattering again. When she looked, there was no one there. Only shadows, dancing with a life of their own.
The whispers grew louder, forming words she could almost understand. A melody rose from the mist, ancient and mournful, singing of brides lost, of darkness bound, of a curse that devoured all who stepped too close.
Aria pressed her hands over her ears, trying to block it. "Stop… stop…" she choked out.
But the sound was inside her head now, no longer external.
You are mine…
Her breath came in shallow gasps. She sank to her knees, the lantern trembling in her hands. Tears streaked her cheeks as she realized the forest was alive, not just with spirits or shadows, but with hunger. Hunger for her.
She was alone.
And the path forward seemed endless.
The mist thickened, curling around Aria's ankles like living snakes. Every step forward became a negotiation with the forest itself, roots clawing at her shoes, branches scratching at her arms. The lantern's light barely penetrated the fog, painting only fragments of the path ahead.
And then she saw them.
Figures, just at the edge of perception, fleeting shapes that glimmered in the mist. Pale women, cloaked in tattered white. Faces blurred, features obscured, eyes hollow and endless.
Aria stumbled, pressing her palms against her mouth to stifle a scream.
The whispers grew, louder, layered, insistent.
You are the next.
Do not resist.
Join us…
She shook her head, trying to force the illusions away, but they persisted. With each blink, more forms appeared, rising from the fog, fading into the trees, then returning, closer, as if circling her.
One figure stepped forward more clearly than the others. She was kneeling, head bowed, hair long and white, crowned with withered flowers. A bride from centuries past, her hands still folded as though in prayer.
Aria froze. The air felt heavier, her lungs tighter. She wanted to run, to throw the lantern into the fog and vanish into the darkness. But something rooted her in place: recognition. The bride's face mirrored her own, pale and frightened, yet resolute.
"You cannot escape," the vision whispered, voice carried by the wind. "Neither have we. Neither shall you."
Aria swallowed hard, stepping backward. "I'm not afraid!" she shouted, but her voice cracked, lost in the mist.
The vision rose, and as it did, the fog twisted. Shapes moved within it—limbs, shadows, forms that were human and not. Their mouths opened, but no sound came, only a pressure in the air that pressed against her ears.
Aria gripped the lantern, willing its light to pierce the fog, to carve a path forward. "I will survive," she whispered, more to herself than to the specter.
The bride tilted her head, as if weighing her words. Then she dissolved into mist, leaving only the echoes of the whispers.
You are mine…
Aria stumbled forward, each step heavier than the last. The lantern swung wildly, casting fractured shadows that seemed to reach out and grab her. She could feel eyes following her, hundreds of them, unblinking, patient, and waiting.
Memories of the village, her mother's face, Tomas's small hand in hers, surged forward, driving her on. She could not—would not—become a shadow in this forest.
Branches lashed at her face, snagging her shawl. She yanked it free and pushed forward, stepping into a small clearing.
The air here was colder, sharp against her skin. In the center of the clearing stood a stone pedestal, blackened with age and etched with unfamiliar runes.
Aria's breath caught. The pedestal radiated a low hum, a vibration she could feel through the soles of her feet. She stepped closer, compelled by some force she could not name.
Then she saw them: the other offerings. Statues of girls, frozen mid-step, eyes wide with terror. Their hair flowed as if underwater, their hands frozen in gestures of pleading or prayer. The crowns of withered flowers crowned their heads, identical to the one she now wore.
A shiver ran through her. These were not stone. They were flesh and blood once. Life drained into this forest, leaving only form.
Aria stumbled back, nearly dropping the lantern. Her knees hit the wet ground, mud caking her hands.
You are mine…
The whisper was no longer a voice. It was the forest itself, twisting around her mind. Shapes rose from the shadows, coalescing into tall, black silhouettes, watching, waiting. She could feel them breathing, inhaling her fear.
She swallowed, forcing herself upright. "I am not yours," she spat, voice trembling but defiant. "I will not be taken!"
The silhouettes froze. Then one stepped forward, taller than the rest. Its form shifted as if liquid, impossible, inhuman, but its presence was undeniable. Aria felt the weight of its gaze, a cold awareness that pierced her, threading into her bones.
She wanted to scream. Wanted to run. Wanted to vanish into the fog, but her feet refused to obey.
A sudden rustle behind her drew her attention. The lantern trembled in her hands. From the edge of the clearing, a small figure emerged: a girl, translucent, clothed in the pale remnants of a bridal gown, reaching toward her with hands that ended in nothing but mist.
"Do not resist," the apparition whispered. Her mouth moved, lips forming words that echoed in Aria's mind rather than in the air.
Aria's stomach churned. "I… I won't… I—"
The words failed her.
The mist girl drifted closer, and Aria could see her face clearly now. Hollow, tear-streaked, mouth twisted in silent wails. The crown of flowers on her head wilted even as it floated above her.
Join us…
Aria gritted her teeth. She took a step back. The lantern light fell on another figure, then another. The clearing swirled with them, a storm of brides past, their presence pressing in on her from all sides.
And in the center, taller than all, the shadow loomed. Its form was vast, impossible to define, but she felt it, cold and aware, watching. She could not see its face, but it knew her.
You are mine…
Aria's hands trembled, lantern swinging violently. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but the clearing seemed endless. The path she had taken was gone, swallowed by mist.
And then she heard it, a faint sound beneath the whispers—a heartbeat. Slow, steady, deliberate. Not hers.
Something moved just beyond the lantern's reach, brushing the edge of the clearing.
Aria swallowed hard, gripping the lantern. "Show yourself!" she demanded, voice breaking. "I will not—"
A hand, impossibly large and dark as night itself, reached from the shadows. Fingertips brushed the fog, and the air seemed to shiver under its touch.
Soon…
The word echoed in her mind, and the mist coiled around her ankles, tugging, pressing, urging her forward into the unknown.
Aria took a deep, shuddering breath. "I… I will survive," she said again. Not to the shadows. Not to the mist. To herself.
The figures of the brides past drifted aside, revealing a narrow path deeper into the forest.
With trembling legs, she stepped forward.
And the shadows followed.
The forest grew darker, thicker, as if swallowing the last light of the day. Lantern flickers danced across twisted trunks, but the glow seemed to fight the shadows rather than illuminate them. Every tree bent inward, forming a canopy that swallowed the sky.
Aria's hands shook, clutching the lantern. Her chest ached, lungs burning as the cold, damp air filled them. She could feel the forest pressing closer, moving subtly, almost breathing.
Branches curled toward her, not just brushing but nudging, urging her deeper. Roots shifted underfoot, making the path uneven, treacherous.
And still, she walked.
The whispers had returned, louder now, chanting in a rhythm she could not escape.
Aria… Aria… Aria…
The sound echoed not only around her but within her. The forest pulsed with it, vibrating through the soles of her feet, threading into her bones.
Shapes appeared among the trees. Pale forms, translucent, drifting without sound. Brides past, repeating the same final steps, reaching with arms that trembled but never touched her. Their faces were mirrors of fear and despair.
One came close enough that Aria could see her eyes: hollow, endless, filled with longing and torment. The crown of withered flowers on her head tilted forward, drooping as if weighed down by grief.
"Do not resist," the vision whispered, the sound curling into Aria's mind like smoke. "Do not resist, little bride."
Aria's throat tightened. She shook her head violently. "I will resist," she gasped, voice trembling but fierce. "I will not… I—"
The words caught in her throat as a dark shape shifted in the mist. Taller, more defined than the others. A presence that commanded the space around it, bending shadows like a tide. She could not see a face, but she felt it—aware of every heartbeat, every tremor of fear.
Soon…
The voice resonated in her bones. Not just the whispers of past brides, not the rustle of trees, not the wind. It was here.
Aria stumbled backward, nearly dropping the lantern. Her hands clutched the fabric of her dress. "Who… who are you?" she whispered, voice breaking.
No answer. Only the weight of presence. Cold. Calculated. Patient.
The forest path seemed to lengthen, twisting unnaturally. Mist swirled at her feet, curling upward, forming shapes that mimicked her movements. Her reflection appeared in the fog: pale, wide-eyed, crown tilted, lips trembling.
And then the crown moved of its own accord. The withered flowers shifted, petals brushing against her hair, whispering faintly.
You are mine.
Aria staggered forward, forcing her legs to obey. Each step pressed deeper into the forest. She could feel the shadows watching, following, brushing against her shoulder, caressing her hair.
Something in the air changed. The whispers became a chorus, many voices layered over one another:
You are ours…
The curse claims you…
Do not fight…
Aria pressed her palms to her ears. "No! Stop! Stop!" she screamed, but the voices only grew, surrounding her like a storm.
She rounded a bend and stumbled into a clearing. Moonlight filtered through the canopy above, illuminating a circle of black stones. Symbols etched into the stones glimmered faintly, pulsing with a light from within.
The mist formed shapes along the edges of the circle. Figures of brides past—hundreds now—lined the stones, frozen mid-step, eyes wide, mouths open in silent screams.
Aria's knees buckled. She sank to the ground, lantern quivering. Her hands shook as she reached for the nearest stone, trying to anchor herself, trying to remember who she was.
You are mine…
The whisper came from everywhere, from nowhere. It was the forest itself, bending her mind, tugging at her soul.
A sudden movement drew her gaze upward. A branch, impossibly thick and dark, curved overhead like a claw. It reached down, brushing her hair, sending shivers down her spine.
Aria pulled back. Her lantern wavered. Shadows moved in response, gathering, coiling around the edges of the clearing like serpents.
And then she heard it—a slow, deliberate footstep, soft but certain, coming from the center of the stone circle.
She froze. The mist parted just enough to reveal a figure. Tall, cloaked in darkness that seemed to drink the light from the lantern. The presence radiated power, awareness, a cold inevitability that rooted her in place.
Aria's breath caught. The stories had been true. He was real.
The Shadow Prince.
She could not see his face, but she could feel his gaze, sharp and precise, cutting into her very soul.
"You… are… here," he said, voice deep, resonant, like wind through caverns.
"I—I…" Aria's voice cracked. She wanted to retreat, to run, to vanish into the mist. But her legs would not move. "I am… not "
"You are," he said, a shadow twisting closer. "And soon, you will understand. This forest… this path… it is yours as much as it is mine."
The words slithered into her mind, soft yet insistent, like silk wrapped around steel. Fear pressed down, cold and heavy, but beneath it something else stirred: curiosity. A dangerous, forbidden pull that she could not ignore.
The brides past shifted, their forms drifting toward her, but not threateningly. They seemed… resigned. Watching. Waiting. Their eyes begged her, warned her, and some even whispered her name.
Run… or resist… or survive…
Aria's hands shook as she raised the lantern higher. Shadows stretched across the stones, bending unnaturally, forming shapes that mimicked the figure in the center.
"You will learn," the Shadow Prince said, stepping closer. Each movement seemed to bend the mist, curve the fog, tighten the forest around her. "Not today, not yet—but soon, you will understand the cost of being chosen."
Aria swallowed. Her lips trembled. "I—I will not—"
You already have.
The whisper was everywhere, inside her mind, wrapping around her heart. Aria fell to her knees, lantern clattering to the stone. She pressed her hands over her face, trying to block the presence, trying to remember herself.
But the forest would not let her.
And in the shadows, he waited.
Aria rose slowly, trembling, every muscle aching from fear and exhaustion. The lantern's light cast quivering shadows that stretched across the stones, dancing like specters of past brides. She swallowed hard, the weight of inevitability pressing down on her.
The Shadow Prince stepped fully into the clearing, his form now distinct against the mist. Dark robes clung to him, absorbing the lantern's light, and a crown of shadow seemed to hover above his head. His eyes glowed faintly, gold as embers, fixed on her with a power that made her knees weak.
"You cannot flee," he said softly, but the sound reverberated through the clearing like a command. "The forest has chosen. Fate has chosen. And now, so have you."
Aria's breath caught. She wanted to fight, to scream, to turn and run, but every instinct told her she was already too deep. The whispers of the past brides, the shifting shadows, the pressure of the forest itself—it all told her one truth.
She lifted her lantern higher, letting its light cut a small circle through the mist. "I… I will survive," she whispered again, her voice steadier this time. Not to him. Not to the forest. To herself.
The Shadow Prince inclined his head ever so slightly, acknowledging her defiance with the faintest smile. "Good. You must survive… or you will break before your time."
Aria took a trembling step forward, moving deeper into the forest. The mist coiled around her ankles, shadows twisting behind her, and the whispers faded to echoes as the clearing dissolved behind her.
And in the darkness, she felt him watching, always watching, as she disappeared further into the forest that would become her prison, her trial, and, perhaps, the place where her destiny would begin.