Ajakra could not understand what was happening.
The entire event had lasted for less than a second, yet it terrified him deeply.
Then he heard that voice again.
The ghost woman's voice.
The veiled bride sitting beside him softly spoke,
"Do not be afraid. This is only the beginning of a ritual."
"Through this ritual, you and I will become bound together by an invisible thread. Because of that, our karma will intertwine with one another."
"Your sins and my sins… your virtues and my virtues… they will merge together and create a connection between us."
"From now on, whenever you gain virtue, I will share in it. And whenever I gain virtue, you will share in it as well."
"Not only virtue…"
"We will also share each other's sins."
For some reason, at that moment, a strange desire rose within Ajakra's heart.
Where else would he ever find such a beautiful bride?
Even if she was a ghost… she was still breathtakingly beautiful.
Without fully understanding why, he gently placed vermilion upon the ghost woman's forehead.
And with that—
The marriage ritual was complete.
Then another miracle occurred.
Until now, beneath the veil, there had only been that horrifying abyss where her face should have been.
But suddenly, the hollow vanished.
And in its place appeared a face of extraordinary beauty.
A beauty beyond anything Ajakra had ever imagined.
He had never once believed that someone so beautiful could ever become his bride.
The moon hung low and swollen over the ancient banyan tree, its silver light filtering through the twisted branches like spilled milk. The wedding fire had long since died to glowing embers, but the air still smelled of sandalwood, camphor, and something sharper—ozone and grave-dust.
Ajakra sat on the edge of the old charpoy inside the ruined temple chamber, heart hammering against his ribs. The ghost bride—his wife now—stood a few paces away. The veil had been lifted. Her face was no longer an abyss. It was perfect. High cheekbones, full lips the color of ripe plums, eyes like deep kohl-lined wells that seemed to hold entire forgotten centuries. Long black hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back, moving slightly even though there was no breeze.
She wore the red-and-gold wedding sari he had somehow manifested during the ritual, the fabric translucent enough to reveal the faint glow of her spectral skin beneath.
"You are trembling, husband," she whispered. Her voice was soft, yet it echoed inside his skull as well as his ears.
"I… I don't know what I've done," Ajakra admitted. His throat was dry. "I placed sindoor on a ghost."
"You placed sindoor on your wife." She stepped closer. The silver anklets on her feet made no sound against the stone floor. "The thread is tied. Our karmas are already braiding together. Can you feel it?"
Ajakra closed his eyes. He could. A strange warmth bloomed in his chest, followed by an icy trickle down his spine—her coldness and his heat meeting somewhere in the middle. Flashes of unfamiliar memories brushed against his mind: a palace in flames, a lover's betrayal, the weight of heavy gold bangles, and the taste of poison. Her sins. Her virtues. They were leaking into him like ink in water.
She reached out and touched his cheek with fingers that were solid yet freezing. The contrast made him gasp.
"Lie back," she said gently.
He obeyed, lying down on the thin mattress. She climbed over him slowly, the sari pooling around them like blood and fire. When she straddled his waist, he could feel the impossible weight of her—light as mist yet heavy with presence.
"You are beautiful," he breathed, almost reverent. His hands rose of their own accord to rest on her hips. The silk was cool, her body beneath it even cooler.
"And you are warm," she replied, a small smile curving her lips. "I have not felt living warmth in four hundred years."
She leaned down. Her hair curtained around them, smelling of jasmine and rain on old stone. When she kissed him, it was slow, deep, and hungry. Her tongue tasted of iron and honey. Ajakra groaned into her mouth as the bond between them flared brighter. He felt her pleasure echoing inside his own chest, amplifying everything.
His hands moved up her back, finding the edge of the sari. With trembling fingers he pulled the fabric aside. Her breasts were small, perfectly shaped, the nipples a dusky rose that hardened instantly under his palms. She sighed—an unearthly sound that made the temple flames flicker again.
Ajakra sat up, holding her against him. He kissed her throat, her collarbone, then took one nipple into his mouth. The cold sweetness of her skin made his teeth ache. She arched, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. Between them, he grew painfully hard, pressing against the thin barrier of her sari.
She reached down and freed him with practiced, ancient grace. Her hand was like chilled silk wrapping around his heat. He shuddered violently.
"Look at me," she commanded softly.
Their eyes locked as she lifted herself and sank down onto him in one smooth motion.
The sensation was overwhelming—tight, cold, and impossibly wet. Ajakra cried out, gripping her waist. For a moment he thought the shock might stop his heart. Then pleasure flooded him, doubled by whatever the ritual had done. He could feel her ecstasy as clearly as his own, two currents merging into a single river.
She began to move. Slow rolls of her hips at first, then deeper, hungrier motions. Each thrust sent sparks of blue-white light dancing where their bodies joined—visible manifestations of their intertwining karma. Every time he drove up into her, he felt fragments of her past sins and glories pouring into him. Every time she clenched around him, his own simpler life flowed back into her.
Ajakra flipped them suddenly, pressing her beneath him. He needed to feel in control of something in this madness. He thrust harder, deeper, losing himself in the impossible chill of her body. Her legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his back. Her nails—sharp as they had been in life—raked down his shoulders, drawing thin lines of blood.
"Yes," she moaned, voice layered with centuries of longing. "Give me your warmth. Give me your life. I will carry your sins gladly."
The temple seemed to breathe with them. Ancient carvings on the walls glowed faintly. The bond tightened, becoming something almost physical—an invisible golden thread wrapped around both their hearts.
When Ajakra finally came, it was with a broken shout. His release poured into her like molten sunlight into deep water. She followed a heartbeat later, her entire spectral form flashing bright before she clenched around him so tightly he saw stars. Her orgasm felt like drowning in moonlight and sin at once.
They remained joined, panting—his sweat-slick skin against her flawless, cool body.
She brushed damp hair from his forehead with surprising tenderness.
"Sleep now, my husband," she whispered. "Our first night is only the beginning. Tomorrow, the world will feel the weight of two souls sharing one fate."
Ajakra's eyelids grew heavy. As darkness claimed him, he felt her lips press against his temple, and the strange, terrifying comfort of knowing he was no longer alone in his own skin.
Outside, the banyan tree's leaves rustled though the air was still, as if something vast and ancient had just taken its first shared breath.