Elara's spine stiffened.
"The first what?"
Balthazar's whiskers twitched. "The first Elara. The original soul. The one who started all this. The one the manor remembers best."
"I am Elara," she said slowly.
"Not quite," Eryx murmured, stepping forward. "You're… a reincarnation. A fragment. A consequence."
"Oh, good. Identity crisis and possession in the same day," she muttered. "Neat."
The wind howled louder now, like the manor was calling something forward.
Something old.
Something furious.
---
"She was the one who made the blood pact," Balthazar continued, hopping up onto a velvet chair. "Centuries ago. She married Eryx. She died here. She lived here. And then, rather rudely, she refused to move on."
"I didn't ask to be possessed by my undead bridal predecessor."
"Possession?" The cat snorted. "Oh, no. You are her. Or what's left of her. She just… left a deeper imprint."
Elara stared at them both. "So I'm haunted by myself."
"Basically."
"Excellent."
---
The air turned heavy—like the manor had inhaled and was holding its breath.
Elara turned toward the doorway just as the chandelier above them began to sway. The lights flickered.
And then, from the far end of the hall…
A shadow stepped through the wall.
It didn't knock.
Didn't open a door.
It simply phased into existence.
And she was beautiful.
Terrifyingly so.
She looked like Elara—same sharp cheekbones, same dark curls, same half-scowl—but older. More regal. More decayed. Her dress was black as pitch and stitched with red thread. Her eyes gleamed like garnets in moonlight.
The First Elara.
---
Eryx stepped in front of the modern Elara instinctively.
"Don't," he warned.
The specter smiled—thin, bitter, eternal.
"You always preferred her newer."
"Elara," Balthazar said cautiously, "meet yourself."
The First Bride tilted her head.
"You came back," she said. Her voice sounded like cracking ice. "Again."
"I—I didn't mean to," Elara said. "This wasn't intentional. I was just looking for a house, and now I'm in Crimson Ghost Divorce Manor with a talking cat and a vampire ex-husband."
The ghost drifted closer, not touching the ground.
"You promised me forever."
"I don't remember making any promises!"
The First Bride's mouth twisted.
"That's the problem."
---
The air cracked.
The walls trembled.
The paintings wailed in grief.
"You abandoned your throne," the First whispered. "You left your crown in the ashes. And now you wear sneakers in the hall of kings."
"I'm sorry?"
"You should be."
Eryx drew a dagger from his coat—a slim blade carved from obsidian. "Don't," he said again. "This isn't your time anymore."
The First Bride's eyes flicked to him.
"Oh, you still think you have control over this place? Over me?"
"I buried you, Elara. Twice."
"And yet I keep rising."
---
Elara blinked. "Okay, can someone explain why my ghost is yelling at me like I broke up a royal engagement?"
"You were a queen," Balthazar offered. "Of sorts."
"Of what? Goth drama and poor relationship choices?"
"Precisely."
The First Bride raised a hand, and the diary Elara had picked up earlier lifted from her grasp and flew across the room, pages fluttering.
It burst open in midair.
"You wrote these words," the First said. "You knew who you were. You chose to remember. And then you fled."
"I don't remember writing anything!"
The First Bride's voice boomed:
> "You will."
---
The diary's pages flipped on their own, violently.
Words bled across the paper in dark ink.
Elara stumbled backward, but the room was shrinking again—walls pulling closer, light dimming.
Eryx grabbed her arm. "She's trying to reclaim you."
"Reclaim?"
"She wants to take your body. Complete herself. Regain her soul."
"I'm her soul!"
"Exactly."
---
A red mist began to spill from the pages of the book.
It coiled around Elara's legs like smoke, warm and humming.
Balthazar hissed. "We need to move. Now."
But Elara couldn't move. Her feet were locked to the floor.
Visions flickered across her eyes:
A burning ballroom.
A man with no eyes screaming her name.
A wedding dress soaked in blood.
A crown of thorns and fire.
A kiss beneath a gallows.
She gasped.
And suddenly—she remembered something.
---
"I killed you," she said to Eryx, staring.
He blinked. "Which time?"
"No. The first time."
He hesitated. "Yes."
"You were already dying. You said I'd be the last thing you ever saw."
His expression softened. "And I was."
"Why do I remember now?"
"Because she's forcing the memories to surface," Balthazar said, circling the mist. "She wants you to become her."
"I don't want to!"
"Then fight back."
---
The mist surged.
The First Bride raised her arms.
And Elara felt her own body begin to lift off the floor—heart hammering, ears ringing, vision blurring.
Then—
She grabbed the pendant on the floor—the one from the painting. The cursed one.
And slammed it into her own chest.
A flash of crimson exploded across the room.
---
Time snapped.
The mist recoiled.
The First Bride screamed.
And Elara—this Elara—landed hard on the floor, gasping.
The pendant pulsed against her skin.
It had embedded itself just beneath her collarbone—blood and gemstone fused.
"Why," Balthazar wheezed, "do you humans always stab yourselves for dramatic effect?"
Eryx knelt beside her. "What did you do?"
"I reminded myself who I am," Elara growled.
The First Bride staggered, flickering, her form destabilizing.
"You'll forget again," she hissed.
"Maybe," Elara said. "But not today."
She stood, trembling, heart pounding, and faced her spectral past.
"I'm not your puppet. I'm not your memory. I'm not your unfinished story."
"You're mine," the First whispered.
"No," Elara said. "I'm me."
---
With a final shriek, the ghost was pulled backward—drawn into the painting behind her, which swallowed her image whole.
The room stilled.
The mist dissipated.
The diary dropped, pages burned.
And Elara—still breathing—collapsed onto the nearest chair, exhausted.
---
"Did… I win?" she asked weakly.
"You survived," Balthazar said. "Which is better than average."
Eryx looked at her like she was something holy and dangerous. "You're stronger than her."
"I don't feel like it."
"You will."
A beat of silence passed.
Then Elara said, "So, are all my exes possessed, or is that just a me thing?"
Balthazar smirked. "Give it time."