Alika's POV
I sat before the vanity in our bridal bedroom, staring at my own reflection in the antique mirror. The golden frame looked too luxurious for a house that smelled of dust and distant memories.
But something about today felt… off.
My face looked unfamiliar. Not because I was tired or pale, but because my eyes—my own eyes—didn't feel like mine anymore.
I blinked.
The reflection didn't.
My stomach dropped. For a split second, I could've sworn that my reflection smiled—a twisted, knowing smile that didn't belong to me.
I jerked away from the mirror. "It's just exhaustion. You're imagining things," I whispered, trying to convince myself. But even my voice trembled.
Ever since our wedding night, this house had changed. Or maybe it had always been this way, and I was just now starting to see it. The air felt heavier. The shadows lingered too long. And the silence… it wasn't peaceful. It was watchful.
I turned, hoping Ethan would be standing by the door like he sometimes did, smiling faintly. But there was only stillness.
Three nights married, and yet he felt further away with each passing day. He barely spoke. He barely slept. And last night, I caught him murmuring in his sleep.
"No… not her… it's not supposed to be her…"
I shook him awake. His eyes opened, but they didn't focus on me—almost like he didn't recognize me at all.
And this morning, he was gone. Just a cold mug of coffee and a note on the counter: "Need some time alone. Don't worry. —E."
How could I not worry?
I pulled on a gray sweater and stepped into the hall. It was colder today, the clouds outside drooping low like the sky itself didn't want to witness what this house had become.
As I passed the east hallway, something caught my eye.
A door that had always been shut before… was slightly open.
It led to a small side room we'd never bothered exploring. But now, it looked like it was waiting for me.
I pushed the door open slowly.
The room was dark except for a sliver of gray light filtering through a small window. The only thing inside was an old, full-length mirror with a cracked wooden frame. I was sure this room had been empty before.
My feet moved toward it before my mind could resist.
The mirror was caked in dust, but beneath the grime, its surface still reflected clearly. I stared into it—and what I saw made my heart seize.
It wasn't me.
A woman stood in the reflection, wearing a tattered wedding gown, surrounded by wilted flowers and melting candles. Her eyes were vacant. Blood trickled from her temple. In her hands, she clutched a bouquet of dead roses.
And behind her stood a man—his face eerily similar to Ethan's, but younger. And covered in blood.
I stumbled backward, breath caught in my throat.
When I looked again, the mirror was empty.
Only my own pale, wide-eyed face stared back.
"I'm going crazy…"
"No, darling. You're not."
The voice made me jump.
Mrs. Whitmore stood in the doorway, wrapped in her usual black shawl, her eyes solemn.
"What's going on?" I asked, my voice dry.
She stepped inside, her gaze fixed on the mirror. "I warned you not to go near this room."
"I didn't open it—it was already open."
"Then she's starting to show herself to you," the old woman whispered.
"She…?"
"Eliza," she said simply. "The first bride of this house."
I swallowed. "You mean… someone actually—?"
"She was married here. In this very house. Decades ago. Her third night ended in blood. And now…" She glanced at the mirror. "Now she lingers. Trapped in every piece of glass, every reflection. A story unfinished."
I felt my knees weaken.
"She was murdered?"
"Yes. By the man she trusted most. On the very night she should've been safest."
My skin prickled. "And Ethan and I…"
"She doesn't care who. She only needs a bride… and a sacrifice."
I backed away. "You think I'm the next her?"
Mrs. Whitmore's voice lowered to a near-whisper. "Love won't save you. In this house, love is the most dangerous thing of all. It fuels the curse."
My heart pounded.
"What do I do?" I whispered.
"Don't look in the mirrors at night. Keep the lights on. And if she speaks to you… don't respond."
Before I could say another word, she slipped out of the room, leaving me with the mirror and my rising dread.
That day, I covered every mirror I could find. I even hung a towel over the bathroom mirror. I refused to look.
But night came too quickly. Ethan still wasn't home. His phone went straight to voicemail.
I sat in bed, every light in the room turned on. The silence throbbed in my ears.
11:37 PM.
I heard a creak.
Not the door.
The vanity.
My head whipped around.
The mirror was uncovered.
I was sure I'd draped a scarf over it earlier—but now, it was bare. And in it, I saw something that made every hair on my body stand.
Me.
But not me.
The reflection stood. I was still sitting. Her face was identical, but her smile was cruel, her eyes black and endless. She wore a bridal veil, her skin pale like bone.
She raised one finger to her lips and whispered, "Shhhh…"
I stood slowly, trembling. "Eliza?"
The reflection chuckled softly.
Her lips moved, but I couldn't hear her voice.
And yet—I felt her words.
"Your time is running out."
I stumbled backward and fell against the floor, gasping.
The lights flickered once… twice… then went out completely.
Darkness swallowed the room.
I reached for the flashlight on the nightstand. My fingers fumbled. The silence was deafening.
Then the mirror began to glow on its own. A dim, unnatural light pulsed from within it.
And inside—I saw a wedding. Not mine. Not now.
Guests with no faces. A priest with no mouth. A room filled with dying roses. And Ethan—kneeling, his eyes hollow, holding the cold hand of a screaming bride.
Me.
I shut my eyes. "No, no, no—this isn't real."
But when I opened them, the vision was gone.
And my reflection was smiling.
Blood now dripped from her eyes.
And then—I heard something else.
A knock.
Three soft knocks.
But not on the door.
From inside the mirror.