The Wedding Night Curse

Alika's POV

My name is Alika. And I was supposed to die on my wedding night.

Not from an accident.

Not from murder.

But from a curse that had haunted seven generations-waiting patiently for the moment sacred vows were spoken. I know this now. But when it all began-when the proposal arrived-I was just an ordinary girl, exhausted from waiting on a fate that never seemed to come.

I was sitting on the front steps of the orphanage that had raised me since childhood. Evening had begun to descend. The sky was like an open wound-red, gray, and hollow. There was no eerie breeze, no ghostly chill. Just silence. A silence too deep for a town this small.

Until a black car pulled up to the gate.

A limousine. Polished. Expensive. And far too foreign to belong to anyone I knew.

A sharply dressed man stepped out from the back. His face was unreadable, devoid of expression. He approached the headmistress and handed her a sleek black folder, then whispered something into her ear.

I watched from behind a pillar, wary. Uneasy.

They both turned to look at me.

And everything changed after that.

---

"He wants to marry you," the headmistress said that night.

I nearly choked on my rice.

"Who?"

"Damar Ardhana."

It took me a moment to recognize the name. Not because he was a stranger-on the contrary, he was a legend. The Ardhana family was old money, said to descend from colonial aristocracy. Their estate on the hill was often called the cursed house. Locals whispered that anyone who married into the Ardhana bloodline... died.

"No," I said quickly. "This is a joke, right?"

The headmistress placed her hand over mine. Her eyes were serious.

"This isn't an ordinary proposal, Alika. This is... a kind of pact."

"I haven't even met him."

"You will. Tomorrow morning."

And just like that, my life shifted course.

I had no choice.

Because when you live under someone else's roof, destiny rarely asks if you're ready.

---

Damar Ardhana arrived on a cloud-covered morning.

He was tall, composed, and carried an unsettling calm that seemed to freeze the air around him. His face was handsome-but not in a warm way. His eyes were dark, his voice low, and every sentence he spoke sounded like a final verdict.

"I know this is strange," he said, looking me straight in the eyes. "But I'm not looking for love. I'm looking for a wife."

"Why me?"

"There's a reason. But it's not time for you to know it."

I wanted to laugh at the absurdity. But something about him made laughter feel dangerous.

"What if I say no?"

He was silent for a long beat. "You won't."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Because there's nowhere else for you to go."

Cold. Honest. Devastating.

And he was right.

---

Three days later, I wore a white gown as we stood in a grand, echoing hall.

Our wedding was quiet, almost clinical.

No family on my side-because I had none.

On his side, only stern-faced elders and one woman who stared at me like I was already a corpse.

There was no laughter.

No music.

Only silence.

When I said my vows, the sky outside turned black-despite it only being four in the afternoon.

---

The Ardhana estate sat alone on a hilltop. Enormous. Ancient. And terrifying.

The moment I crossed the threshold, the air changed. Not cold... but heavy. Like something was pressing on my chest.

The paintings along the hall watched me with blank, accusing eyes. The deep crimson carpet felt like it had once absorbed blood. My footsteps echoed-as though someone else was walking just behind me.

"This is your home now," Damar said.

I wanted to ask, And where is your room?

But the words stuck in my throat.

An elderly maid guided me to the bridal suite upstairs. The room was beautiful. Lavish. And as quiet as a crypt.

"Get some rest," she said.

"And whatever you do... don't open the middle wardrobe mirror."

I frowned. "Why not?"

She stared at me for a long moment.

"Because tonight... they'll come looking for you."

---

I couldn't sleep.

It was too quiet.

Too dark.

And the shadows on the wall shifted without reason.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door that hadn't moved since I entered. Damar had yet to come.

The wedding night, he'd said.

But my husband had vanished.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.

But my eyes kept drifting to the old wardrobe in the corner-the one I was told not to open.

And that... was my first mistake.

I stood.

Approached slowly.

My fingers trembled as they touched the handle.

I took one last breath...

Then opened it.

A large mirror reflected my image-but it wasn't just me.

There was another woman.

Standing behind me.

In a wedding dress.

Pale face, hollow eyes, mouth agape... blood seeping from her stomach.

I spun around.

No one was there.

But when I looked back at the mirror-she was closer.

Her hand reached out.

And touched my shoulder... from inside the glass.

I screamed and slammed the doors shut.

My heart pounded. My knees nearly gave way.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway.

I thought it was Damar. I ran to the door and flung it open-

No one.

Only a whisper.

"Welcome home, Alika."

I shut the door, locked it, and slid down to the floor, shaking.

Tears streamed down my cheeks before I even realized.

That was the moment I knew...

This marriage wasn't the beginning of a new life.

It was the beginning of my end.

Alika's POV

I stood before an old mirror, its glass fractured like a spider's web. My ivory wedding gown trailed along the cold, polished floor. No laughter echoed through the room. No bridesmaids fussed over me with makeup brushes and final touches. Just the groan of wooden floorboards and the scent of damp earth drifting in through the half-open window.

This day was supposed to be the happiest moment of a woman's life.

But for me-it felt like a funeral rite.

The Damar family estate was nestled at the edge of a forest, far from town, cloaked in moss and shadow. They said the house was over two hundred years old, passed down through generations. But what sent a chill down my spine... was the rumor. Not one marriage ever ended happily in this house. Not one bride ever left.

"Citra." A calm but cold voice called me from the doorway. Raditya's mother, Mrs. Sekar Damar, wore a black lace dress with a golden snake-shaped brooch pinned to her chest. "It's time."

I nodded slowly, lowered my gaze, and followed her down a long corridor lined with family portraits. The eyes in those paintings seemed to follow me-as if judging whether I was worthy of carrying the Damar bloodline. Some even looked like they were smiling. Or maybe it was just the light... playing tricks on me.

The wedding took place in the estate's grand hall-a dust-covered room filled with faded tapestries and old furniture. The marble floor was dulled with age. Deep crimson curtains hung heavily over the tall windows, and only ten people attended-all from the Damar side. No one from mine.

My parents had died in a strange accident just a month before.

Raditya called it destiny.

But in my heart, I knew something was wrong.

He stood at the altar, carved from dark mahogany, wearing a black suit embroidered with barely visible symbols-ancient glyphs resembling forgotten scripts. His gaze was deep. Blacker than night.

The ceremony was brief. Hollow. Devoid of warmth.

No kiss.

No vows exchanged beyond what was necessary.

No music. Just silence.

As he slipped the ring onto my finger, a chill surged up my arm. My fingers trembled-not from nerves-but from something else.

A voice.

A whisper.

Soft, but clear.

"He's not human..."

I jerked my head toward the sound, but saw no one.

The guests remained still. Faces pale. Empty.

After the ceremony, Mrs. Sekar escorted me to a room on the upper floor. She called it the bridal chamber.

But stepping inside felt like falling into a nightmare.

The canopy bed was draped in black lace. A massive mirror sat across the room, its golden frame etched with serpents and roses. In the corner, an old wardrobe loomed like a sealed tomb. The scent of jasmine and incense filled the air-not soothing, but suffocating.

"Your husband will come at midnight," she said, her tone like a warning. "Do not leave this room until he arrives. No matter what you hear... do not open the door."

I nodded, though my instincts screamed to run.

---

Time crawled.

The old clock struck eight. I sat at the edge of the bed, breath shaky. Then... the sounds began.

Footsteps in the hallway. Heavy breathing outside the door.

Then crying. A woman's sobs-soft, broken, full of grief.

I covered my ears. But the voice pressed into my mind.

"Help me... I was once a bride too... Don't open the door... Don't make the same mistake..."

I stood, heart pounding, ready to flee. But before I reached the door-

The wardrobe creaked open.

A long moan echoed as its doors swung back. Inside hung another wedding dress-stained with blood across the chest.

A small mirror fell to the floor and shattered.

I knelt, drawn by something I couldn't explain, and saw-not my reflection-but a woman.

Her face was ruined, eyes blackened and hollow. She wore my dress.

She stared at me... and smiled.

I screamed, flinging the glass across the room.

Everything vanished.

The wardrobe was shut. The blood-gone. The room, silent once more.

Then the clock struck midnight.

The door creaked open.

Raditya stood there.

But it wasn't the man I'd married.

His eyes glowed crimson. His skin was pale, like marble. And his smile-wasn't human.

"Good evening... my bride," he said, his voice deep and echoing, like something rising from the ground beneath the grave.

I tried to back away, but my legs wouldn't move. They felt nailed to the floor.

"I know you're afraid," he said. "You should be. But you've been chosen. No one escapes the blood oath."

"Who are you?" I asked, barely whispering.

He stepped closer, brushing my cheek with his cold fingers.

"I am the heir. But not just of the Damar bloodline. I am the guardian of the curse. Each generation must wed a pure soul under this roof, during the new moon. If the ritual is broken... our lineage ends."

Tears streamed down my cheeks. "So I'm just... a sacrifice?"

He nodded. "But you're special, Citra. You're stronger than the others."

He picked up the broken mirror and held it before me.

"Look. See who you really are."

I stared into it-and saw not myself, but a girl with golden eyes and a strange birthmark on her neck-the same symbol carved into the wedding altar.

"Who... is that?" I whispered.

Raditya smiled. "That was you, before your old soul was sealed. You're no ordinary woman, Citra. You come from a bloodline older than mine. That's why you can hear them... see them. And that's why... you're the only one who can break this curse."

I looked at him, not with fear anymore-but with devastation.

Everything I'd ever believed... was a lie.

"So I'm not just a victim?"

"You're the key. But to free yourself... you must choose: save yourself, or save us all."

Before I could answer, a blood-curdling scream erupted from downstairs.

We turned at once.

And that's when I realized-

The wedding was far from over.

And the guests... were no longer human.

Doors creaked open down the hallway.

Footsteps echoed.

Heavy. Too many.

Tonight... wasn't just a marriage.

Tonight... was the beginning of a war between blood and curse.

Alika's POV

The night grew colder as Citra stared up at the ceiling of the bridal chamber. Wind slithered in through the cracks of the antique windows, carrying with it faint whispers that brushed against her ears like breath from a ghost.

The room was too silent.

Too lifeless.

And Raditya had yet to return. He'd said he needed to speak with his mother downstairs, but something in her heart warned her-tonight wasn't normal. There was something lurking within the bones of this house. And it was starting to creep into her own.

She rose from the bed. Her white nightgown trailed the creaking wooden floor. Her bare feet should've been cold, but the chill no longer mattered. Her steps were slow as she approached the large gilded mirror in the corner of the room.

It was different now.

Earlier that day, the mirror had been spotless, reflecting her image with pristine clarity. But now... it was fogged, clouded-as if trying to conceal what lay beneath its surface.

Citra leaned in. Her breath fogged up the glass.

And then... she saw her.

Standing behind her reflection-blurred, but unmistakably there-a woman. Dressed in a decaying wedding gown, her long black hair tangled, hiding half her face. She stood still, unmoving, yet her sorrow seeped through the mirror like mist.

She was crying.

Tears streamed endlessly down her cheeks, though her lips never moved. Her eyes screamed of torment, of desperation long buried.

Citra held her breath. Her heart thundered.

She turned swiftly.

Nothing.

But when she looked back at the mirror-she was still there. And now, the woman was staring directly at her.

"Who are you...?" Citra whispered, barely audible.

The woman's lips parted at last.

But instead of words, blood trickled out-thick, dark, and endless-staining her chest red.

Citra stumbled back in terror. The reflection moved forward, lifting a hand to the inside of the glass, as if trying to reach through it.

And then she whispered:

"Help me... I... am you."

The words echoed inside Citra's mind like a scream lost in a void.

"I... am you?" she repeated, trembling.

Before she could process it, the room plunged into darkness.

Every light went out.

Only the pale moon outside the window cast a dim, ghostly glow.

And the sound returned.

Sobbing.

A woman's sobbing-soft but soul-wrenching.

Citra covered her ears, but the sound pierced straight into her skull.

"Please... I was once a bride too... Don't open the door... Don't make the same mistake..."

She staggered backward, aiming for the bed-but tripped over something.

Something cold.

She looked down.

A hand.

A pale hand was reaching out from beneath the bed, clutching the hem of her nightgown.

Citra screamed. She scrambled away and ran to the door, yanking at the knob-but it wouldn't budge.

It was locked.

The house was keeping her inside.

"Raditya!!" she cried, pounding the wood. "Please! Let me out!!"

No response.

Then, from the mirror... a whisper.

"He won't come. They all lie."

Slowly, Citra turned around.

The woman in the mirror wasn't standing anymore-she was moving. Pacing the mirrored room like it was a world of its own. She circled the walls of the bedroom, then stopped in front of a painting.

Citra's eyes followed her.

The painting was of a young bride in an old colonial gown. Her face... it looked just like the woman in the mirror.

"Who are you?" Citra asked again, louder.

The woman didn't answer. She pointed to the name carved into the bottom of the frame:

"Anindya Damar, 1893 – Disappeared on Her Wedding Night."

A chill tore through Citra's spine. She remembered that name. She had seen it once-buried in the archives of the estate library.

The woman's voice rose again, urgent and cold:

"The bride's blood is the offering. But only one can break the chain."

"Who? Who can break it?" Citra demanded.

The mirror quivered.

The woman's gaze pierced through her, then whispered:

"The one born twice. Born not for love, but for vengeance."

Suddenly, the door creaked open.

Raditya stepped in. His face pale, eyes bloodshot. But something in him felt... off.

His smile didn't soothe her anymore. It chilled her.

"I heard you scream," he said gently. "What happened?"

Citra pointed at the mirror.

But the woman was gone.

The mirror reflected only herself and Raditya.

"You... you didn't see anything?" she whispered.

He shook his head. "You're exhausted, Citra. This house is old. It makes strange noises. Maybe your mind is playing tricks."

Citra wanted to believe him.

But something deep inside refused.

She knew she wasn't imagining it.

That night, Raditya held her close, murmuring sweet promises in her ear.

And in his arms... she fell asleep.

But the dream returned.

---

In the dream, Citra stood in a blinding white room where gravity had no meaning. The sky was beneath her feet. Time ran backward.

She saw them-brides.

Dozens of them.

Dressed in white, eyes vacant, marching into a black pit in the center of the room. Silent. Dead inside.

A hand slipped into hers.

She turned.

The mirror woman.

But now... it was her face.

"You didn't start the curse. But you can end it," the woman said-in her own voice.

"How?" Citra asked.

The woman replied:

"Kill him before the third night. If you don't... you'll become me."

---

Citra woke in a cold sweat.

Raditya was gone.

She stood up, heart racing.

A small folded paper lay beneath the door.

She picked it up.

Delicate handwriting, not Raditya's.

Just two lines:

> "Don't trust what you see.

Even love can be a curse."

-Anindya

Below it, dried blood formed tiny spots on the paper.