the timid bride

The rain began at dawn.

It wasn't the soft, cleansing kind. It was heavy—angry—as if the sky itself was warning the castle that something ancient had begun to stir. Zaria stood by the window, watching the storm swallow the garden paths. Behind her, the flicker of candlelight cast shadows on the floor like restless spirits.

The events of the night before clung to her skin. She had touched the mirror again. She had seen the woman. And Kael… Kael had told her everything. Or almost everything.

A knock tapped gently at her door.

"Enter," she called, wrapping her shawl tighter.

It was Kael.

He looked like he hadn't slept. His black hair was slightly damp, his eyes bloodshot, but his posture—rigid and regal—hadn't changed.

"I found something," he said simply.

Zaria followed him into the study. It was an old room, filled with parchment, half-burnt candles, and a scent of ink and leather. In the center lay the bundle of papers he had shown her the night before—Elara's diary.

Kael opened it to a new page. "This was stuck between two pages. I didn't notice it until now."

It wasn't written in ink—but in something darker. Brown. Faded with time. The writing looped like vines, curling around a sketch of a door. A strange, circular one with seven locks.

"What is it?" she whispered.

Kael tapped the drawing. "The Mirror's Gate."

Zaria stared. "What's that?"

"It's the place Elara believed the curse originated. A hidden room deep beneath the castle—only reachable through the East Wing. She believed the curse could be bound again if someone willingly entered the Gate with a pure purpose."

Zaria's mouth went dry. "And what happened to her?"

"She went looking for it," Kael said softly. "And she never came back."

Zaria swallowed. "Then that's where I'm going."

Kael's eyes locked onto hers. "Not alone."

---

They stood in silence for a long moment. Rain rattled against the stained glass. Somewhere in the distance, the castle creaked.

"I don't want to lose anyone else to this thing," Kael said finally. "Not you."

"Then come with me," she whispered.

He nodded once. "At first light."

---

But the castle had other plans.

That night, as Zaria tried to sleep, she felt it again—the pull. It wasn't a dream. It was something darker. A humming beneath the floor. A voice beneath the rain.

She sat up in bed, breath shallow. Her candle flickered violently, though the windows were shut.

> "Come," the voice whispered. It was no longer just calling—it was **begging**.

She wrapped a cloak around herself and slipped into the hall.

---

This time, she didn't walk.

She ran.

Through the marble corridors. Down past the locked library. Past the blood-red tapestries that seemed to move in the corners of her eyes.

She reached the East Wing. The guards were gone.

The door was open.

Rain blew through the broken stained glass as she stepped inside. The air smelled like old stone, wet fabric, and something coppery—like rust. Or blood.

Zaria held her breath and descended the spiral staircase, holding only a candle. The walls whispered as she passed.

At the bottom, she found it.

The door.

Just like in the drawing.

Circular. Etched with twisting runes. Seven iron locks. No handle, no hinges. It stood in the wall like a wound.

She took one step forward.

The flame of her candle went out.

Darkness swallowed her.

---

When she opened her eyes, she was no longer in the same place.

She was standing in a mirror.

Or rather, inside it.

Everything shimmered like water. Her hands moved slowly, like she was underwater. The walls were smooth glass. The air cold and silent.

She turned—and saw herself.

Or what she thought was herself.

A reflection of Zaria, dressed in white, her face pale and eyes glowing faintly blue. But it wasn't copying her movements.

It was **watching her**.

Zaria stepped back. The reflection stepped forward.

And smiled.

> "So you finally came."

The voice was hers—but layered with something older. Something wrong.

Zaria's throat tightened. "What… are you?"

The figure tilted her head. "I'm what you'll become. Unless you turn back now."

"I don't believe you."

"You will," the reflection whispered. "They all do. Before the mirror takes their name, their face, their memories. Before you forget who you are."

"I won't forget."

The reflection laughed. A sound like shattered glass. "Then say your name."

Zaria opened her mouth. But nothing came out.

Not a sound. Not a syllable.

She couldn't remember her name.

Panic seized her chest. She turned, banging against the walls, searching for a way out.

The mirror spoke again.

> "The only way out is through the Gate."

Zaria pressed her hands to her ears. "You're not real."

"You touched the mirror. You entered the curse. You made a vow, remember?"

"I vowed to break you."

The reflection's smile faltered. "Then run, girl. Run before the castle eats your soul."

---

Suddenly—light.

A hand reached through the shimmering glass.

It was Kael.

His voice boomed like thunder. "Zaria! Grab my hand!"

She stumbled forward, grasping wildly. Their fingers touched—and she fell through.

She landed hard on the cold floor. Gasping. Shaking.

Kael pulled her up into his arms, cradling her like something precious. "I told you not to go alone."

"I… I didn't mean to…" she sobbed into his shoulder. "I forgot my name."

He stroked her hair. "That's how the mirror begins. It steals your identity, then your soul."

She looked up at him, terrified. "The Gate is real. It's calling to me."

Kael nodded grimly. "Then we go together. But not tonight."

---

He carried her back to her room and stayed with her until dawn. Neither of them slept. The mirror's whisper still echoed in her ears.

But now Zaria knew one thing with certainty:

The mirror was alive. The Gate was open.

And her soul was already halfway inside.

Tomorrow, they would find the locks.

Tomorrow, they would go to the Mirror's Gate.

And Zaria would speak her name aloud—

**before the mirror took it forever.**