Today is the wedding day.
I was woken by the loud drums outside. That kind of drum that makes your chest shake before your feet even hit the floor. The kind they beat for celebration. But to me, it sounded like warning.
The courtyard was already full. Laughter. Music. Women dancing with powdered cheeks and jingling hips. The noise climbed through our walls like smoke.
My sisters came in, carrying the dress between them like it was made of glass. It was handwoven. Tapestry and beads and stiff white lace. A gown meant to make a girl look expensive, beautiful, chosen.
It looked beautiful.
And I hated it.
"You look gloomy, Asiya," my youngest sister said, her voice soft, her smile not reaching her eyes. "As if it's not even your wedding day."
I didn't answer at first. Just stared at the dress. My throat ached. My stomach turned.
Then I looked at the other one. The oldest of us. She wouldn't speak first. She never did.
"I won't marry," I said.
She blinked. "What?"
"I told Dad already. I said no. And I meant it. I won't marry."
My voice cracked a little, but I didn't look away.
"If he wants to drag me, tie me, force me — let him. But I won't do it."
"Don't talk like that, Asiya," my youngest snapped. Her voice shook. "You must marry. You know that. And it's today. If you want to be at peace with Dad, just—"
"No," I cut her off. "There will never be peace like that. Not for me."
Silence. No more arguments. Just the sound of the drum again, somewhere in the courtyard. Loud. Joyful. Like the celebration was going to happen, with or without me.
---
She should have gone left at the fork.
But by the time she realized it, her feet were already bleeding.
The thorn bushes had torn through her dress. Mud clung to her hem like hands trying to pull her back. One slipper was gone. Her breath burned her lungs, but still she ran.
Behind her, the village faded. The road narrowed. Trees thickened like a wall of green silence.
Ahead — a gate.
It rose out of the earth like it had always been there, forgotten by time. Rusted iron. Twisted patterns like bone and vine. The house beyond it was tall and crooked. Stone walls choked with ivy. Windows black and hollow.
She didn't know why she stopped. She just did.
The gate creaked open on its own.
She stepped through.
Inside the garden, weeds ruled. Statues stood like mourners. One — a veiled woman with her face cracked down the middle — made her shiver.
The door was unlocked. She didn't knock.
The air changed when she stepped inside. The forest behind her vanished, like a candle snuffed out. No wind. No light. Only silence.
Then — footsteps.
Not hers.
And a voice.
Low. Measured. Inhuman.
> "You're not the one I was waiting for," it said.
"But you came. And that means you're mine now."
[End of Chapter One]