Chapter 06: The Thread of Madness
Evelyn’s hands shook violently as she gripped the edge of the vanity table. Her reflection stared back at her, but it was a stranger’s face—a pale, hollow version of herself, eyes wide with terror. The mark on her chest, that cursed symbol, had begun to itch again, the sensation of something crawling beneath her skin. She could feel it now, deep within, the creeping presence of something dark that had begun to weave itself into the very fabric of her being.
The night had fallen heavy and suffocating, a thick veil of fog blanketing the manor. The air smelled of damp earth, of things long forgotten, and of a deep, unnatural stillness that pressed against her chest. There had been no sound, no comfort, since the figure had vanished into the shadows. The silence had returned to the house, but it was not the quiet of peace. It was the stillness of a predator lying in wait.
David hadn’t returned yet. It had been hours since he had left, his footsteps echoing in the distance, fading until they were swallowed by the night. Her heart ached with each passing moment, torn between a gnawing worry and the bitter certainty that their love had been tainted by something beyond their understanding.
Was he even still the man she had married? Or was he already lost to the pact?
She could feel his absence like an open wound, a void in the air that pressed upon her like a heavy weight. Every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind against the windows, filled her with dread. The manor had always been unsettling, with its long corridors and high, oppressive ceilings, but now it felt alive with something else—something dark, ancient, and hungry.
With trembling fingers, Evelyn reached for the wedding ring still resting on her finger. It felt heavy now, as though the very metal was imbued with the weight of the pact, the chains that bound her to this cursed place. The symbol of their love had become a symbol of her torment. A cruel reminder that her love, her devotion to David, was now the very thing that would drag them both to the abyss.
A sudden, sharp knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. Her heart leaped in her chest, and she spun toward the sound. The room was bathed in the pale light of the moon, casting long, eerie shadows across the floor. She hesitated for a moment, her pulse quickening, before she slowly made her way to the door.
David? Or perhaps… the figure? The one who had revealed the curse, the one who had spoken of the Ashen Bride. Evelyn knew she could not trust the silence anymore. Not in this house, not in this place where nightmares had begun to bleed into reality.
She turned the handle and opened the door, her breath catching in her throat as she found herself face to face with nothing. The hallway beyond was empty, save for the flickering light of the candelabra that hung from the wall. Her eyes darted back and forth, her pulse racing. There was no one there. No sign of David, no sign of the shadows that haunted her every step.
But then, as her eyes lingered on the shadows that danced along the walls, she saw it.
A figure, standing at the far end of the hallway.
It was him.
David.
Or at least, it looked like him.
His back was turned to her, and his silhouette seemed almost too still, too perfect in the dim light. The air in the hallway seemed to grow colder, and the shadows stretched longer, darker, as though they were pulling toward him, reaching for him like fingers of some unseen hand.
“David?” Evelyn called, her voice trembling. She stepped forward, her feet unsteady, as though the floor beneath her was shifting. “David, please…”
He did not respond. There was no sound, no movement, nothing but the coldness of his presence. His form stood as still as a statue, his back to her, the darkness pressing in around him like a shroud.
The panic in her chest rose, but something in her instinct told her not to get closer—not to step into the abyss that beckoned just beyond the threshold. Her heart hammered in her chest as she fought the urge to scream, to reach out for him, to pull him back from the edge of whatever madness had consumed him.
But her feet betrayed her. She took one step forward, then another, each one drawing her closer to the figure that was both David and yet… not.
As she reached out, a gust of wind blew through the corridor, extinguishing the candelabra’s flame in a cold rush of air. The shadows deepened, and Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat. The figure before her shifted, and she could feel its gaze upon her, though his face remained hidden in the darkness.
“Evelyn,” a voice whispered, soft and rasping, like the rustling of dry leaves.
Her stomach turned. The voice was wrong. It was not David’s.
She took a step back, the icy chill of dread crawling up her spine. “No… no, please,” she whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of her terror. “Not again.”
The figure moved, but it was not David. It was something else—something that wore his form like a cloak, something that had taken his shape to torment her. It stepped forward, and with each step, the air around her grew heavier, suffocating.
“No…” Evelyn gasped, her mind racing. She had seen this before—the hollow, empty eyes, the cruel smile. The thing that haunted her was not human. It was the curse, the pact, and now it was coming for her.
The figure reached out with a hand that was cold as death, and Evelyn felt a sharp, biting pain where the mark on her chest pulsed with an unbearable heat. It was drawing her closer to it, pulling her toward the darkness.
Her heart hammered in her chest as the room seemed to close in around her, the walls warping and shifting with the rhythm of her panic. And then, in the suffocating silence, she heard a sound—a low, guttural growl, like the sound of something long buried and hungry.
The pact had come for her. And there would be no escape.
