THE MIRROR'S CURSE

It was wailing.

The sound crawled through the walls like a grieving god. Every step Zina took seemed to anger it further—doors bucked open, windows frosted over with veins of ice. The very foundation pulsed with rage and panic.

The mirrors didn't reflect her.

They recoiled.

She'd broken something sacred.

Or awakened something sleeping.

And now the house was alive with fear.

She stood in the ruins of the sword chamber, the air heavy with fractured glass. Splinters of memory floated around her like haunted snow.

The sigils on her arm were glowing in sync now. No longer hidden beneath her skin—they were her skin.

The ritual wasn't just inside her anymore.

It was her.

Kain knelt near the broken blade that once belonged to Eronna. His palms pressed into the floor. His crown lay at his feet like an apology he couldn't form.

> "What did you do?" he asked, voice fraying.

Zina didn't answer right away. She turned toward the glass, lifted her palm, and watched the room reflect her, not him.

> "I remembered," she said softly.

"And now the house has to."

The ground shook.

Then came the footsteps.

Not hurried. Not chaotic.

Rhythmic. Collective.

Not one. Not two. Dozens.

Laila burst into the chamber, her cloak soaked in shadowlight. Behind her, the corridor stretched wider than it had ever been—and from that chasm came the impossible:

The Brides.

Hundreds of them.

Ghosts in ceremonial silk, faces half-formed, eyes glassy with broken time. They floated forward in a wave of whispers and sighs. Some wept without tears. Some blinked as if waking from centuries of sleep.

Each bore a sigil—some cracked, some incomplete, some still bleeding.

Laila's voice trembled.

> "The house woke them."

> "It's sending the dead brides to stop you."

Zina stood her ground.

The ghosts circled.

A few hissed. Others bowed. But one—the tallest—stepped forward.

Her eyes were mirrors.

And when she looked at Zina, something shifted.

> "Eronna?" the ghost asked, reaching.

Zina blinked.

The resemblance was frightening.

> "No," she whispered. "But I remember her."

The ghost froze.

And then—she bowed.

> "Then we follow you now."

Ghost Allegiance

The effect was instant.

Like dominoes falling in a storm, five more brides dropped to their knees.

Then twenty.

Then the entire courtyard of the dead.

A chorus of voices rose like wind through shattered glass:

> "She remembers."

"She awakens."

"The cycle ends with her."

Zina turned slowly to face Kain.

He was on his feet now.

But his hands trembled.

> "This was never supposed to happen," he murmured.

> "She was never meant to survive the memory."

Zina stepped closer.

> "That's the problem with curses. You build them deep enough, eventually someone gets born from them instead of destroyed."

She stood above him now.

He didn't meet her eyes.

> "I gave you every chance to stop," he whispered. "To be a bride. A queen."

> "You gave me a cage with a crown on top."

Kain's Confession

Zina's gaze hardened.

> "Why did you really kill Eronna?"

Kain flinched.

> "I told you—the house—"

> "Don't lie again."

> "You're not cursed. You're cowardly."

His face twisted with pain.

> "She didn't love me," he said. "She loved someone else."

Zina blinked.

> "Who?"

> "A mirror prince. One trapped behind the Veil. A soul fractured in time. He taught her how to cast. How to remember. He gave her the words that cracked the sky."

> "I gave her power," Kain said.

"He gave her freedom."

> "She chose him."

He swallowed.

> "And I couldn't let her leave."

Zina's blood turned to ice.

> "You killed her because she didn't choose you."

He didn't deny it.

Didn't beg.

He just looked empty.

> "It was supposed to make me stronger. Make me king."

> "But the house didn't give me power."

> "It gave me her ghost."

The mirrors in the chamber began to weep.

Not crack.

Weep.

Silver tears.

The brides stirred, agitated.

One ghost—small, with moon-white hair—spoke in a voice like bells underwater.

> "You stole our names."

Another added, "You chained our magic."

A third: "You married our memory."

Zina raised her voice, clear and sharp:

> "I see you."

> "All of you."

> "I call your names back."

A gust of wind circled the room.

The names on the broken swords shimmered and re-etched themselves into light.

A chorus of souls began to rise.

And the scroll?

It burned from the inside out.

But didn't vanish.

It transformed—into a key.

Forged in memory. Glowing with gold.

Zina turned to Laila.

> "Take me to the Mirror Chamber."

Laila froze. "Zina… you're not ready."

Zina didn't blink.

> "Neither was Eronna."

> "And look what that cost us."