The house had never been quiet.
It groaned in the bones. Whispered in the corners. It wept through the mirrors when no one was watching.
But now… it waited.
And the waiting was loud.
Zina didn't see Kain for three days.
No notes. No summons. No flickering candles in the hallway. Just silence — thick, pressing, and filled with expectation.
The contract stayed on her bed, unopened.
Sometimes it glowed. Sometimes it breathed.
She didn't touch it.
Not yet.
She spent the first day walking.
The house shifted around her, subtly. Halls lengthened. Rooms rearranged. Some doors opened into the same place she left. Others — didn't.
Once, she opened a closet and found a staircase leading into pitch black.
She didn't go down.
She wasn't that curious.
Not yet.
On the second day, she heard footsteps behind her.
Soft. Bare. Delicate.
She turned — and saw one of the brides.
Or what was left of her.
She floated more than walked, her veil soaked in something dark and dripping. Her face was blurred, like memory left in the rain.
The bride paused in front of Zina, then raised a shaking hand to her own lips.
And pulled.
Thread. Black and slick.
Unraveling the stitches in her sewn mouth.
Blood bloomed on the veil.
Zina stumbled back.
But the bride didn't speak.
Instead, she pointed toward the east wing — the part of the house Zina had been warned never to enter.
And vanished.
Zina didn't sleep that night.
Not because she wasn't tired.
But because the mirrors whispered.
> "You opened the door."
> "You are the thirteenth."
> "You are the end."
She covered them.
But they remembered her anyway.
On the third day, Laila returned.
With no tray. No smile.
Only urgency in her eyes.
"You need to decide," she said. "Now."
Zina stood by the window — the one with no view.
"What happens if I don't?"
"The house decides for you."
"And if I say no to the contract?"
Laila's mouth tightened. "Then it finds another way to keep you."
Zina turned slowly. "You knew what would happen."
"I warned you."
"Not enough."
Laila looked at her — truly looked. And for the first time, Zina saw her for what she was:
Not just trapped.
Not just tired.
But broken in places the house had shaped to fit its hunger.
"There's something in the east wing," Zina said. "One of the brides pointed."
Laila stiffened.
"You saw her?"
"Yes."
Laila's voice dropped. "Then they're waking."
"Who?"
"The others. The ones who couldn't speak. The ones who never got to choose."
Zina walked to the bed.
Looked down at the contract.
It was glowing again.
Softly.
Pulsing like a living thing.
She didn't want to touch it.
But she did.
The moment her fingers brushed the cover, a voice whispered through her bones:
> "Bride. Vessel. Voice."
Her sigil flared.
The second ring burned hotter.
A third ring began to form — faint. Unfinished.
Laila stepped back.
"It's binding itself to you."
"I haven't said yes."
"You don't have to. The house already has part of you. The rest will follow unless you fight it."
Zina's voice shook. "How?"
"Go to the east wing."
Zina blinked. "You just said—"
"I know what I said."
Laila looked toward the mirror in the corner — trembling under its cloth.
"If the brides are waking, they want something."
Zina didn't wait.
She left her room, contract still glowing in her hand, and headed straight for the forbidden corridor.
She expected the house to resist.
It didn't.
The doors opened.
The shadows parted.
And the east wing welcomed her in.
Stay tuned.