"Put on this dress, and I will marry you." Julian Vance spoke the words not with tender romance, but with the cold, absolute authority of a king offering a binding decree.

"Put on this dress, and I will marry you."

Julian Vance spoke the words not with tender romance, but with the cold, absolute authority of a king offering a binding decree. He stood at the edge of the grand salon inside Blackwood Manor, an imposing estate perched high above the fog-choked cliffs of the coastline. In his hands, he held an antique wooden chest lined with faded velvet. Inside lay a wedding gown made of the finest antique silk—luminous, heavy, and blindingly white.

Anna agreed, despite the terrified looks of the servants standing silently against the stone walls.

For Anna, this marriage was a miraculous escape from poverty. Julian was a wealthy, enigmatic aristocrat whose family had ruled the region for generations. To be his bride was to secure her future forever. She reached out and touched the delicate lace trim of the gown. It felt strangely cold, almost damp, as if it had been kept in a dark cell beneath the earth.

The head housekeeper, a pale, trembling woman named Mrs. Gable, escorted Anna up the winding spiral staircase to the bride’s quarters. The servants moved with a frantic, eerie quietness, avoiding eye contact with Anna as if she were already a ghost.

As Mrs. Gable adjusted the back buttons of the heavy silk dress, her old fingers shook so violently she could barely hook the fabric. She leaned in close to Anna’s shoulder, her breath smelling of faint lavender and dried bitter herbs.

An old woman whispered to her discreetly:

"Whatever you do, don't look at yourself in the large mirror in the hallway."

Naturally, Anna wanted to know why.

"Why?" Anna asked, her voice echoing softly against the cold stone walls. "Is there something wrong with the mirror?"

Mrs. Gable snapped her mouth shut, her eyes darting nervously toward the heavy oak door. She refused to speak another word. She pulled the veil over Anna’s dark hair, bowed her head nervously, and backed out of the room, locking the door softly from the outside.

Curiosity beat inside Anna’s chest like a trapped bird. She stood alone in the silence of the ancient room. The dress fit her perfectly—too perfectly, as though it had been tailor-made for her exact contours years before she was even born.

A few minutes later, she gathered the heavy silk skirt in her hands, slipped out through the adjoining servant door, and stood before that very mirror at the end of the long, shadows-draped corridor.

The mirror was massive, framed in blackened, hand-carved oak depicting twisting vines and crying faces. The glass was old and slightly warped, reflecting the flickering candlelight of the hallway sconces.

At first, nothing seemed amiss.

Anna smoothed her hands over the pristine white waist of the gown. She looked at her reflection: a pale, beautiful bride ready to step into a life of luxury.

Then, she noticed a detail.

In the reflection, the dress bore a huge, dark stain across the chest.

It looked like deep, wet blood, spreading rapidly outward from her heart, soaking through the delicate lace and silk until the entire front of the gown was heavy and crimson.

Anna’s heart hammered against her ribs. She looked down at her physical body.

The dress was perfectly white. Not a single speck of dirt ruined the immaculate silk.

Hands shaking, she looked at the mirror again.

The dark stain was still there in the glass, thicker now, dripping down the reflection's skirt. But the stain was no longer the most terrifying thing in the room.

This time, a woman was standing behind her in the reflection.

A woman who looked exactly like her. She wore the same face, the same dark eyes, the same bride's veil—but her skin was deathly pale, her hair wet with ocean water, and her throat bore a deep, jagged scar.