Chapter 2 - The Whispers of Blackwood Manor
Anna stumbled back from the mirror, her heel catching on the heavy hem of the wedding dress. She hit the opposite stone wall hard, her hand clutching her chest where the dark stain had appeared in the glass. Her breath came in ragged, terrified gasps.
When she looked up again, the mirror was empty.
There was only her own pale reflection staring back—a pristine white dress, unblemished, illuminated by the dying yellow flame of a single wall sconce. The figure was gone. The blood was gone. But the phantom chill of that whispered warning remained pressed against her cheek.
Don't make the same mistake I did.
"Is something wrong, my dear?"
Julian’s deep, velvety voice cut through the darkness. He stood at the end of the hallway, framed by the gothic archway, wearing an immaculate black tuxedo. His sharp jaw and dark gray eyes bore an unreadable expression. He looked less like a groom and more like a statue carved from winter marble.
Anna tried to speak, but her throat felt dry and constricted. She pointed a trembling finger at the carved oak mirror.
"The... the glass," she stammered, backing away from both him and the mirror. "I saw... I saw a woman standing behind me. She was wearing this exact dress. She was bleeding!"
Julian did not flinch. He did not look surprised. He stepped forward slowly, his polished leather shoes making slow, deliberate clicking sounds against the hardwood floorboards. He reached the mirror, casually resting his long fingers against the frame.
"This mirror is over three hundred years old, Anna," Julian said smoothly, his eyes locking onto hers through the glass. "Old silvering breaks down over time. It creates optical illusions in low light. Shadows play tricks on tired minds."
"It wasn't an illusion, Julian!" Anna insisted, her voice trembling. "She looked like me. She whispered to me!"
Julian reached out and gently grasped Anna’s hands. His grip was firm, elegant, and icy cold. He raised her right hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles while his eyes remained intensely fixed on hers.
"You have had a long, exhausting journey from the city, my love," Julian whispered softly. "The history of Blackwood Manor is heavy, and the sea air causes vivid dreams. But tonight, you become my wife. I have waited far too long for this moment to let bedtime stories ruin it."
He signaled down the hall. Mrs. Gable appeared instantly from the shadows, her head bowed low.
"Escort the bride to the chapel," Julian commanded coldly. "The priest is waiting."
As Julian walked away down the corridor, Mrs. Gable approached Anna to adjust her veil. Anna leaned in, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "Who was she, Mrs. Gable? Who was the woman before me?"
May you like
Mrs. Gable’s hand froze against the veil. She looked around frantically before leaning in close. "Her name was Clara," the old woman whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind howling outside the manor. "She was Lord Vance’s first bride. Exactly one year ago tonight, she wore that very dress... and she never made it past her wedding night."
Before Anna could ask another question, two heavy stone doors swung open at the end of the hall, revealing the dark, candlelit aisle of the estate's private chapel.
