Chapter 5 THE BRIDES’ ARRIVAL
“Happy Halloween, you freak.”
Courtney’s laughter still clung to my mind like mold that refused to die. No matter how I shifted under the velvet covers, her words kept replaying curling around my thoughts like smoke from a candle that had already burned out.
I hadn’t slept. Not really.
The room was too quiet. Not the comforting kind of silence I knew from home, but the heavy kind that pressed against my skull like an unanswered question. The walls were covered in velvet so deep it swallowed light. Every corner was carved with roses, wolves, and ancient runes I couldn’t read. The air smelled like dried lavender and old ash.
By dawn, I was sitting stiffly at the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around my knees, staring at the thick curtains blocking out the sun. My school hoodie hung off one shoulder the only familiar thing still clinging to me.
Then came the knock.
Soft. Almost polite.
Before I could even respond, the door creaked open.
Two women walked in.
They moved like machines too synchronized, too quiet. Pale skin. Hollow cheeks. Silver eyes that didn’t blink. They carried a silver tray filled with food that looked too perfect to eat: tiny croissants, sliced strawberries, and a goblet of something thick and red.
I stared at it.
Please use pomegranate juice.
I didn’t ask.
“Uh… thanks?” I said anyway, forcing a small smile. “Do you guys have a phone? I really need to let my mom know I—”
No response.
They just bowed slightly and disappeared into a side room. When they returned, they carried a basin of steaming water. Roses followed them like a ghost I couldn’t escape.
“Okay…” I whispered.
It should’ve felt luxurious. Like something out of a royal drama.
Instead, I felt like a display piece.
A prop.
A prisoner.
“I’d like to change on my own,” I said when they brought in the dress.
Crimson lace. Floor-length. Sleeveless. Beautiful in a way that felt dangerous.
The taller woman shook her head.
Her lips moved, but her voice sounded flat, almost artificial. “We have been instructed to prepare Lady Eloise.”
“That’s not… okay with me,” I said quickly, crossing my arms over my chest.
They didn’t react. Didn’t blink. Just wait.
And the silence wore me down.
Eventually, I turned around.
My jaw clenched as their cold fingers worked without hesitation zipping, fastening, adjusting, treating me like I wasn’t even a person. Like I was a mannequin they had been assigned to dress.
They didn’t speak.
They didn’t look at me.
Afterward, they brushed my hair and wove it into a crown of braids. When I finally looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself.
Pale face. Shadowed eyes. Lips painted the same deep red as the gown.
I looked like a bride.
Just not a happy one.
By dusk, they returned.
One of them extended a gloved hand.
I didn’t take it.
I stood and followed anyway.
The hall they led me into stole the breath from my lungs.
It was impossibly massive. Marble floors reflected candlelight like water. Chandeliers hung above like constellations frozen in glass. Paintings lined the walls: war, passion, death. Every figure wore red.
And there were already twenty-three women there.
I stopped.
They all looked like they belonged in magazines or on thrones. Gowns of ivory, silver, gold, midnight blue. Perfect hair. Perfect posture. Perfect silence.
No one greeted me.
No one smiled.
Their eyes just slid over me like I was nothing.
Still, I tried.
“Hi,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’m… Eloise.”
One of them sneered.
Another turned away completely.
I blinked. “Okay. Cool. Great talk.”
I moved to a pillar near the edge of the room and leaned against it. My heart wouldn’t slow down. My skin felt too tight. No one was explaining anything. No one had told me where I was or why I was here or why everyone looked like they were attending a funeral disguised as a royal gala.
A woman in a pearl corset walked past me slowly.
Her skin was bone-white. Her lips are dark like bruises. She looked me up and down like I was broken glass.
I tried again.
“So, is this like… a pageant or something?” I gave a weak laugh. “Because I’m not exactly Miss Teen Anything.”
No answer.
Just glances.
Curious.
Cold.
Predatory.
Then—
A snap.
Sharp. Loud.
One of the women raised her hand.
A servant appeared instantly.
He looked young. Too young. Barely older than me. His black uniform shook slightly as he approached.
The woman smiled.
Then she touched his face gently.
Too gently.
And pulled him closer.
I froze.
Her mouth opened.
Her teeth changed.
“Wait—” I whispered.
Too late.
She bit into his neck.
The sound he made was sharp at first shock, pain then it stopped.
Blood spilled down her lips, staining her gown as she drank. A soft sound escaped her, almost like pleasure.
Around me, no one reacted the way they should have.
Some turned away.
Some watched.
One even clapped.
My stomach dropped.
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “What the hell is this?”
I ran.
Or I tried to.
The moment I reached the edge of the hall, I slammed into something invisible.
Cold.
Hard.
I stumbled back, breathing fast. Reached out again.
Nothing.
But the air hummed like it was alive.
A barrier.
A trap.
I turned slowly.
Every woman in the hall was watching me now.
Silent.
Still.
Unmoving.
Then a voice came.
Smooth. Feminine. Ancient.
From behind me.
“You can’t leave yet, dear. You’re one of his brides.”
My body went cold.
I turned.
A woman stood at the edge of a raised dais.
Violet gown. Black hair coiled like serpents. Eyes that shimmered like broken opals.
She smiled at me but it didn’t reach her face.
“What do you mean… bride?” My voice shook. “Who is ‘he’?”
She descended the steps slowly, her dress trailing like fog.
“He chose you,” she said simply.
I shook my head immediately. “I didn’t choose this.”
“Few of us did.”
My chest tightened.
Mom. School. Jessica. Courtney’s note. The fake invitation.
“This is insane,” I said, backing away. “I need to get out of here. This is a cult, or a prank, or—”
She stepped closer.
Before I could move, her hand rested on my shoulder.
Cold.
Heavy.
Too heavy.
“You’ll understand tomorrow,” she said softly. “After the induction.”
Ceremony.
The word hit me like a bell inside my skull.
Around the hall, the other
women straightened.
As if it meant something sacred.
Or final.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to rip the dress off and run until my lungs broke.
But the barrier still held.
And no one moved to help me.
I wasn’t a guest at a sleepover.
I was a bride.
