I don't remember walking into the room.
Maybe I was dragged.
Maybe I was pulled by something older than gravity, older than fear itself.
All I know is that the floor beneath me changed from cold hospital tiles to something softer—rotted wood, spongy under my shoes. The air thickened with the smell of damp earth and wilted flowers. I couldn't see the sky anymore. I couldn't see the hospital lights. The world around me folded like wet paper, collapsing into the ruined realm I thought I had escaped forever.
The Boundary Land.
My ghost husband's world.
And now… my prison.
The door behind me sealed shut with a wet, organic sound—like two pieces of flesh being forced together.
My breath fogged in the frigid air as I tried the handle.
It didn't budge.
Then I heard it.
Footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Familiar.
He was coming.
I backed away from the door, pressing myself to the far wall, though there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Shadows crawled like living vines, shifting along the cracked walls. The ceiling dripped with something black, something too thick to be water.
The footsteps grew louder, echoing like they traveled through endless corridors before reaching me.
And then he appeared.
My ghost husband.
Still wearing the tattered groom's suit from the first time he claimed me in this cursed place—gray, soaked in darkness, edges frayed as though moths had been feeding on the fabric for decades. His skin was pale, almost translucent, veins visible like fissures in ice. His eyes were bottomless wells, swirling with smoke, grief, and obsession.
And love.
A twisted kind of love.
"Jenny," he whispered, voice rasping through the room like wind dragging over a grave. "You came back."
"I didn't come back," I whispered, though my voice trembled. "You pulled me."
He tilted his head slowly, like he was studying a small animal trying to escape.
"It doesn't matter how you arrived," he said. "Only that you are here."
He stepped toward me.
I pressed myself harder against the wall.
And then I saw the room around me with horrifying clarity.
It wasn't just a room.
It was a chapel.
An abandoned, decayed wedding chapel—broken pews, shredded flowers, skeletal decorations hanging from the rafters. A long aisle stretched down the center, leading to a small altar dressed in tattered black lace instead of white.
A withered bouquet rested there.
And a dress.
A wedding dress.
My heart constricted painfully.
It wasn't the dress I wore in the Boundary Land the first time.
No—this one was darker.
Bloated with shadows.
A gown spun from night itself, threads writhing like they were alive.
"No," I whispered. "Please… no."
He smiled.
A cold, patient smile.
"You left me," he said softly. "You tried to return to the world that never wanted you. You tried to abandon your place beside me."
"I have a daughter," I snapped. "I need to go back. I need to find her."
"You will," he said, almost gently. "When she comes looking for you. She will follow your footsteps, as all daughters follow their mothers."
My stomach twisted with terror.
"You will not touch her," I hissed.
"Then don't make me," he murmured. "Stay. Accept what you were meant to become."
He lifted one hand toward the gown. It rose from the altar like smoke rising from a dying fire, floating toward me.
I wanted to run.
I wanted to scream.
But the gown moved with intention, sliding its cold fabric around my wrist like a blade of ice.
The chapel lights flickered.
Suddenly, I saw flashes—ghosts of wedding guests sitting in the pews. But they weren't people. Not anymore. Their faces were blurred, melted, dripping like candle wax. Their eyes were empty white voids. Some wore veils. Some wore tuxedos. All were watching me.
Waiting.
The groom stepped closer.
"You will be beautiful," he said. "A bride made of both worlds. A bridge between life and death. You were chosen."
I dragged my arm away from the dress, heart pounding so violently I thought it might burst from my chest.
"No. No, I wasn't chosen. I was kidnapped. I was tricked."
He leaned in, his cold breath brushing my ear.
"You came willingly the first time," he whispered. "Desperate. Broken. Alone."
"That was before," I breathed. "Before my daughter. Before my real life."
He stiffened, the shadows around him tightening like a storm.
"You keep saying real life," he said, his voice trembling. "But tell me, Jenny—where have you truly been happy? The hospital that torments you? The home that haunted you with silence? The world that took your son from you? The world that let your husband abuse you?"
My throat tightened.
His words hit too close.
Too deep.
"You were happiest here," he said softly. "With me."
"That wasn't happiness," I whispered. "That was survival."
He paused.
Then his expression hardened.
"Put on the dress."
I shook my head.
"Put it on," he repeated, shadows twisting violently around him.
The gown crawled higher, like a swarm of dark vines creeping up my arm.
"I won't," I whispered.
"Then I will make you."
His voice dropped, deep and hollow.
Suddenly the ghost guests filled in completely—solid, breathing, staring. A hundred blurred faces. A hundred silent witnesses. They turned toward me in perfect unison.
I stumbled backward, but the gown wrapped around my waist, pulling me toward the altar.
"No—please—" my voice cracked as I fought, nails digging into the wooden pews.
But the wood dissolved into ash between my fingers.
The groom reached for me.
And I screamed.
Pain exploded in my chest as the gown latched onto my ribs like icy claws. My vision swam. My arms shook violently as I grabbed the fabric, trying to tear it off. But the more I pulled, the tighter it clamped down.
"I don't want this!" I choked out.
"You don't need to want it," he murmured. "You only need to accept it."
He lifted a shattered black crown—dull metal fused with shadow. Its spikes were sharp enough to pierce bone.
"Every bride needs her crown," he whispered.
"No—NO!"
I swung my arm wildly, knocking the crown out of his hand. It clattered across the floor, echoing like a bell tolling in a graveyard.
The groom froze.
The chapel went silent.
Every ghost-guest turned their hollow eyes toward the fallen crown.
Then toward me.
For a moment, none of them moved.
Then the groom's face twisted with fury.
"You defy me," he whispered, voice dripping with betrayal. "After all I've given you."
"You didn't give me anything," I said, breathless. "You took. You took everything."
"Everything?" His voice thundered. "I gave you love. I gave you shelter. I gave you a world where no one hurt you!"
"You hurt me!" I screamed. "You trapped me! You tried to take me away from my child!"
He flinched, just barely.
But the shadows around him grew darker.
"That child is the reason you suffer," he hissed. "She binds you to a world that wants you dead. A world that will never heal you. A world that uses you until you collapse!"
"Stop," I said, voice cracking. "Please…"
He stepped closer, gripping my chin with cold fingers.
"She will forget you," he murmured. "Everyone will. Except me."
His breath was icy, filling my lungs like winter. My limbs grew heavy. The gown pulled tighter, wrapping around my legs, my waist, my chest.
"I will finish what began," he whispered. "You will be my bride again."
The chapel lights dimmed.
The guests rose from the pews, approaching slowly, their arms reaching out, skeletal fingers brushing my skin.
"No," I whispered, barely able to fight anymore.
The gown lifted me, forcing me toward the altar.
"You cannot deny destiny," he said softly.
"Watch me," I whispered back.
And something inside me—some tiny ember of rage, of motherhood, of love—ignited.
I jerked violently, tearing part of the gown's shadowy fabric. It shrieked, a piercing sound like metal screaming.
The groom's eyes widened.
"You cannot break it," he snarled.
"Then I'll break myself trying," I said.
My voice wasn't loud.
But it was enough.
The guests hesitated.
The shadows recoiled.
And the gown loosened by a single inch.
But it was enough for me to grab a broken shard of pew wood. I stabbed it into the ground and pulled with all my strength, anchoring myself against the gown's force.
The chapel shook.
The groom lunged.
The guests surged.
I screamed as the gown tightened again, ribs cracking under its pressure.
But I kept fighting.
"You will be mine," the groom growled.
"NO," I screamed, the word tearing from my chest. "I WILL NOT BE YOUR BRIDE!"
A blast of light—white, warm, blinding—burst from my chest.
The entire chapel reeled backward.
The gown shrieked and tore apart into smoke.
The ghost guests dissolved into wind.
The groom staggered, eyes burning with betrayal—and something else.
Fear.
"Jenny…" he whispered. "What have you done?"
I didn't know.
I didn't care.
I only knew one thing—
I was not his bride.
I would never be his bride.
And I would burn this world down before I let him take me again.
--