The stairwell was too smooth.
That was the first warning.
Stone this old should've had cracks, mold, bullet scars—anything. But
the steps descending into the darkness were polished, almost glossy,
curving in a gentle spiral that felt unnervingly intentional.
Inara held Irvine's hand tightly as they descended.
Her other hand pressed to the wall—and she recoiled.
"Irvine… the wall is warm."
Irvine touched it.
It wasn't just warm.
It was pulsing.
A slow, rhythmic throb moving beneath the stone like a massive artery.
He withdrew his hand immediately, jaw tightening.
"Don't touch the walls anymore," he whispered.
"They're responding to us."
"Responding… how?"
His breath shook slightly.
"Like the Groom is using them to feel where we are."
They reached the bottom of the stairwell.
The lantern dimmed, flickering like a dying heartbeat.
And the room beyond them… had changed.
It was the same chamber where they'd hidden before—
same cracked columns, same collapsed beams—
Except it wasn't.
The chamber now stretched wider, impossibly wide, the ceiling arching
into an unnatural dome. The pillars had grown tall, rearranged,
straightened. The floor tiles formed a circular pattern—
A spiral.
Twisting inward.
Leading to a center point where nothing stood.
Inara's breath hitched. "This… wasn't like this. It wasn't this big."
Irvine nodded slowly.
He already knew.
The room was growing.
Reshaping.
Preparing.
The Groom was rearranging the village piece by piece to funnel them
toward the altar—like an architect of shadows.
Something clattered in the distance.
Metal.
A soft dragging sound.
Irvine raised the lantern—
And froze.
"Inara," he whispered, "don't scream."
She turned—and her stomach dropped.
The path behind them had disappeared.
The stairwell was gone.
Replaced by a solid wall of stone, smooth and seamless, as if it had
never existed.
She stumbled back. "We—we came from there. We *came* from there—"
"I know," Irvine said, gripping her shoulders.
"And this room just sealed it."
"Why?!"
Irvine's voice dropped low, steady, protective.
"Because he wants us to go forward."
As if on cue, the lantern brightened, illuminating a narrow hallway on
the chamber's right side—a corridor that hadn't been there seconds ago.
A corridor lined with old, rusted helmets and tarnished badges hanging
from hooks.
War relics.
Memorials.
Or… offerings.
Inara's grip on his jacket tightened. "Irvine… this whole place is
shifting."
"Yeah."
"Like it's alive."
He studied the corridor.
"No. Like it's remembering."
A metallic clang echoed from deep inside, followed by faint whispers,
like soldiers murmuring prayers before a fatal battle.
Inara shivered violently. "He's using the memories of the dead soldiers
to shape the village…"
Irvine nodded.
"And he's guiding us with them."
The floor beneath them vibrated subtly and then—
shifted.
A ripple moved across the tiles like someone dragging a finger through
sand.
The spiral pattern on the ground rotated—
physically rotated—
nudging them toward the corridor.
Inara clutched him. "Irvine—it's pushing us—"
"I know."
He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her steady.
The spiral rotated again.
Faster.
More insistent.
As if the Groom were growing impatient.
Inara stumbled. Irvine caught her immediately, cradling her body against
his chest.
"Stay with me," he murmured.
"I'm trying—" she whispered, voice trembling.
The spiral suddenly STOPPED.
Then—
The lantern's flame shot sideways.
A powerful gust of wind burst from the corridor, carrying dust, old
ash—and the faint scent of burnt lace.
Inara squeezed her eyes shut.
"The Groom—he's close."
"No," Irvine said.
He lifted her chin gently.
"He's waiting in the next room."
The corridor darkened.
Then illuminated.
One lantern at a time flared to life down its length, forming a path of
pale yellow lights.
A wedding aisle.
Inara's knees threatened to give out. Irvine steadied her with both arms.
"Inara…"
She looked up at him, breath weak.
"He's turning the village into… into a ceremony route."
"I know."
Her voice broke.
"We can't outrun a place that moves—"
He grabbed her face gently but firmly.
"Inara. Look at me."
She did.
His voice dropped to a whisper—a vow spoken in the dark.
"This village can shift. The walls can change. The ground can move.
But you stay with *me*. No matter what he rearranges."
Her breath trembled.
"Irvine…"
"And if he tears the world apart," he continued softly,
"I'll still find you."
The corridor lights flickered violently, reacting to his defiance.
A deep rumble passed through the floor.
The chamber walls bowed inwards—then straightened again, like something
giant had inhaled and exhaled behind the stone.
A thin crack formed across the far wall, spreading like a vein of
light—
glowing faintly.
Inara pointed. "What is that?"
"An opening," Irvine said.
"No. It looks like—like a slit. Like something is watching."
The glowing slit blinked.
Inara's scream died in her throat.
The wall was watching them.
The Groom was using the village itself as eyes.
Irvine pulled her behind a pillar. "He sees movement. Stay still."
They held their breath—
until the slit of light slowly closed, sealing back into stone.
A heartbeat later, the corridor lights slammed to black.
Then relit.
But this time—
the corridor had changed direction.
It now pointed LEFT.
Closer.
Shorter.
More urgent.
The Groom was correcting their path.
Forcing them toward the altar faster.
Inara felt cold sweat drip down her spine. "He's… he's resetting the map
in real time. Like he knows we're hesitating."
"He does," Irvine said darkly.
He gripped her waist again and pulled her close.
"We go left. Together."
"What if the corridor closes?"
"Then I break through it."
"What if he blocks the path?"
"Then I make a new one."
Her breath shook. "Irvine…"
He lowered his forehead to hers, whispering with fierce certainty:
"He will not take you from me."
The corridor lights flared—
the ground trembled—
and the village shifted once more, the walls leaning inward like the
throat of a beast preparing to swallow.
Inara grabbed his hand.
"I'm with you."
"Good," he whispered.
They stepped into the new corridor as the chamber behind them collapsed,
stones crashing like thunder.
The path sealed shut the moment they passed the threshold.
No escape now.
Only forward.
Only deeper.
Only toward the altar.
But as they walked deeper down the shifting corridor, Inara felt it—
the air thickening.
Not like fog.
Like a breath being held by something enormous.
Irvine noticed it too.
His grip tightened around her fingers.
"Inara… stop."
She froze.
At first—nothing.
Then she heard it.
A soft, deliberate *tap… tap… tap* above them.
Like a fingertip knocking on the stone ceiling.
Slow.
Patient.
As if the Groom himself were testing the structural walls…
making sure the maze he built was solid.
Inara whispered, "He's checking the corridors?"
"No," Irvine murmured.
"He's counting."
"Counting what?"
"The steps we take."
Her lungs squeezed.
Something moved in the walls—
a ripple under the stone, like a massive shape crawling through the tunnels beside them, matching their pace.
Irvine stopped again.
The ripple stopped.
He stepped forward.
The ripple moved forward.
Inara squeezed his arm. "It's following us inside the walls."
"Then we don't stop," he whispered.
They pushed forward, their footsteps echoing in sync with the thing inside the stone. The corridor lights dimmed one by one behind them—
not flickering out…
But being **devoured**.
Darkness crawled across the hall like ink spilled on water.
Inara choked out, "Irvine—it's catching up—"
He pulled her behind him, shielding her, his voice a low command:
"Run. Now."
They sprinted.
The corridor warped as they moved—
stretching, bending, curving impossibly as the Groom rearranged the village on the fly. The lantern flame whipped violently, dragging shadows long like claws.
Then—
The corridor ahead split open into two paths.
Right.
Left.
Irvine cursed under his breath. "He's trying to separate us again."
The left corridor pulsed faintly—
warm… inviting… like a heartbeat calling Inara's name.
She almost stepped toward it.
Almost.
Irvine jerked her back.
"No. That's not a path. That's bait."
The warm corridor exhaled.
A soft, eerie whisper slid out like silk:
"Braaaide…"
Inara stumbled into Irvine's chest.
He held her tight, anchoring her.
"Eyes here. Not there. Stay with me."
She nodded shakily.
The lights above them flickered hard—
then the RIGHT corridor flared bright white.
Too bright.
Almost blinding.
Inara shielded her eyes. "What is that?"
Irvine narrowed his gaze.
"The Groom is impatient. He's opening the fastest route."
He exhaled slowly, shoulders tense.
"That means whatever's ahead… is close to the altar."
Inara's heart lurched.
The altar.
The place where every missing bride had ended up.
The place where The Groom finished his rituals.
The air around them vibrated—a low, guttural hum that felt like a giant throat preparing to swallow them whole.
Irvine pulled her close again, voice a low vow:
"We go together.
He can shift the walls, break the stairs, close paths—
but he will not take you."
She clung to him, breath trembling.
Behind them, the darkness finally caught up—
consuming the last lantern in a hiss.
The wall-creature inside the stone pressed forward, its outline bulging the corridor walls as if trying to burst through.
Inara gasped.
"Irvine—RUN!"
They sprinted into the blinding right corridor.
The instant their feet crossed the threshold—
The entire hallway behind them **collapsed**,
crashing shut like a jaw snapping closed.
And somewhere deep within the stone maze,
a low voice murmured—
closer than it had ever been.
"Midnight approaches…
Bride."