The air was thick with the scent of roses and the faint metallic tang of fear. The grand hall gleamed with opulence, every corner adorned with gold, but to Liora, it felt like a prison. She had never been more certain that this was not her place. The weight of the dress, the expectations of her family, and the bright, forced smiles of the guests suffocated her.
She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, the pit of dread widening in her stomach. The bells tolled in the distance, their mournful chimes striking each of her senses with brutal precision. Every peal was like a wound, each reverberating through her chest, a harbinger of the doom she had long foreseen. The wedding, the promises made on her behalf, were nothing but chains. Chains that had kept her confined, suffocated by the expectations of a world she could no longer endure.
Her breath came in sharp bursts as she tore through the grand hall, weaving between the bewildered guests who barely registered her presence. The weight of her gown, once pristine and pure as the memory of a dream, clung to her legs, dragging her down as if it were the embodiment of every rule, every constraint that sought to keep her in place. Each step was an act of defiance, the fabric catching on the edges of tables, the delicate lace tearing as she stumbled forward.
She could hear them behind her—her father's booming voice ordering his guards to seize her, the clattering of their boots on the marble floors. It only pushed her faster. She had no plan, no destination in mind, except the one thing she knew with certainty: she had to escape.
The cool night air hit her face like a slap as she burst out into the courtyard, the sky darkening overhead. The path leading away from the estate stretched out before her, a ribbon of escape barely visible beneath the weight of the encroaching night. Her pulse hammered in her ears, drowning out everything except the rush of her own blood, the wind in her hair, the feel of freedom inches away.
But she wasn't free—not yet.
"Stop her!" her father's voice thundered, too close now. Liora could hear the heavy tread of guards closing in on her, their shouts growing louder. Her heart skipped in fear, but she pressed on, ignoring the way her lungs burned, the pain creeping through her muscles with every step. She couldn't stop. Not now. Not when she was so close to shattering the cage they had built for her.
She pushed forward, her feet barely touching the ground, the hem of her gown catching in the thorns along the garden's edge. She cursed softly as the fabric tore with a harsh ripping sound, the white silk now stained with dirt and blood. Her gown, once as flawless as a snow-covered mountain, now lay in tatters, a reflection of her own soul—a pure, untouched thing, now marred and broken.
The garden walls rose on either side of her, a maze of high hedges and sprawling ivy. She could feel the walls closing in, the sounds of pursuit pressing on her from all sides.
Just a little farther, she told herself. Just reach the woods, and there's nothing left for them to take.
Her feet slipped on the dewy stones beneath her as she veered into the path leading into the forest. The trees loomed before her, their gnarled branches reaching into the dark sky like the fingers of forgotten gods. She barely saw them through the veil of her own panic, but she knew that if she could just cross the threshold of the forest, there would be no turning back.
But then, a cold hand gripped her arm.
"Liora, stop!" It was her father's voice again, but it wasn't the same as before. There was a tremor in his words now, an urgency she hadn't expected.
She gasped, the world spinning as she twisted to break free from his grasp. The silk of her gown, so fragile, tore against his grip, but it didn't matter. She had no time to think. The air felt thick and suffocating as her father's fingers dug into her arm, and for a moment, she could feel her resolve starting to fray at the edges.
"Let me go!" she cried out, her voice cracking with desperation.
But he held fast. "You're my daughter, Liora. You cannot—"
"I'm not your daughter!" she screamed, her voice rising like a wave crashing against a cliff. "Not anymore!"
With one final wrench, she pulled away from him, breaking free. She stumbled, pain lancing up her arm, but the rush of adrenaline drowned out the hurt. The moonlight, now struggling to break through the thick clouds above, cast eerie shadows over the path ahead.
She barely noticed as she ran, her body moving on instinct now. The forest whispered around her, the leaves shivering in the breeze, as if urging her on. Her dress had long since been ruined, the once-perfect fabric dragging against the rough ground, now stained and torn. It was a lifeline. A symbol of her defiance. She was no longer the pristine bride, walking to her own funeral; she was a woman, unraveled and raw, fighting for her freedom.
She saw it then—the gates of Blackthorn Manor, looming ahead, their dark iron twisted into patterns that seemed to writhe in the dim light. The house, shrouded in shadow, stood like an ancient sentinel, its windows dark and unblinking.
As she approached the gate, the air grew heavier, and the first drop of rain splattered against her cheek, cold and sharp. The sky, which had once been only cloudy, now rumbled with a deep, ominous growl. Lightning cracked in the distance, casting fleeting, jagged shadows over the stone path, as if the very heavens were witnessing her trespass. The wind howled through the trees, bending the branches like skeletal arms reaching out to claim her.
Her heart thudded painfully against her chest, and a shiver crawled down her spine. Something in the atmosphere had shifted. This place—Blackthorn Manor—it was no sanctuary. It was a place of darkness and danger, where the rules of the world she knew no longer applied.
The thick fog that had been swirling around her legs seemed to rise in response to her presence, creeping up like dark fingers curling around her ankles. The air grew colder, colder still, until she could see her breath fog in the air. She hesitated, her fingers brushing the cold, rusted iron of the gate. But the moment she touched it, a voice, low and rumbling, slipped through the mist.
"Once you step inside, there's no turning back."
Liora froze, her heart racing, her breath caught in her throat. The voice was deep, laced with an eerie calmness that set her nerves on edge. Slowly, she turned, her eyes scanning the fog.
A figure emerged from the darkness, tall and imposing, cloaked in shadows. His face was hidden beneath the brim of a wide, dark hat, but his presence was overwhelming, as though the very night bent to him. The wind whipped around him, but it did not touch him. He was an embodiment of the darkness, standing in stark contrast to the pale, rain-soaked world around them.
He took a step forward, his eyes glowing faintly in the gloom, the only source of light in the oppressive blackness. "The manor's gates are open for you, but be warned: you may find yourself bound to more than you bargained for."
The sound of thunder rumbled ominously overhead, and a flash of lightning illuminated the landscape in sharp, silvery-white. The manor's outline grew sharper, darker, more threatening as the storm broke in full force. Rain began to fall in sheets, drenching her instantly, but still, Liora found herself rooted to the spot, staring at the stranger before her.
The gate groaned under the strain of the wind as it slowly opened. With a final glance at the man in the mist, Liora stepped forward. The rusted iron scraped against its hinges, a loud, discordant noise that seemed to echo through the night.
As the gates of Blackthorn Manor closed behind her, she felt the weight of an unseen chain tighten around her. There was no turning back now.