CURSED BRIDE

THIS NOT A SIMPLE LOVE STORY. THIS SOMETHING BEYOND LOVE STORY.

She is running.

Her breath is sharp and uneven, her chest burning as if it might collapse any second, but she does not stop. The ground beneath her feet is rough, her steps unstable, yet she keeps moving, faster, harder, as if stopping even for a moment would cost her everything. The night around her is unnaturally silent, thick and suffocating, but somewhere within that silence, a faint fufkaar (hissing sound) lingers, low and dangerous, trailing behind her like a shadow that refuses to leave.

She does not turn back.

She does not slow down.

She runs until her body begins to give in, until her legs tremble and her breath turns shallow, until the fear inside her starts clawing its way out. And then, all at once, she stops.

The sudden stillness feels louder than the chase.

For a moment, she stands frozen, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her heartbeat echoing violently in her ears. Slowly, as if afraid of what she might see, she turns back.

There is nothing.

No movement. No sound. No sign that anyone or anything had been there.

Only darkness.

A long breath leaves her lips as her body weakens with relief. She lifts her hand to her chest, steadying herself, trying to convince her racing mind that it was nothing, that whatever she felt was not real. Her eyes slowly close, as if she is forcing herself to believe in that lie.

But the moment she opens them, everything inside her stops.

Right in front of her, so close that she cannot even step back, two glowing red eyes stare directly into hers, still, unblinking, and terrifyingly real.