Blair Bathory

She spilled coffee on her dress the morning of their engagement shoot. The florist backed out at the last minute. Mark snapping at her over nothing. It's just stress, she thought. Everyone gets nervous before a wedding. Then she heard the whispers, soft, like wind through an open window. Only there was no wind, and the windows were shut.

Simone would lie in bed beside Mark, eyes wide in the dark, and hear them. Voices not quite speaking words, like conversations in another room. Familiar. Wrong. She bought a white noise machine. She slept with earplugs, but the voices grew stronger. Sometimes they said her name. Sometimes, Marx. Then she caught her reflection watching her.

Simone would lie in bed beside Mark, eyes wide in the dark, and hear them. Voices not quite speaking words, like conversations in another room. Familiar. Wrong. She bought a white noise machine. She slept with earplugs, but the voices grew stronger. Sometimes they said her name. Sometimes, Marx. Then she caught her reflection watching her.

Simone would lie in bed beside Mark, eyes wide in the dark, and hear them. Voices not quite speaking words, like conversations in another room. Familiar. Wrong. She bought a white noise machine. She slept with earplugs, but the voices grew stronger. Sometimes they said her name. Sometimes, Marx. Then she caught her reflection watching her.

she started subtly her mirror image lagging behind blinking just a beat too late one morning she brushed her hair and paused her reflection did not it stared at her lips curled in a smile she didn't feel she stepped back heart thudding the reflection mouthed the word mine Simone decided she had to take off the ring that night, but it wouldn't budge. The skin around it had darkened.

she started subtly her mirror image lagging behind blinking just a beat too late one morning she brushed her hair and paused her reflection did not it stared at her lips curled in a smile she didn't feel she stepped back heart thudding the reflection mouthed the word mine Simone decided she had to take off the ring that night, but it wouldn't budge. The skin around it had darkened.

she started subtly her mirror image lagging behind blinking just a beat too late one morning she brushed her hair and paused her reflection did not it stared at her lips curled in a smile she didn't feel she stepped back heart thudding the reflection mouthed the word mine Simone decided she had to take off the ring that night, but it wouldn't budge. The skin around it had darkened.

It was angry and red, like it had burrowed into her. Mark offered to cut it off or take her to a jeweler to do it, but she snapped at him not to touch it. Then the dreams began. Simone walked through a burnt-out church, barefoot, wearing a wedding dress gone gray with ash. The aisle was littered with bones. A woman in white stood at the altar, her veil soaked red. She lifted it slowly.

It was angry and red, like it had burrowed into her. Mark offered to cut it off or take her to a jeweler to do it, but she snapped at him not to touch it. Then the dreams began. Simone walked through a burnt-out church, barefoot, wearing a wedding dress gone gray with ash. The aisle was littered with bones. A woman in white stood at the altar, her veil soaked red. She lifted it slowly.

It was angry and red, like it had burrowed into her. Mark offered to cut it off or take her to a jeweler to do it, but she snapped at him not to touch it. Then the dreams began. Simone walked through a burnt-out church, barefoot, wearing a wedding dress gone gray with ash. The aisle was littered with bones. A woman in white stood at the altar, her veil soaked red. She lifted it slowly.

Her face was Simone's. But the eyes were hollow, and the mouth was sewn shut with gold wire. Simone woke screaming, the ring burning on her hand. She started researching. Eleanor Reith, her great-great-aunt, had owned the ring in 1892. She vanished the night before her wedding. Her fiancé was found in the woods, throat torn open, no sign of struggle.

Her face was Simone's. But the eyes were hollow, and the mouth was sewn shut with gold wire. Simone woke screaming, the ring burning on her hand. She started researching. Eleanor Reith, her great-great-aunt, had owned the ring in 1892. She vanished the night before her wedding. Her fiancé was found in the woods, throat torn open, no sign of struggle.

Her face was Simone's. But the eyes were hollow, and the mouth was sewn shut with gold wire. Simone woke screaming, the ring burning on her hand. She started researching. Eleanor Reith, her great-great-aunt, had owned the ring in 1892. She vanished the night before her wedding. Her fiancé was found in the woods, throat torn open, no sign of struggle.

In 1952, Lisbeth Langford wore the ring at her engagement party. Her groom drowned in his bathtub, lungs filled with saltwater. There was no saltwater in the house. In 1987, the ring resurfaced. Another bride, another death. A pattern. Every bride who wore it lost her groom. Murder. Disappearance. Suicide. The ring passed in silence, handed down like fine china, cursed and unspoken.

In 1952, Lisbeth Langford wore the ring at her engagement party. Her groom drowned in his bathtub, lungs filled with saltwater. There was no saltwater in the house. In 1987, the ring resurfaced. Another bride, another death. A pattern. Every bride who wore it lost her groom. Murder. Disappearance. Suicide. The ring passed in silence, handed down like fine china, cursed and unspoken.

In 1952, Lisbeth Langford wore the ring at her engagement party. Her groom drowned in his bathtub, lungs filled with saltwater. There was no saltwater in the house. In 1987, the ring resurfaced. Another bride, another death. A pattern. Every bride who wore it lost her groom. Murder. Disappearance. Suicide. The ring passed in silence, handed down like fine china, cursed and unspoken.

Simone found a letter, tucked in an old Bible, written in frantic, spidery script. The ring binds the heart, first with love, then with blood. I should have let it burn with her. No signature, no explanation. Simone stopped sleeping, her eyes hollowed. Mark begged her to see someone. "'You're not well,' he said gently. "'You don't believe me,' she whispered. "'You think I'm crazy.'

Simone found a letter, tucked in an old Bible, written in frantic, spidery script. The ring binds the heart, first with love, then with blood. I should have let it burn with her. No signature, no explanation. Simone stopped sleeping, her eyes hollowed. Mark begged her to see someone. "'You're not well,' he said gently. "'You don't believe me,' she whispered. "'You think I'm crazy.'

Simone found a letter, tucked in an old Bible, written in frantic, spidery script. The ring binds the heart, first with love, then with blood. I should have let it burn with her. No signature, no explanation. Simone stopped sleeping, her eyes hollowed. Mark begged her to see someone. "'You're not well,' he said gently. "'You don't believe me,' she whispered. "'You think I'm crazy.'

But he was just scared, while Simone thought she might be cursed. He reached for her. She flinched. The ring gleamed in the dim light, and for a second, his face twisted, not with fear, but with something like hatred. She blinked, and it was gone." On the night before the wedding, she saw the woman in the mirror again. Not a reflection. This time, it was a presence behind her.