The gown was black.
Not navy. Not charcoal.
Black. Like ink. Like finality.
It arrived just before sunset, delivered in a long velvet box bearing the Umeziri crest. When Zina unfolded it, the silk shimmered like oil under candlelight. It had no sleeves, no frills—just elegance and silence. Like the man she was about to marry.
There was no makeup artist. No bridesmaids. No flowers.
Only Laila, standing in the corner of the hotel suite like a shadow, waiting to escort her to the altar.
"If you try to run," she said quietly, "we won't come after you."
Zina blinked. "You won't?"
"No. The house will."
---
🕛 Umeziri Estate – Midnight
A new section of the estate had been revealed tonight—one that hadn't existed the day she toured it.
The chapel was candlelit, carved into the earth like a forgotten cathedral. Vines crawled up the stone pillars, and hundreds of candles hovered midair, flickering but never burning out. Zina's heels clicked softly as she walked the long aisle alone.
There were no guests.
But she felt… watched.
Kain stood at the altar, dressed in black from head to toe. Not a tux. Not a suit. A long ceremonial robe embroidered with golden markings that shimmered like veins.
His eyes never left her.
Not as she stepped forward.
Not as she placed her trembling hand in his.
Not even when the officiant appeared—not a priest, but something older. His voice echoed like it came from the walls themselves.
---
> "Do you, Zina Obianuju, enter this covenant freely?"
"Yes," she said. Her voice didn't shake. Much.
> "Do you, Kain Umeziri, accept this bride under oath, bound by blood, name, and night?"
"I do," he said. Without hesitation.
The officiant produced the scroll. The original one—not the paper version she had signed. As it unraveled, the air shifted. The flames bent toward it.
> "…Let the thirteenth bride bear the mark and complete the seal…"
Zina didn't flinch this time as Kain took her hand again and pressed his thumb into her palm. The sigil returned—this time, brighter. Warmer.
The officiant cut a thin line across Kain's own thumb and pressed it to hers.
Their blood mixed. The scroll lit up like a moonstone, then turned to ash in his hands.
---
"You are now bound," the officiant intoned, "by name and by night."
Kain leaned in—not for a kiss. For a whisper.
"You may not speak my full name after this moment," he said against her cheek. "Not even in your thoughts. That is your final warning."
And then—
The candles went out.
All of them.
Complete blackness.
Zina gasped—but didn't scream. Something cold brushed her neck. A breath, maybe. A whisper.
Then the flames returned. Dimmer now. Older.
Kain was still in front of her, but he looked different. His eyes… darker. Like the shadows had claimed part of him.
And maybe, she thought, they had claimed her too.