Bound by Blood: An Unholy Fate

The silence of the night was so heavy that it felt like a physical weight on my chest.

Every breath was a violent struggle against the stagnant, cold air.

I lay paralyzed on the bed, my eyes wide open in the dark, unable to move a single muscle.

I felt it then.

I heard the first aahat of an invisible presence stepping out from the shadows.

A chilling, soulless wind swept through the room, carrying the faint scent of old dust and dried blood.

I wanted to scream, I wanted to fight, but my body felt like stone.

An unseen force had stolen my voice, leaving me entirely at the mercy of the dark.

When the first light of dawn finally broke through the grand wooden windows, the paralysis vanished.

I gasped for air, trembling violently as I looked down at my wrists.

I saw heart-wrenching purplish-black bruises circling my skin, as if iron cuffs had chained me to the bed all night.

Panic took over me.

I scrambled off the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor as I rushed to the heavy main door.

I rattled the brass lock with all my remaining strength.

"Is anyone there? Sanchi! Nihal! Please, open the door!" I sobbed, my voice cracking against the thick wood.

I pounded on the door again and again.

Then I heard the voices from the other side—the two people I trusted more than my own life.

My best friend and my fiancé were standing right there.

But I heard no warmth in their tone, only a calculated, horrific coldness.

"We can't open it, Avantika," Sanchi’s voice echoed, devoid of any guilt.

"This room no longer belongs to the living. It has been sealed by ancient tantrik incantations."

"Incantations? Tantrik? What kind of sick joke is this, Sanchi?!" I screamed, my heart shattering into pieces.

"Nihal! Why are you silent? Say something!" I pleaded, begging for his help.

Nihal’s voice was low, cutting through me like a knife.

"You are to be wedded to a Djinn tonight, Avantika. It is a blood pact."

"If you die during the ritual... it's your fate. If you survive, you belong to him."

"Just pray you make it through the night."

I heard their footsteps fade away down the long corridor, leaving me drowning in my own frantic gasps.

I collapsed right against the locked door, burying my face in my hands.

"Every night... the aahat of that invisible touch... that terrifying rhythm in the dark," I whispered.

A wave of pure disgust spread through my veins.

The memory of that unseen entity claiming my soul made me want to claw at my own skin.

"I want to run away! I want to escape this hell! But I can't..." I screamed into the empty room, realizing my helplessness.

Exhausted and broken, I dragged myself toward the corner of the room where a large, ornate mirror stood.

I looked at my reflection, and a gasp caught in my throat.

I could barely recognize myself.

I looked at my appearance, and it was the definition of absolute despair.

For Sanchi's wedding festivities, I had worn a beautiful emerald-green salwar suit.

Now, I saw the traditional fabric completely wrinkled and ruined.

Its long, loose sleeves hung limply around my arms.

I noticed my long black hair, usually neatly pinned, was completely wild, tangled, and draped over my shoulders.

I saw continuous streams of tears that had smudged my heavy black kajal.

It left dark, messy streaks running down my pale cheeks like rivers of grief.

I touched my lips—they were dry, cracked, and turning a faint shade of blue from sheer terror.

I looked like a living corpse.

I saw a helpless girl abandoned in a beautiful green dress, traded off by her own people to a dark supernatural force.

If I could just turn back the clock by a few weeks, my life was perfect.

I was a passionate wedding decorator and interior designer, completely in love with my fiancé.

Then, Sanchi had arrived with a golden-bordered wedding invitation, smiling warmly.

"My wedding is happening at our ancestral Haveli," she had told me.

"You have to design the entire venue for me, Avantika. I won't take a no."

I was so blind.

I happily packed my bags and traveled to this remote, majestic estate, completely unaware of its bloody history.

I didn't know this grand Haveli hid a dark secret—a centuries-old curse that demanded a pure soul.

According to the ancient tantrik laws, the girl who unknowingly wakes the captive Djinn with her blood becomes his eternal bride.

It happened on my very first night here.

I was inspecting a vintage vanity setup in a secluded hallway when my hand accidentally struck a sharp, shattered edge of an antique mirror.

The cut was deep.

I saw my fresh, crimson blood splatter right across the glass and onto a strange, dusty painting behind it.

In the world of the supernatural, human blood is the ultimate key.

That single drop of my blood forged an unbreakable, unholy connection between Advait—the dormant Djinn—and me.

My own life force had become my greatest enemy.

I looked out of the window just now.

I saw the sun fully dipped below the horizon, and a suffocating, pitch-black darkness was swallowing the Haveli grounds.

My pulse hammered so loudly it felt like it would tear through my chest.

Suddenly, I saw the candles around the room flicker violently, their golden flames turning a sinister, pale blue.

The air turned freezing cold, frosting the edges of the glass.

The time had come.

I could hear it clearly now.

The grand, terrifying aahat of Advait returning to claim his bride.