The Chosen Bride — Elira Vensha

Part 1: A Life Meant to Be Forgotten

Morning always came quietly in the Vensha estate.

No bells.
No grand announcements.

Just silence.

Elira Vensha preferred it that way.

She stood by the window, her fingers lightly brushing against the cold glass as the first light of dawn crept across the sky. The city below was still half-asleep, wrapped in a thin veil of mist that softened its sharp edges.

From up here…

Everything looked peaceful.

Almost perfect.

But Elira knew better.

"Lady Elira, breakfast is ready."

The voice came gently from behind her.

She didn't turn immediately.

Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on the horizon.

"Has anything changed?"

Her voice was calm.

Too calm.

A brief silence followed.

Then—

"No, my lady."

Of course not.

Nothing ever changed.

The Vensha family was known, but not respected.

Recognized, but not powerful.

They existed in a strange place within the noble hierarchy—too high to be ignored, too weak to matter.

And Elira…

Was the perfect reflection of that existence.

Invisible.

She turned slowly, her long silver hair catching the soft morning light. Her expression was composed, almost emotionless, but her eyes…

Her eyes were different.

Sharp.

Observant.

Awake.

"Bring it here," she said.

The maid obeyed without question, placing the tray carefully on the small table near the window.

Simple food.

Nothing extravagant.

As expected.

Elira sat down, her movements graceful but distant, as if she were simply going through a routine she had long memorized.

"Any news from the temple?"

The maid hesitated.

Just for a second.

"…No, my lady."

Another lie.

Elira noticed it immediately.

But she didn't press further.

There was no need.

Because if something had truly happened…

She would feel it.

And lately…

She had been feeling something.

Something subtle.

Something… wrong.

Like the air itself had changed.

She picked up her cup, bringing it slowly to her lips.

The tea was warm.

Familiar.

Yet even that felt… distant.

"Leave me."

The maid bowed and quietly exited the room.

Silence returned.

Elira exhaled softly, placing the cup back down.

"Something is coming…"

The words escaped her lips before she could stop them.

She frowned.

Why did she say that?

She wasn't an oracle.

She wasn't chosen.

She had no connection to the divine.

And yet…

Her fingers tightened slightly.

"…Why does it feel like I'm being watched?"

The Vensha estate was not large.

Not compared to other noble houses.

Its halls were quiet.

Almost empty.

Portraits of ancestors lined the walls, their expressions frozen in time—people who once held ambition, pride… and perhaps dreams.

All of it faded now.

Just like the family itself.

"Elira."

A voice called out from the end of the hallway.

She stopped.

Her father.

Lord Vensha.

A man who carried authority in name only.

"You're awake early," he said, approaching her with slow, measured steps.

"As always."

A brief pause.

Then—

"The temple has sent word."

Her heart skipped.

Just once.

But she didn't show it.

"I see."

"You are to attend."

Of course.

Elira lowered her gaze slightly.

"As expected."

Her father watched her carefully.

Searching for something.

A reaction.

Fear.

Resistance.

But he found nothing.

"Do you understand what this means?"

"Yes."

Even if she didn't…

She knew one thing.

Nothing good ever came from the temple.

The city was different that day.

Too quiet.

Too tense.

People moved quickly, their eyes avoiding one another. Whispers filled the air, but no one spoke loudly enough to be heard.

Fear.

It was everywhere.

Elira walked through the streets with steady steps, her expression unchanged.

But inside…

Her thoughts were racing.

Why today?

Why now?

And most importantly…

Why her?

The temple stood before her.

Massive.

Unmoving.

Unforgiving.

Its white walls reflected the light of the sun, almost blinding in their purity.

Or perhaps…

In their illusion.

Elira stepped forward.

The gates opened.

Slowly.

As if welcoming her.

Or swallowing her whole.

Inside…

Thousands had gathered.

Nobles.

Commoners.

Priests.

All watching.

Waiting.

For something.

Or someone.

Elira felt their gazes the moment she entered.

Heavy.

Judging.

Curious.

But she ignored them.

She always did.

Because in a world like this…

Being seen was never a good thing.

Then—

The bells rang.

Loud.

Sharp.

Unforgiving.

And everything went silent.

Elira's breath caught.

She felt it again.

That presence.

Stronger this time.

Closer.

Watching.

Waiting.

And for the first time…

Part 2: The Saint's Decree

The bells did not stop.

They rang again.

And again.

And again.

Each echo heavier than the last, as if it carried something unseen… something that pressed down on every soul within the temple.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

Even the air felt… restrained.

Elira stood among the crowd, her back straight, her gaze fixed ahead. Yet beneath that calm exterior, her heartbeat had begun to quicken.

This wasn't normal.

Temple gatherings were always strict.

Organized.

Predictable.

This…

Felt different.

Uncontrolled.

"Why does it feel like this…?" someone whispered nearby.

"No idea… but I don't like it."

Elira heard them.

Of course she did.

Fear was contagious.

And right now…

It was everywhere.

Then—

Silence.

Absolute silence.

The bells stopped.

Abruptly.

As if something had forced them to.

A ripple passed through the crowd.

And then…

She appeared.

The Saint.

Descending from the high altar, her white robes flowing like untouched snow. A soft glow surrounded her, almost blinding, as if the light itself refused to leave her side.

People lowered their heads immediately.

Some fell to their knees.

Others held their breath.

Elira did neither.

She simply watched.

Carefully.

Closely.

Because something about this felt…

Wrong.

The Saint stopped at the center.

Her presence alone silenced everything.

When she spoke…

Her voice carried effortlessly across the entire temple.

"Today… we gather under the will of the divine."

Each word was calm.

Measured.

Perfect.

Too perfect.

Elira's eyes narrowed slightly.

"The balance of our world must be maintained."

A pause.

"And for that…"

The Saint's gaze moved.

Slowly.

Across the crowd.

Scanning.

Searching.

Until—

It stopped.

On her.

Elira's breath froze.

For a moment…

Time itself seemed to stop.

No.

Not me.

Her fingers clenched slightly at her sides.

Stay calm.

Do not react.

But it was too late.

The Saint had already seen her.

"Step forward."

The command was soft.

Yet it carried a weight that crushed all resistance.

Elira didn't move.

Not at first.

Her body resisted.

Her instincts screamed.

Run.

But something deeper…

Something unseen…

Forced her forward.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Each movement heavier than the last.

The crowd parted around her, whispers rising like distant echoes.

"Why her…?"

"She's not even marked…"

"She's… ordinary…"

Elira ignored them.

She had learned long ago—

People spoke.

But they never mattered.

What mattered…

Was what stood before her now.

The Saint.

She stopped at the altar.

The distance between them was small.

Too small.

Up close…

The Saint was even more unsettling.

Perfect skin.

Perfect posture.

Perfect eyes.

But no warmth.

Not even a trace.

"You have been called."

Elira met her gaze.

"…For what purpose?"

A dangerous question.

The crowd stirred.

But the Saint only smiled.

A gentle, almost kind smile.

Which made it worse.

"Such courage."

A pause.

"Or perhaps… ignorance."

Elira didn't respond.

She refused to.

Because something inside her was beginning to understand.

This wasn't random.

This was decided.

Long before today.

"By the will of the gods…"

The Saint raised her hand.

And the air grew heavy.

Oppressive.

"As the one chosen by fate…"

No.

"Your life…"

Stop.

"…shall be offered."

The words struck like a blade.

Elira's eyes widened slightly.

Offered?

"To restore what was broken…"

The light around the Saint dimmed.

Just for a second.

Barely noticeable.

But Elira saw it.

"…you shall become the bride—"

Her heart stopped.

"…of the one abandoned by all."

The world fell silent.

And then—

Gasps.

Shock.

Fear.

The entire temple erupted into whispers.

"No…"

"That's impossible…"

"They wouldn't…"

Elira couldn't hear them anymore.

Because one word…

Echoed louder than all the rest.

Bride.

"…The cursed god."

Everything inside her went cold.

That name—

No.

That title—

It wasn't supposed to exist.

It wasn't supposed to be spoken.

And yet…

Here it was.

Declared.

In front of everyone.

Her mind struggled to process it.

The cursed god.

The one hidden from history.

The one feared by even the divine.

The one they called…

The Ugly God.

"No."

The word escaped before she could stop it.

Soft.

But clear.

"I refuse."

Silence.

Not the kind from before.

This one was different.

Dangerous.

The Saint's smile faded.

Slowly.

"…You refuse?"

The air cracked.

Literally.

A faint sound—like something breaking—echoed through the temple.

Elira felt it immediately.

Pressure.

Crushing.

Her knees trembled.

Her breath caught.

"You dare… deny the will of the divine?"

The voice was no longer gentle.

It was cold.

Sharp.

Terrifying.

Elira dropped to one knee.

Not by choice.

Her body simply… gave in.

But her eyes—

Her eyes remained defiant.

"I—will—not—"

The pressure increased.

Pain shot through her body.

Her vision blurred.

"…obey."

A collective gasp filled the temple.

No one had ever said that.

Not here.

Not to her.

The Saint stared at her.

For a long moment.

Then—

She smiled again.

But this time…

There was no kindness in it.

"Very well."

A pause.

"You will learn."

She turned away.

Just like that.

As if the matter was already decided.

"Prepare the ritual."

The words echoed like a sentence.

"Tomorrow…"

Elira's heart sank.

"…the marriage will take place."

The bells rang again.

Louder than before.

Heavier.

Final.

Elira remained on her knees.

Her body shaking.

Her mind racing.

This wasn't happening.

It couldn't be.

And yet…

Deep inside…

She knew.

There was no escape.


Part 3: The Night Before the Curse

Night fell too quickly.


Or perhaps…

Time itself had begun to collapse.


Elira did not remember how she returned home.


The temple.

The crowd.

The Saint's voice.


It all blurred into something distant.

Unreal.


Like a nightmare she had yet to wake from.


But the silence of her room…

Was real.


Too real.


She stood in the center, unmoving, her gaze fixed on nothing. The candlelight flickered softly, casting long shadows across the walls—shadows that seemed to stretch unnaturally…

As if reaching for her.


"…The cursed god."


The words echoed again.


Again.


Again.


Her fingers trembled slightly.


"No…"


This wasn't fate.


This was punishment.


But for what?


Elira had done nothing.

Said nothing.

Broken no laws.


She had lived exactly as the world demanded.

Quiet.

Obedient.

Invisible.


So why her?


Her breath grew heavier.


"…Why me?"


No answer came.


Of course not.


This world did not answer questions.


It crushed them.



A knock.


Soft.

Careful.


"My lady… may I enter?"


Elira didn't respond immediately.


Then—

"…Come in."


The door opened slowly.


Her maid stepped inside, her expression pale, her hands shaking slightly as she held a folded dress.


A wedding dress.


White.

Pure.

Perfect.


Elira stared at it.


For a long moment.


"…Is that it?"


The maid lowered her head.


"Yes… my lady."


Silence.


Then—


"…Leave it."


The maid hesitated.


"My lady… I—"


"Leave."


The word was quiet.

But firm.


"…Yes."


The door closed.


And once again…


Elira was alone.



She approached the dress slowly.


Each step heavier than the last.


It was beautiful.


Of course it was.


Everything made by the temple was.


Perfect on the outside.


Empty on the inside.


Her fingers brushed against the fabric.


Cold.


Not soft.

Not warm.


Just… cold.


Like something that had never known life.


"…A bride."


The word felt wrong in her mouth.


She wasn't a bride.


She was an offering.


A sacrifice.



Suddenly—


A sharp pain shot through her chest.


Elira gasped, her body freezing in place.


"What—"


Her vision blurred.


The room shifted.


No…


Not the room.


Reality itself.



Darkness.


Endless.


Silent.



Elira stood there.


Alone.


Or so she thought.



"…So."


A voice.


Low.


Distant.


Yet… impossibly close.


Her body tensed.


"Who's there?"


No answer.


Only silence.


Then—


A presence.


Behind her.


Heavy.

Ancient.


Watching.


Her heart began to race.


Slowly…

She turned.



Nothing.


Just darkness.


But she could feel it.


Something was there.


Something that shouldn't exist.


"…You can hear me."


The voice again.


This time clearer.


Deeper.


Not human.


Elira's breath caught.


"…What are you?"


A pause.


Then—


"…You were chosen."


The air grew colder.


"…Not by them."


Her eyes widened.


"…What do you mean?"


Silence.


For a moment.


Then—


A whisper.


Right next to her ear.


"…Run."



Everything shattered.



Elira gasped, her body jerking back as the world snapped into place.


Her room.


The candle.


The dress.


All still there.


As if nothing had happened.


But her heart…


Her heart was racing uncontrollably.


"That was… real…"


Her hands shook.


Her breath uneven.


That voice—


It wasn't from the temple.


It wasn't from the Saint.


It wasn't…

Divine.


"…Run…"


The word echoed in her mind.



For the first time…


Elira hesitated.


Not out of fear.


But out of something else.


Possibility.



She turned toward the window.


The night outside was silent.


Dark.


Free.



"…Can I escape?"


The thought alone felt dangerous.


Forbidden.


Impossible.


And yet…


That voice—


"…You were chosen."


Not by them.



Her fingers tightened.


Her decision…


Was made in that moment.



"I'm not staying."



She moved quickly.


Grabbing only what she needed.


No hesitation.

No doubt.


Because deep down…


She already knew.


If she stayed—


She would lose everything.



The door opened.


Silently.


Carefully.



The halls were empty.


Of course they were.


No one expected her to resist.


No one believed she would try.



A mistake.



Step by step…

She moved through the shadows.


Closer.


Closer to freedom.



Then—


"Where do you think you're going?"



Elira froze.


Her heart dropped.


Slowly…

She turned.



A figure stood at the end of the corridor.


Clad in white.


A priest.


But something about him…


Felt wrong.


His eyes.


They weren't normal.


They were glowing.


Faintly.


"…The Saint was right."


He smiled.


A cold, empty smile.


"You would try to run."



Elira's breath steadied.


"…Move."



The priest tilted his head.


"…Or what?"



Silence.



Then—


Something changed.



The air shifted.


Violently.



The priest's expression froze.


"…What—"



Darkness moved.


Not from Elira.


But from behind her.



Something unseen.


Something terrifying.


Something…

Ancient.



The priest stepped back.


Fear filling his eyes.


Real fear.



"…Impossible…"



A whisper echoed.


Not from Elira.


Not from the priest.



But from the darkness itself.



"…She is mine."