Chapter 2 - The Sound of Closing DoorsThe scream died away as abruptly as it began, choked off not by Lily, but by Clara.
In a fraction of a second that defied human reaction time, Clara abandoned the mirror. A terrifying agility took over her frame as she sprinted across the room, shoved the stunned little girl out of the way with a brutal force, and lunged at the wardrobe. With a deafening bang, she slammed the heavy doors shut, locking the brass latch into place with a frantic, trembling twist.
Silence descended upon the room, heavier and more suffocating than before.
Outside the door, the string quartet stopped playing. Murmurs of confusion rippled through the hallway as wedding coordinators and family members rushed toward the bridal suite. Footsteps pounded against the parquet flooring outside, accompanied by frantic knocking.
"Clara? Julian? Is everything all right in there?" shouted Arthur, the best man, rattling the brass handle of the main door.
Inside, Clara stood pressed against the mahogany doors of the wardrobe, her chest heaving, her knuckles stark white as she gripped the wood. Sweat beaded along her meticulously contoured hairline, dissolving her foundation. She looked less like a glowing bride and more like a cornered animal fighting for its last breath.
Julian stood frozen by the vanity, his gaze locked entirely on Clara. The easy charm that defined him had vanished, replaced by a mask of cold, calculated dread. He didn't look at crying Lily, who was whimpering on the floor, clutching her scraped knee. He only looked at Clara.
"Clara," Julian said, his voice dropping to a low, lethal register that didn't sound like him at all. "What was that?"
Clara slowly turned her head to look at him. The distance between them across the room felt like a chasm. She didn't shout. She didn't cry. Instead, she walked across the room with agonizing slowness, ignoring the frantic pounding at the door, until she was standing inches away from her groom.
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She leaned up on her tiptoes, her breath hot against his ear, and whispered the sentence that froze his blood solid:
"She looks just like your first wife... and she's still breathing."
