Ripping the covers off his sweaty body, he sat pitching heavily. Imperceptible claws scraped the surface of a humble jewel beating wildly in his chest. A thick sheen of sweat covered his naked body. His hands trembled terribly as he gazed at big palms covered in thick red fluid. The same aroma wafted off around his nose. His mouth and chest. As daylight strikes the darkness of sleepy castle, with stoned eyes he takes in reality. The little fear he experienced, evaporated. Embracing the sin, the wild nature, and monstrosity in defeat, the chiseled man leaves the silk covers now colored with a shade of cruelty and stands in front of a foot-length mirror.

As the sunlight touches the corner of diamond embedded borders, they emit a golden glow and surround his stance. In an undressed state with dried blood covering his chest and face, the man looks no less than a victorious king of hell who has fought a legion of angels questioning his sanity. Pulling at his hair, blinking the moisture- slowly flooding his eyes, he marches towards the bathroom intending to burn the covers and mattress after washing the transgression sticking to his glistening flesh.

The moment he was about to take shower, distant music of drums and clarinet reached his ears. His jaw twitched and inexplainable rage flared in frozen veins.

If God wasn't testing his patience enough, his mother was ready to add more spice. The clueless and innocent girl, who has been dreaming to become his new bride had no idea about the hell awaiting her. He wondered how long she'll stay before running for hills to save her dear life after learning the history of this forsaken family. A mere thought of her started pooling saliva at the back of his mouth. His fists clenched. That scent of hers, sandalwood with a hint of honey was alluring. He could detect it from miles. The innocence of an untouched girl called for his sinful side, begging to turn her into a woman. With a growl, he punched the bathroom wall. A crack boomed followed by a fist-sized dent on white tiles. By thinking about this new girl, he was tainting the memory of his first wife, his one true love.

The lust enthralling his body slowly receded.

'It wasn't you, but the call of wild.'

Shadows whispered and he tensed. Of course, who else could that be?

Dressing into his business suit, the royal of Rajwada Palace puts the mattress and covers on fire, and watching it erupting in flames provided a sense of peace to his heart. The culprit was burning the evidence of a forgetful crime, thinking no one will know, but God was watching everything. Only if he had any idea what happened last night. There's no surprise he has no memory. He never does and hopefully, in the future, this remains the same. Otherwise, the day he carried even the smallest fragment of nightly activities; nobody could save him from breaking into a thousand pieces. Of all the things in the world, he never wanted to become a blood-thirsty monster.

They danced in harmony, matching their steps with the beats of drums and blaring music describing the essence of the current ritual. Gauri smiled at the happiness she brought to all those gloomy faces. Two females religiously made beautiful patterns of henna (a dye prepared from the leaves of plant Lawsonia inermis) on her soft palms, starting from her elbows. They were already drawn on her feet. The fragrance of freshly made dye spread all around the large hall as other girls also had their hands painted by artists. They joked and laughed, teasing the soon-to-be bride once in a while.

Yagya

Her mother, Rukamani insisted one of the female artists write the name of groom, expertly hiding it between the heavy pattern. This made Gauri blush and others giggle at her expanse. When the henna artist wrote his name on the side of her ring finger, warmth bloomed in her chest. She shivered unknowingly and looked at her lap, trying to hide the sudden turmoil engulfing her body. She hasn't met him but the mere thought of sharing a life with him brought nervous tingles. The effect of a stranger on her was questionable. The new feelings terrified her. All the talks and teasing of girls have turned her insane to think about a male so deeply. She has never done this before. Curse their wicked smiles for ruining the integrity of her mind.

She hummed a tune when the bunch of women who came from her village started dancing in a circle over the beats of Ghoomer. She laughed when two females dragged her shy mother in the center and pushed her to dance. Pulling a long veil of saree on her face, her mother forgot about the audience and moved like there's no tomorrow, surprising everyone. She was a good dancer, Gauri admitted with wide eyes. The women hooted and clapped, joining the rhythm of Rukmani, a notorious rebel of her time. Sumitra approached holding a crinkled rupee note and circled it around her graceful daughter-in-law, before passing it to the musicians.

Once her henna was completed, the girls hound around the beautiful bride and clicked pictures. Rukmani, holding happy tears in her eyes, wipes some kohl from her ring finger and puts it behind Gauri's ear. A sign of warding evil. Sumitra kissed her forehead before testing the dryness of henna with the pad of her fingers. Feeling the perfection, she asked Rukmani to dab some oil on the artistry and then guide Gauri towards the washroom, so the girl can wash her hands and feet.

A darkly dressed figure danced, enjoying the beat of drums and melody of a clarinet. Her silver hair whipped around wildly as she threw her hands in the air and jumped breathlessly. Her feet were unstoppable as she moved in the candle-lit hall in front of a tall statue composed of clay and soil. Holding a fist full of red-colored powder, she threw it at the same statue carved in the shape of a woman and cackled like an occultist.

Dust and dirt covered the floor. Cobwebs hung from ceilings and all that was glorious before. Portraits of royalty hung disdainfully on maggots-covered walls. The stench of rotten flesh and dead animals reeked the atmosphere, making it impossible to breathe, yet the being rejoiced in the miserable and dark surroundings, dancing and laughing uproariously. The cracked walls hummed with dark energy as evil obscures all light. Slowly, the candles extinguished one by one, hissing and leaving only the smoke behind. When the woman hurls a fistful of white powder made from the ossein of chickens, the big door on the second floor of the palace started shaking. A door embellished with broken mirrors and the finest jewels from all over the world. A door to a King's chambers. Latched with ten big locks, it shook and thrashed, desperate to open.

When the woman started chanting aloud in the language of the dead, screams rang from the darkened hallways of Chandra Mahal. Covered in shadows, the palace was livelier than Mayur and Chitrakoot- bathed in light.

As the chanting progressed, the woman dragged a bound girl in front of the statue. High on a drug, and oblivious to inhuman surroundings, the girl followed every command before kneeling in front of the statue with her head bowed, as if she was worshipping satan. The woman pulls girl's hair, making her face the statue, and then slowly retrieves a dagger.

"My lord of dark, king of demons who dwell in hell and feed on souls, accept this virgin sacrifice from your slave and grant her your blessings."

Saying that the woman drags the sharp side of the dagger painfully slow against the girl's throat. A river of crimson oozed like an open faucet from open cut and to collect it, she brought a bowl and steadied it under the gentle flow, until the last drop was collected. Once done, all support was taken from the soulless body of a damned girl, and like a rag doll, she fell on her side, banging her head on the hard unpolished marble. Her skull cracked but she didn't feel the pain for she was already gone, her untainted soul offered to the darkling ruling the demons of hell.

Floating towards the statue, ignoring the carcass of innocence, the woman bathes the statue of a female with the same blood. A sickening grin widened on her face, showing the yellow and rotten teeth. Her dark flesh gleamed under the luster of thick blood, as it fell on the head of the statue and seeped down to the heels. As sinister as the process was, it awakened the hungry reason slumbering behind the big door on the second floor. Slowly, the heavy locks started opening one after the other. Their click bounced against the roof.

With a loud screech that resonated like the roar of a hundred banshees, it banged against the walls, leaving dents behind. For a moment, deadly silence fell on the shoulders of anticipators before a shadow stepped out. A cloud of murk stood unflinching and slowly descended the stairs until reached the site of disturbance. The woman smiled tearfully sensing the sudden chill in the air. The single candle failed to expose the dark pharaoh and could only give so much. The small flicker was nothing against the raging dusk waiting to explode.

Throwing the bowl away, the woman cuts her palm before pressing it between the bosoms of statue.

"Blood of my blood must remain warm until the dawn of light."

Whispering lowly, she steps back and lifts a bowl full of henna paste, the same dye a bride was applying for her groom. Inhaling the heavenly aroma, she dips her thick finger in the green paste before smearing it on the arms and palms of the statue lovingly. The dark shadow didn't loom far and slowly approached the statue, attracted by the scent of henna. As the woman dabs henna on cold palms, a bloody tongue licks the dye on one palm and immediately receives a burn of smiling face. The rosy face of a village beauty admiring her henna-covered hands shyly.

The cloud of musk thrashed and chortled. Its sound came as angry roars of a bull. Raging and driving under the influence of charismatic henna, it breaks out of Chandra Mahal to taste it from the source.

Rukmani guided her daughter towards the sink and opened the tap. She was about to bring Gauri's hands beneath the warm water when a knock came from the door.

"Aunty, where is our turmeric? I can't find it. Grandmother is asking to mix it with the one that came from Groom's side." The shrill voice of her distant cousin asked from behind the door and they both sighed. Rolling her eyes, Rukmani caressed her daughter's cheek.

"Rub it gently under the water, darling, and then wash your legs in the tub. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Gauri nodded and watches her mother retreating through the mirror before slowly removing the dried henna from her hands. Her skin must have absorbed the color by now. It has been 3 hours.

Unbeknownst, as she washed, lost in her thoughts, in place of brown, red water fell in a white sink. Suddenly, a nauseating smell engulfed the small space, and for a moment she thought- maybe a rat died somewhere. She cringed and looked down to wash her hands faster but was left shell shocked at the sight of dripping ichor.

"Oh, God!"

Exclaiming, she stares at her palms bewildered.

The bathroom door banged open behind her and she jumped to look back. Empty. The entrance was empty.

"Maa..."

A cloud of smoke covered her blurred vision before it passed through her body like a storm. Gauri shuddered; her spine ached. She felt as if it walked right through her and once again turned to face the mirror. A fog covers the mirror, making her frown. The water wasn't that hot. Her crimson hands raise to wipe it, but the moment her palm was an inch away, the mirror cracked. Cold gripped her body and froze her entrails. A heavyweight fell on her shoulders. Her breathes dropped.

The red water on her palms started to rise and swirled like a tornado until it splashed against the broken mirror and arranged in the shape of an enigmatic figure. Her chest heaved heavily and, despite being cold, she sweated like walking under a scorching sun.

The moment, two big eyes matching her hazels opened beneath the veil of crimson on the reflector, she swayed back and forth before fainting on the bathroom floor. Her body burned with high fever and her fair skin turned pale. The secrets of the palace were finally getting to her.