The night before my wedding, I woke to soft moaning. At first, I thought I was dreaming—until I realized my fiancée wasn’t in bed.

The sound came from the bathroom. Through the half-open door, I saw her sitting on the toilet, legs apart, head tilted back, smiling faintly as if touched by invisible hands. But she was alone. No phone, no toy—nothing.

When she noticed me, she quickly composed herself, brushed past without a word. I was rattled—especially since she had insisted on celibacy until marriage. And now, on the eve of our vows, I’d seen something I couldn’t explain.

The next morning, she suddenly demanded her own private room after the wedding. Confused, I asked why. She glared, “If you can’t respect that, maybe we shouldn’t get married.” I begged her not to ruin the day, and she reluctantly agreed.

We went through with the ceremony.

The Wedding Night

That night, her room was locked. No answer when I knocked. The next morning, she emerged covered in bruises. “What happened?” I asked. She smiled thinly. “I fell while taking off my shoes.”

But when her blouse shifted, I saw a long red mark across her back—like a whip’s lash. She only laughed at my concern.

Later, when I tried to consummate our marriage, she pushed me away. “I’m not in the mood.”

Soon, I overheard her moaning again—this time mixed with sobs. When I checked, she lay on the floor, wide-eyed, staring at something behind me. She muttered, “It was a movie on my phone.” A lie.

That same day, I glimpsed a pale figure in the dining room mirror. When I turned, nothing. Moments later, she appeared, smiling sweetly. “Baby, let’s sleep together tonight.”

Hopeful, I leaned in to kiss her, but she recoiled, fear in her eyes, before forcing a smile.

The Ritual

That night, she lit red candles around the bed, whispering strange words. She pushed me out. “Relax. Let me set the mood.”

Later, when I returned, an icy wind swept through the room. My body froze, desire vanished. No matter what we tried, nothing worked. Our first night ended in silence and shame.

Weeks passed. I could no longer perform—my body felt dead from the waist down. Strangely, she now begged for intimacy. Tests showed nothing was wrong with me.