Rosalind - Beauty and the Beast meets Dracula retelling

71- Requiem

Rosalind walked behind the carriage. Two horses, dark as night, pulled Clairie's body to her final resting spot. Behind a veil of black lace, Rosalind watched the mourners weep into their handkerchiefs. Her eyes burned. Her throat was raw. She spent the night weeping and now believed she had no more tears to shed.

Rosalind had seen Clairie's body when the hunters who had found her carried her to the house. Covered in a thin white sheet, blood dotted most of it. "It was the beast, my lady," one of the men had said sorrowfully. "She was murdered. Her belly opened and her chest stabbed."

But when the hunters had found her, Clairie's true killer had already run off. Panting like an animal, he tore out of the woods and headed back to his cabin. The man had taken a simple silver ring from Clairie's finger then emptied her pockets. He only found a few coins but they would be enough to take him to the pub and get himself good and drunk three or four times. Though the stab to the heart had killed the maid, the man had knelt before her bleeding body and used his knife to tear into her stomach in an attempt to make it look like the nightmare of Transylvania had murdered yet another victim.

"It was the beast, my lady," the hunter's words echoed inside Rosalind. They sounded like a howl in a long, empty corridor. It was not until she saw her friend's body lowered into the ground that Rosalind's heart broke. Standing at the gravesite, she heard the vorpal blade sing a requiem. Rosalind vowed at that very moment to kill Caspian.

"My lady, what will your father say?" Esther, still dressed in her long black dress, took hold of Rosalind's arm as her mistress set a travel bag on her bed.

"I am leaving for my aunt's in Vilea, Esther," Rosalind lied. "I cannot stay here while Clairie lays in the cold ground." A sob bubbled in her throat. Cupping her hand over her mouth, she muttered. "If I stay here I will lose my mind. Please, Esther, let me pack."

From the threshold, Rue wrung her hands. She could simply do no more than watch the other maid and their mistress getting ready to leave.

"At least let us assist you," Esther offered.

Keeping her eyes focused on her task, Rosalind shook her head. "No. If you do not mind, I would rather do this alone. I will come and bid you both farewell before I go." Lying that she was heading to her aunt's home an hour's ride away was the only way Rosalind believed she could return to Caspian's manor without the maid's locking her in her room. Her father and brothers would not be back for weeks, it was more than enough time to kill Caspian. Though thinking about it felt like someone was destroying her, she knew she could not back down. But it would be impossible to show up at the manor and kill Caspian on the doorstep. She would have to do it in her own time, perhaps while he slept deep in intoxication where she would have an advantage. Killing someone as large and powerful as the lord would take bravery and craftiness. Skills she knew she did not possess at the moment.

Though her heart was breaking for the loss of her friend, as soon as the maids shut the door behind her, Rosalind began to cry. She would not remember this day solely as the one where she lost her best friend, it would be the one where she lost the man she loved.

Sinking to her knees, she hunted blindly under her bed for the vorpal blade. A sweet sound fluttered from the knife as she pulled it out and held it in her palms. The blade shone like diamonds, like the butterfly broach laying on her dresser, the one Caspian had gifted her.

Rosalind tucked the vorpal in her bag, making it a nest among her belongings. Rising, she looked to the dresser where the broach sat on a bed of velvet. With her brain screaming at her to stop, she headed to the butterfly, scooped it up, and pinned it to her dress.

The wind cried its own lament for Clairie. Upon her horse, Rosalind headed further away from her home and the heart of Transylvania. The Borgo lay behind the steadily falling snow. It felt as though she were riding through a curtain of white yet she would not stop. Nearing the edge of the forest, Rosalind recalled the last time she was here, the time she had run into Troy. Sliding off her horse, she unfastened her bags. The horse was not tied up and able to perhaps find its way back home. Rosalind tried to push the younger lord out of her mind. But her thoughts had become wild animals, running amok, unbridled and feral. Looking to the ashen sky, she made a wish that she would not run into Troy now, not when she was returning for such a horrid task.

She wished she could discard her – leave her emotions where she had just left her horse. But they followed behind her like frightened children, unsure of whether or not they were still loved.

As Rosalind headed deeper into the woods, she knew one thing. That she had no idea of which direction the manor was. If she was going to find it, she would do it blindly. There was no kind maid to help her this time. Looking around the skeletal trees, she noticed the snow was falling harder making it nearly impossible to see more than a couple of feet in front of her.

The bird, Rosalind thought, Caspian said if I were to return to look for the bird. As if the magpie read her mind, the large creature fluttered to a branch in front of her and cawed. If he knew why I was here, would he still guide me back?

Ruby red eyes regarded Rosalind as if assessing her. The black bird ruffled its feathers as thick flakes of snow descended upon its wings. Then, with a bob of its head and a mighty caw, it lifted itself off the branch and led Rosalind down the white forest.

A dot of black was all she could see. Though the magpie kept close, Rosalind struggled to keep up. As the snow continued to fall relentlessly, an angry gust of wind picked up handfuls of already fallen powder and flung them at her. "Bird!" Rosalind dropped her bag and lifted her arms, trying to shield herself from the icy flakes that turned into needle-points and dug into her skin. "Bird!" she called again when she could no longer see anything past a wall of white. Feeling as though she was stuck in a snow-globe, Rosalind felt the forest spinning, turning upside down. Losing her sense of direction, she dashed forward only to stumble along the protruding root of a tree and hit her head on a hidden cluster of rocks as she fell.