Cursed

17. Daurien's Roses

17. Daurien's Roses

As I sat on the dank stone floor rather pathetically I felt something small and warm place itself delicately on my shoulder. It was a slender, white hand that somehow had the power to make the whole rose ordeal rather inconsequential. The hopelessness that had befallen me lifted just the slightest bit.

There was something in the way she looked at me, something in the strange absence of fear that had me realize that it had been replaced by another, far less despairing emotion. It was warm and kind like a single lit candle on a crisp winter night. A look I had only ever seen on Miranda for I had only ever earned it from a witch, the only creature to ever care for me.

And then I placed it. Compassion. And I knew that even if Belle never loved me, from this moment on I would care for her deeply and nothing would ever change that.

"I'm sorry," the sweet melody of her voice wrapped me in warmth from within.

"You didn't intend to do any harm, you couldn't have known."

"Can I do anything?" to that I gave a bitter laugh, fall in love with me.

"No," was all I replied.

"Then let's get out of this room." she urged, "it's kinda depressing. Tea maybe?"

"I suppose." I followed Belle out of my brooding chamber and we went to sit by the large hearth in a large sitting room full of plushy sofas and chairs. I watched her struggle with a heavy reclining chair, and then with another and made no attempt to help her bring them closer to the fire. I was not entirely useless, however. I called for tea.

Tea was exactly what I had needed. Tea was exactly what anyone ever needed. We each sat in our separate chairs with our tea and stared at the fire.

We spent the day in each other's company without a word exchanged. It was not an uncomfortable silence of unsaid words but a simple one of nothing to be said. We would have many silent days together before we could cross the bridge to conversation but it was not unpleasant. It was more company than I had certainly had in a long time.

Sometimes she would excuse herself to her room and I would hear her muffled sobs through the thin walls of her chamber. I wanted to go in there and tell her it would be alright, that I was sorry that I was keeping her here but that I would do my best to make her happy. That I would love her if she let me.

"Excuse me," Belle said one day as we were yet again reading by the fire in our reclining chairs. She had shut her book as if in a rush but kept her middle finger on the page.

"Wait!" I called, possibly a little too urgently, "Belle." She stopped in her haste to get away and gazed up at me. I could see she was on the verge of crying.

"Would you accompany me outside to view my roses soon?" I knew it was the last thing she wanted but I desperately wanted further interaction with her. She seemed to blink away unshed tears and gave a quick yes before darting off to her room.

Well, she had said yes. Maybe it was only to get away, knowing that she could only hold in her tears for so long and not wanting to let them spill before me. But I didn't care. She had said yes, and I planned to hold her to it.

It was early evening and there was still a hint of daylight in the sky. I would retire to my chambers in a little while and tomorrow at breakfast, I would take her up on her promise. I desperately hoped she would not change her mind.

...

I awoke the next morning with a giddy skip in my step. This morning could only lead to either of two possibilities. A very good day or a very bad day. I met Belle at breakfast. She was wearing her usual blue denim trousers and simple top and holding a book. It was rare that I saw her without one.