Beloved Beast

Chapter Thirty-One

The air was heavy, teeming with the unmentioned as they made their way through the lofty span of trees. Givens trotted alongside her, but had uttered nary a word since they had resumed their steady pace. His sidelong glances and the large hand clasping the hilt of his sword, knuckles white with strain, had not gone unnoticed, either.

            For a second time, Elle found herself sharing an awkward silence with her burly companion, anxious to fill the fretful quiet with idle chatter, but words evaded her.

            What could she say? What must he be thinking?

            Appraising the world in awe, with fresh, inexperienced eyes, as intimidating and overwhelming as it was, as frightening, she was keen to memorize every detail, the breathtaking and the unsightliness, for there was much she did not know or understand. But she needn't share a word with Givens to recognize that behind those wary, scrutinizing eyes, his thoughts worked frantically to try and make sense of the marvel that was her functioning sight.

Unease was writ upon his gnarled face; etched in the grim and uninviting expression that hardened his grizzly countenance. It was clear to her and any passerby, that her giant of an escort, poised at her side to fend off any imposing threats, was seemingly disturbed – alarmed, by her, or rather, the unthinkable circumstances surrounding her sudden vision.

            There was nothing she could infer to eliminate the sneaking suspicion that furrowed his brows, nothing she could reasonably rationalize to ease the mounting trepidation that gathered in her belly, or the hysteria that gripped her heart. There was no sound explanation to offer, at least none that were sensible. How else could she explain what most deemed impossible? She had her own suspicions, of course, but dare she voice them?

            Given everything Lucy had shared with her, was it so far-fetched to believe that there was a presence of magic – that a witch, had done this to her? It was unfathomable. Unheard of. The machinations of something unnatural and arguably, evil. She didn't want to believe it – she couldn't wrap her overwrought thoughts around it. Next to an all-embracing fear, it raised many questions, specifically, why? Why her? How could this happen and more importantly, what could it all mean?

            If her escort was to gape at her with such unmitigated distrust and disbelief, would her fellow neighbors perceive her in kind? Would they be so quick to condemn her just as they had done when she had been blind?

            Without question.

            It was an unnerving thought, a most unwelcome likelihood that incited apprehension, among other things, at her imminent return to the village.

            Although Elle longed to reunite with her family, to see them in every sense of the word, she dreaded encountering the swarm of villagers that had been a chorus of demeaning voices all her life. They had never accepted or respected her, and now she would be forced to face them without any inhibitions.

            They would see her. Discarded. Bruised. Undesirable.

            She could only imagine what they would say ... Poor mite, even the Beast does not want her. Uncomely thing. So plain. Ruined.

            It shouldn't matter, compared to everything else, but it stung all the same.

            What would they do if she were to meet their disparaging stares directly? What would they think of her now? Would they notice her unwavering perusal of them? If Givens' rigid frame and shifty demeanor was any indication, she knew it would not be prudent to disclose her operative sight ... but she couldn't help but wonder.