Cursed

2. Daurien and the Magic Mirror

2. Daurien and the Magic Mirror

I woke up at ten in the morning wishing I hadn't, just as I have everyday since my transformation. Actually, what I really wished was that I could die, but that's a whole different story. I haven't been able to die for six hundred something years. I'm much too lazy to do the math for the exact amount, not to mention depressed.

I called my clothes over so that I could dress. Not that there was a point, I haven't seen anyone in years. And when I do, it's only because they are lost and Miranda put a spell on my manor that allowed only those who get lost to find it. It was supposed to protect me from people wanting to “slay the beast,” and basically only allow one or a few people to find the manor at once.

I wish I could call her. I get dreadfully lonely up here in my manor and the furniture she gave me the power to give life to just isn't the same as human contact.

“Lord Daurien,” said one of my hangers, I had decided against giving life to my actual clothing because it seemed rather strange to wear anything that could speak and move on its own.

“What?” I snapped.

“You look dreadful Sir, perhaps I shall call something to make you tea?”

“Yes, do that.” I dressed and waited for my tea to come.

“Well, that certainly took you a while,” I growled at the tall silver candle holder when it walked in with my tea.

“Sorry, Sir, the stove was being stubborn.” That's the thing with live furniture, after a few hundred years they start getting cranky and develop an attitude.

“I will deal with her later.” Candleholder nodded and placed the tea by my bed. I reached for it with one paw and sipped out of it carefully. I was quite proud of myself for this. When I first became what I am, I couldn't bring anything near my mouth without ending up surrounded by particles of food and ceramic ware.

I remember my first week as a monster. Peasants would knock at my door, begging for food, but when I opened the door with the food in hand, they would run away in fear just at the sight of me. I am a beast. A hideous, monstrous beast. No one could ever love me. That is why I will remain this way forever.

Anyways, after a few weeks the townspeople banned together and gathered outside my manor with weapons of every sort. They tried to kill me. They really tried to kill me. So Miranda placed the spell on my manor, so that it only appeared when one was lost.

You see, I can die, but not by old age or by my own hand. If someone other than myself were to stab me, I would surely die. The thought had circled inside my head billions of times, but as long as the enchanted rose had petals, I still had a sliver of hope, so I could never bring myself to make it happen.

I finished my tea and placed the saucer back on the table beside my bed. I walked out of the room to the other side of Rose Manor, up the carpeted majestic staircase with the intricately carved railing and through long halls adorned with old paintings and embroideries.

I reached the passage to the West wing of the manor and stormed through it, not bothering with the many sets of armor worn many years ago by my father and grandfather and grandfather's father and so on. Each was topped in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs hung from every available surface. I hadn't bothered to clean them in a while.

I looked straight ahead as I passed the portraits of all my relatives that hung gracefully on the wall and walked straight past the one that mocked me most. It was a simple solid gold frame surrounding a portrait of a young male figure. In my anger or should I say fear, or maybe it was shame, I had shred the face in the painting to pieces with my new claws. It was so long ago, but if I recall correctly it was two weeks after wandering the corridors in despair. I think that's what it was, despair.