Painted Roses

A Living Ghost

                  

Rosalia didn't even notice the shadows that slowly elongated and spread out through the room, the sunlight disappearing as moonlight took its place. She just sat with her shoulder and the side of her head against the end of the bed, staring into nothing, holding the doll to her chest, empty, emotionless piano music echoing from another part of the house.

She only came back to the present when arms came around her, enveloping her in a cape and gently pulling her back against man's chest.

"You've been sat like that since I woke up," Braydon said softly against her ear, kneeling behind her. "What's wrong?"

"I need to get married," Rosalia muttered, gently settling the doll on her lap.

"Married?"

"My father wants me to get married."

"Hasn't he always wanted that?"

"He's not longer giving me choices... he wants me to marry Luka."

The muscles in Braydon's arms tightened around her. "Luka?" he said confused, "Luka Rose?"

"Luka Rose, your younger brother, Beldon's Luka, that Luka Rose," Rosalia confirmed, pushing away from him.

Braydon's arms tightened, stopping her, a note of panic in his voice. "But your brother. Is your brother not Beauty, the love that undid Luka's curse?"

"Love doesn't enter into the equation. Marriage doesn't need love," Rosalia said, putting the doll back in the doll's house and forcing his arms to release her, standing up.

"I know that – trust me, I know," Braydon said.

Rosalia glanced at him. He knelt in the shadows, just out of the moonlight she'd sat in, his cape on and hood up, ever shadowing his face. Absently – pointlessly – she recalled that Beldon had said Luka had a habit of always keeping his hood up and face shadowed when he'd been under his curse – did habits run in families?

"But I thought your family valued love," Braydon continued, bringing her back.

"Not anymore apparently," Rosalia said, turning away and walking to her window seat, sitting down, looking out over the gardens. A brave fox was padded across one of the lawns, tiny fox cubs bouncing after. "Perhaps I don't really need to be in love," she said, folding her arms, "Marriage can't be that bad without it."

"Well... I almost suffered a marriage where I would not have loved my wife, I would never recommend it."

Rosalia looked back at Braydon as he stood up. "What was wrong with your fiancée?"

Braydon sighed at the question, sitting back on the bed, glasping his gloved hands. "She... how to I describe it...?"

"I believe Luka used the term mad," Rosalia said.

"He did consider her somewhat mad, it's true," Braydon said.

"Did you consider her mad?"

Braydon was quiet, thinking about it. "No," he said eventually and Rosalia raised an eyebrow at him. "No, I did not think her mad. Madness implies a sense of uncontrolled. That something beyond your own choice and rationale pushes you to do something. I believe that woman was perfectly sane, aware of every move and choice she made, decidedly choosing each choice. Her madness was in her personality and her personality was twisted."

Rosalia stared at him in shock.

He let out a slight laugh at the silence. "Do you think me cruel for saying such a thing?"