Rosalind - Beauty and the Beast meets Dracula retelling

2-Rosalind

Do you dream of me, Rosalind, upon my chariot of rot? Am I there wedged between breast and bone where you keep every mad, mad thing? Allow me to become a tribute to every little sin you have ever wanted to commit.

Underneath pale white lids, Rosalind's eyes moved spasmodically as she dreamed. In her dreams, she saw darkness, brightened slightly by the flickering of a lone candle somewhere in the distance. The sleeping girl did not recognize the voice reciting the words to her, but it felt as though the speaker was nestled there, right in the center of her brain talking from within her subconscious.

Allow me to find the monster that rests silent and in wait, lingering behind whatever fragments of goodness they have set up before you like a wall of smoke. You have been forbidden from holding the mirror of truth before you and witnessing who you truly are.

The midnight sky thundered with storm clouds, making the misty land of Transylvania tremble. Yet as the rain began to spill from the clouds, it swiftly transformed into tiny shards of ice. The little ice drops grew little icy arms and legs, transforming as snowflakes do to become puffs of white that fell upon the roof of Rosalind Hershel's family's home.

Though she had only fallen asleep a short while ago, a deep slumber had come quickly to Rosalind, and the young girl was carried off into dreamland like a solitary fishing boat carried off on its way to Galilee. But as the fate of the small boat, so was that of Rosalind's dreams for the gentle calm soon became a swirling tempest threatening to carry her off into the hungry mouth of the sea. In her sleep, Rosalind's fingers gripped her bed covers tightly, her knuckles turning as white as the snow falling outside. The girl's heart thundered as the words inside her dream got louder and clearer.

We are both monster and mortal, Rosalind, teetering on the high-wire of hope and lies. They tell us that if we are to choose the path of destruction or autonomy, we will fall.

A cold winter wind howled and wormed its way into the large family home slithering serpentine towards the sleeping Rosalind, trying to steal away whatever bit of warmth it could find on her.

I am here to tell you, my flower, that we were not put up on that wire to fall.

Rosalind's lips part and her breath created crystals in the air. The vision behind her closed lids remained as dark as when her dreaming began with little help from the flickering flame. Her head thrashed from side to side as she heard the voice coming closer and closer. She felt freezing cold lips brush against every sliver of sanity she held dear till the was trembling, her flesh covered in goosebumps.

We were put up on there to-

The voice stopped abruptly. A horrible silence surrounded her, made her feel hollow. A hand reached for Rosalind and she saw it clear as day though she could not see the person's face. The hand was pale as snow and scaly. Its long fingernails were as transparent as ice. With a gasp, Rosalind woke. She looked around the room but saw she was alone. Her skin was frozen. Her eyes focused on the bedroom window as flurries swirled outside. She wrapped her arms around herself to try and warm up yet there was ice in her bones. The fading traces of the words echoed in her ear, We were put up on there to... Rosalind Hershel parted her lips and whispered, "To fly."

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