Rosalind - Beauty and the Beast meets Dracula retelling

10- The Butterfly and the Crow

When the Hershel men left that morning to hunt, Rosalind was unaware that her life was about to change forever.

Sitting by the window of her room, Rosalind watched delicate flakes of snow flutter to the ground. A thin sheet of white blanketed the grass trying to poke its way through. Rosalind watched as a butterfly of silver and gold fluttered against the flakes, weaving around them as though in a dance. The small insect's wings shimmered like polished metal whenever rays of mid-morning sunlight caught them. The butterfly appeared almost majestic, a tiny monarch of an icy kingdom. Flickers of sunlight kissed the butterfly's head, creating a crown in which the insect could now call itself King or Queen. When Rosalind blinked, the butterfly was gone.

Clairie had brought the young girl a steaming mug of thyme tea sweetened with a generous spoonful of honey, and though Rosalind had protested that she was not in the mood to eat she sipped at the tea till it was nearly all finished. Rosalind cupped her hands around the mug, savoring the warmth. The taste of thyme and honey lingered upon her tongue. Though Rosalind longed for chamomile or jasmine tea, even her father's purse could not purchase something that was able to grow and be harvested only once or twice every ten years. The young girl tried to remember the last time she had tasted any other tea apart from thyme which grew with ease during the snow. Even Clairie with her green thumbs was never able to grow any of the flowers needed for tea indoors without them tasting like dust. Rosalind had grown fond of thyme tea as one does when one has no other alternative.

Her fingers tingled with the warmth of the last few sips of tea, but it did not reach all through her body. Though her father told her she should worry about neither him nor her brothers, a niggling voice inside her head kept whispering that the three men were in danger. Perhaps if the tea had been able to warm her insides she would feel calmer. But a perpetual cold rooted itself in the center of her chest making her shiver.

Maybe I am being silly. A silly child. Rosalind told herself. But I am not a child. I am nearly nineteen, fit to be married if I so choose. Her brows knit together in a frown. She was of an age where many of the girls she knew had already married and had their own children. She was old enough to not be called a child anymore, but that was something her father often did...call her a child. In his eyes, as the youngest and only female, Rosalind Hershel would forever remain a little girl. Anyway, it is not as though I want to get married anyway. Imagine me, someone's wife, Rosalind huffed, in love, no doubt. Silly, silly things. Love is a foolish emotion, for foolish people who are all too keen to give up their heart and play the fool. Rosalind frowned into her tea. I will never fall in love. Never. NEVER!

Rosalind tipped back her mug and drank the last few sips of her tea. She set the empty mug on the windowsill and leaned her head against the pane. Please, hurry back. She sent a mental prayer to her father and brothers. Please.

The white land before her was blinding. Such a beautiful sight to witness and so very quiet. In a gentle gust of wind, snow was shaken off the branches and fell below onto an unsuspecting crow who, upon having the snow sprinkled on its black head, spread its wings and cawed in surprise. The bird shook its head looking rather confused. Rosalind chuckled. When the bird ruffled its wings and took a step forward the poor creature fell beak-first into the snow. Feathery backside up, yellowish beak down. Rosalind tossed her head back and laughed and laughed until the grouchy crow pulled itself up, shook itself off and took off into the sky with an angry cawing sound trying to drown out Rosalind's laughter.

"I'm sorry, crow," Rosalind called to the bird but it was nowhere in sight. "So sorry, but you looked rather silly." Out of nowhere, as though the winged animal heard her, the grumpy crow cawed so loudly that Rosalind felt as though it were right next to her ear.

"Goodness me!" She brought her hands to her heart, half shocked, half still giggly. "Serves me right for making fun of you."

Rosalind's eyes reached for the sky, looked left and right trying to find the bird but it was nowhere to be found. The shimmering of silver and gold butterfly wings came back into view, distracting the girl from thoughts of the blackbird. Rosalind reached to the glass when the butterfly returned. The little insect continued to dance with the flakes of snow falling gently by Rosalind's window.