Beasty | First Draft Sample

07

The bedroom was the epitome of grandeur but in the simplest of forms possible. It was large and very spacious. The bed sat, situated between two pillars that extended towards the ceiling. A large circular light screwed on the middle of the ceiling.

My gaze turned to the wide balcony door to the right of the bed, the large glass extending from the ceiling to the floors, cream and mint green curtains shadowing the view outside, behind them.

The bedroom was very grand. Nothing that even I was used to, nothing that like I knew I had ever had the taste to live in. But now I would for the next three months. Well, at least it was warm.

My gaze flickered to the balcony door again and I smiled as I found myself walking towards it. Slowly moving the curtain aside, I watched wonder-struck at the tiny brick homes scattered for miles until the shores end.

A tiny flick and the balcony's door slid open, and slowly but surely, I edged out onto it. The night smelled like sea water. The sounds of the shore — although so far away — in the quiet of the night still reached all the way to the castle.

The night was soothing.

A sweep of chilly breeze smacked me across my face and I shuddered, my grip on the knot of my towel tightening as I felt goose bumps popping around everywhere.

Be best if you got dressed, moron. You just recovered from a cold a few weeks ago.

Groaning because Jiminy was right I turned around and quickly rushed into the room. The balcony door, however, was left open, the long light curtains swaying in the wind behind me.

Moving over to my luggage I quickly fished out a pair of bedclothes and a pair of clothing that seemed suitable to wear to dinner, here in the palace. I wondered who would be entertaining me, the prospect of anyone even doing so seemed nil, considering the owner was in America.

I couldn't help but look around the large room again, on the further northern corner of the room nestled a large flat screen, beside if baskets of what seemed like DVDs. It seemed I knew how to pass my night after dinner here, after all.

A soft sigh left my lips as I picked up the clothes and began to walk towards what seemed like a closet. A small twist of the knob and the door flung open, my eyes widened at the view inside.

The closet already seemed stocked up.

Dresses, jeans, shoes, anything, and everything. All arranged meticulously in order.

Does someone else—oh my god does the owner keep his girlfriends here?

I shuddered with disgust. And jumping away from the door, slammed it close.

Wrinkly old owner-keeping live in girlfriends—I shuddered again.

I hope at least they changed the bedsheets.

"Dinner's ready, miss."

A sweet voice echoed from the other side of the door just as I ran my hairbrush through my hair for the hundredth time.

Brushing my hair for a hundred times was a habit I had acquired from Grandma Primrose, or as we all called her, Grandma Liz.

Primrose Elizabeth.

That hadn't been a name she was born with, on the contrary, that was a name she had given herself, once she went away to England.

Why, was something I had always asked her, growing up. But all she ever told me in return was that it was a long tale. One that she would eventually tell me, one day.