Rosalind - Beauty and the Beast meets Dracula retelling

20- Sunlight and Shadows

Rosalind ran her hands over the yellow dress. Raising her gaze to the mirror, she saw that the gown fit her perfectly. The dainty straps glistened with crystals, the bodice hugged her slender frame. Plunging from the waist to trail at least two feet behind her was the ethereal hem. Rosalind subconsciously took hold of the dress and twirled from side to side as if in a dream.

Agnes' face was rigid. "Hold still, my lady," she said as she tied the bow at the back. The older woman wanted to tell Rosalind to get out of the dress and slip the simpler, yet equally stunning, lavender one Rosalind had brought from her home.

"Forgive me, maid. It was absentmindedness."

Agnes wanted to collect every single stitch of clothing that she herself had hung in the closet prior to Rosalind's arrival and hurl them into the flames.

Agnes remained stern-faced. In the mirror, Rosalind saw the maid's forehead creasing. "Is everything alright, good maid?"

Dropping her hands from the bow of the yellow dress, Agnes curtly nodded. "Dinner will be served shortly, my lady. Please be downstairs in fifteen minutes. I am confident you will find your way." With a swift curtsy, Agnes dismissed herself and slipped out of the room, leaving Rosalind alone.

A long row of candelabra rested on the stone walls. They gave off a gentle glow which led Rosalind down the hall.

The raven-haired lady made no noise as she walked to the staircase. Remembering the roses etched in the wooden banister, Rosalind ran her fingers over the carved buds. She lingered at the top of the steps admiring them.

In the shadows, wedged among the corners of the walls where no light dared shine, a pair of dark eyes peered out. The eyes hovered over Rosalind as she trailed her hand over the centuries-old wood. The dark eyes shifted to the young woman's face and to the dreamy smile lingering on her lips. Where is her fear? the owner of the eyes thought. Does she not know where she is or what could happen to her? Perhaps she is just a silly girl, one with confetti in her head instead of logic.

The figure in the shadows took a step forward and slipped one foot out of the veil of darkness silently, yet not silently enough.

Rosalind looked up in the direction of the faint noise cracking the hush. Her hand hovering millimeters from the banister. "Who is there? Good maid, is it you?"

The figure stepped back into the shadows when Rosalind brought her hands to her chest and clasped them together as if in prayer.

Silly girl. There is no God here. The lord of the manor made sure of that. the figure thought. It bowed its head sadly, turned, and vanished into the belly of the manor.

"This house whispers." Rosalind lowered her hands and drew in a deep breath. When she listened carefully enough, she heard the walls speaking to one another, or so she thought. It sounded like a young man speaking, one that sounded not much older than her. It was so faint that Rosalind couldn't honestly trust her ears. "Am I imagining things?" she asked herself curiously. Her green eyes darted to the stones of the walls as though expecting a reply. "Or am I simply going mad?"

With a shake of her head, she regained her composure. She would have to keep her fear in her pocket, not wear it as a cloak. In the distance, a clock chimed seven. Rosalind picked up her skirt so that she would not trip and made her way down the stairs.

Darkness engulfed the lower part of the home. The only light shining led Rosalind towards a vast dining area. A long table, easily able to sit a dozen people or more, awaited her. Tall copper candlesticks held slim yellow-gold candles that bathed the area in light. Rosalind gasped when she saw the banquet spread before her. Upon the crisp white linen was a feast fit for a king and queen. A roast duck lay uncarved on a porcelain dish. Twin quails dipped in their juices rested in two large silver platters. Surrounding the poultry, on high trays, were fruit that Rosalind barely ever saw: strawberries and raspberries, crisp red apples, and lush cherries. Fruit impossible to find in the snow-covered Transylvania. She saw a large loaf of bread and then many smaller buns which smelled sweet of cinnamon and brown sugar. Rosalind continued to look around wide-eyed. In a palm-sized crystal bowl were a handful of black, shiny candies with a deep emerald sheen. When Rosalind peered closer, the sweets' shimmer reminded her of beetles. She frowned and poked them with her finger. They made a silvery clinking sound when they bumped against the crystal. Rosalind had seen candy like that in a shop many times, candy which tasted like lemon or peppermint but it came in either bright yellow or light blue, never black.