Rosalind - Beauty and the Beast meets Dracula retelling

31-Crimson and Gold

Rosalind's head spun with Agnes' confirmation. The maid's words echoed in her mind. 'The wolf and the other inhabitant are real but I beg of you to stay away'.'

Though Agnes would not offer as to who resided in the other room, nor as to why the wolf could speak, she did tell Rosalind that they were not the sort who desired company, in hopes the young lady would stay away.

As the pair walked through the candle-lit hallway and down the staircase, Agnes' gaze never left Rosalind.

The young woman slowed down her pace to admire the woodwork of the banister. Flickers of shadow danced around her as she ran her hand over the carved roses of the woodwork.

"Shall I bring you something to occupy your time with, my lady?" Agnes asked for the third time when Rosalind chose to ignore her the first two times. "Happy literature? Fine thread for you to sew? I have some beautiful gold thread that I have saved for a special occasion. Perhaps you can make something lovely to take back to your family?"

Rosalind paused mid-step. A deep silence embraced the stairway as she shook her head. I do not want to create anything lovely in this ugly place. Not anything I can take back to my own home that has come from here, she thought. The only thing I want to do is leave. All these words scrambled inside her but when she went to speak she simply replied, "No."

Sorrow came to Agnes for she knew the next few weeks would be a jumble of problems. Perhaps Lord Caspian had not thought it through. Would Rosalind's unbridled spirit cause the lord to hurt her even though he swore he would not? Agnes believed that the young woman was not like most: weak, timid, easily broken. Though bravery was miniscule at the moment, Rosalind carried courage. Agnes thought their guest would not be the way Caspian imagined her to be, mouse-like and weeping in a corner, waiting to die. When Rosalind lowered her hand from the handrail and continued on her way down to the dining ares, Agnes saw a woman who may just be able to bring the cruel lord to his knees.

Caspian rose out of the large copper bathtub. The water was crimson. The blood which had washed of the lord's skin had coloured the once clear liquid. It was the blood of a murdered man that stained the lord's tub; a hunter who had wandered too far away from his group. A young man with albino skin who had lost his bow and arrow in the blizzard. By the time Caspian had drained the man's blood and fled to the nearby trees, the hunter's companion, a flame-haired young man with the blackest eyes Caspian had ever seen, found his friend and tried to revive him. Caspian hid in the flurries. He watched the red-headed lad fall to his knees and pull the dead man into his arms covering himself with his fellow hunter's blood as he buried his head in his companion's chest and sobbed.

Droplets of water flowed down the length of the lord's tall frame, from his shoulder-blades all the way down his torso and lithe legs. Caspian's wings fanned around him, swaying gently as he stepped onto the stone floor. His private bathing area was a room connected to his chambers by a mahogany door. Troy had never been allowed to enter the two large adjacent rooms, not even when he was a child and would wake with bad dreams floating around him.

It had always been Agnes who knocked on the door to rouse Calla to calm her child when the handmaid could not. Calla embraced those precious moments, wanting to be there for her boy. She wanted to chase Troy's nightmares away, ward off any frightening thought with a soothing caress and a tender whisper promising her boy that there were not really any monsters in the world, simply little boys with too much imagination.

Caspian was never there to comfort Troy, even when Calla died and there was no one left but them. It was Agnes who spent her days and nights comforting the unfortunate lad.

Looking in the large mirror hanging in the bathing room, Caspian thought of the nights after his and Troy's change where he had heard Troy weeping in his own room. The lord saw his reflection frown. Troy's tears had once been a melody to the lord, a song of broken angels and secret sadistic delight. But over time, the weeping only began to annoy him. Caspian would corner Troy when he came out of his room and yell at the lad to stop his irritating crying. Caspian snarled at his reflection as Troy's words that he would make any noise he wished in his own private chambers echoed in his skull. Over the years Troy had dared stand up to his father, though Caspian still regarded him as weak.

"One day I will give you reason to cry, boy." Caspian drew his wings around his nakedness and walked into his room leaving thoughts of Troy behind as he readied himself for his dinner with his green-eyed guest.