Rosalind: Book One

33 -Black Bird. Silver Butterfly.

The piece of candy sat in Rosalind's open palm. In the gentle glow of her fireplace, she regarded the sweet with a frown. What a fitting dessert.

The dinner ended a few hours ago. Rosalind had spent most of her time watching Caspian eat in silence. His manners were impeccable. The way he sat with his back straight, not quite touching the back of his chair, the way in which he cut his meat and touched the lacy napkin to his lips was that of proper breeding. If he hadn't been sitting there looking like something out of a nightmare, Rosalind would have believed she was dining with a king.

Rosalind had cut a tiny piece from her own meat, paused and observed it. The skin was crisp, flakes of seasoning dotted the top. The deer had been cooked well with only the tiniest bit of pink in the very middle. When Rosalind chewed, the faintest taste of blood spread over her tongue. Shadow and sunlight, the lord's voice echoed.

Now, back in her chamber, Rosalind pondered tossing the candy in the flames but something would not let her. Curiouser and curiouser. She rolled the sweet in her palm and wondered if it would taste as horrid as it looked. What harm can it possibly do? Rosalind brought it to her mouth and licked. A delicate jasmine flavour shocked her. Pulling it back, Rosalind raised her brows. "But how..." she brought the candy close and licked it again. The jasmine flavour was pleasing to her tongue but when Rosalind took another taste it turned bitter, reminding her of a grapefruit that was near rot. She pulled it away and grimaced. "What a strange treat. If one can call it a treat." Rosalind flung the piece of candy into the fireplace then got into her bed and went to sleep.

Midnight crept along on all fours and moved slowly outside Rosalind's room. It liquified and trickled through the keyhole of her door. When it morphed, it was was a faint fog filling every corner and crevice. The dark night perched upon the four posters of her bed and waited.

Outside the window, a solitary animal stirred. A large magpie with sapphire tipped wings roamed the dark ground in search of nocturnal prey. The bird cawed once and pieced through Rosalind's thoughts.

In the dream, she was in the forest. Her feet were bare and planted firmly in the snow. Flakes clung onto the hem of her ivory nightgown, drenching it. All around her, trees swayed, their branches reaching for her then clasping together as if in prayer. There was nothing but white land before her, white sky above. 

The silence was deafening. Rosalind took a step. On one of the branches, the magpie perched. It looked down at her as if assessing her. The black bird cocked its head to the side. Its dark gaze was a gargoyle stare. The bird's sharp beak snapped together setting off a sudden fall of silver snow.

Rosalind lifted her hands, her palms filling with the flakes of silver. Upon touching her skin, each flake transformed into a tiny silver butterfly and flew towards the trees' winter-dressed branches. In a few moments, the bare boughs were covered with thousands of butterflies.

The black bird ruffled its inky head and the snowfall stopped as swiftly as it had begun.

In her slumber, Rosalind breathed deep, her lungs filling with the iciness of her dream.

When the black bird took to the pale sky, Rosalind reached for it and begged it not to go. A single tear fell from her eye onto the ground.

A thick mist wafted from the Earth's floor, stealing the whiteness in its faded black cloak. It was as though day had instantly turned into twilight, a space in time wedged among the moment someone is hovering between slumber and wake.

From the mist, Rosalind saw a figure moving, breaking through the shadow of the trees. The familiar black wings rested behind him and trailed in the high snow making the tips white.

She knew that it was the lord even before he came into view. Her lips formed his name, Caspian, yet no sound dared come out.

He was dressed as he had been at dinner. Clothing made for royalty. Upon his head the spikes were a true crown made for a king of the night.

Rosalind felt her heart bashing between breast and bone. Half in fear and partly in anticipation. When she extended her arms, the lord stopped in his tracks. Twilight brought forth a kaleidoscope of colours into the otherwise black and white of the forest. Pink, blue, yellow, and red swirled around. From the branches, the butterflies spread their little wings and flew around Rosalind and the lord.

Caspian held out his hand. A single butterfly perched upon the tip of his finger, its wings shining like polished metal. The lord's gaze, as blue as glaciers, moved to the insect.

A shadow slithered to Rosalind keeping the butterflies away. It danced around her, bowing as if asking for her hand to join in a song-less waltz. But Rosalind turned her head away. Over her shoulder, she saw the outline of a wolf standing by a cluster of trees.

Rosalind, the lord's voice broke the silence bringing her attention back to him.

She looked at him. Though his words found her, his mouth did not move. Do you dream of me as I dream of you? We are both made of shadow and of sunlight, destined to feed either darkness or light that blooms inside us. I am horrid by nature yet I long for your touch.

Caspian lifted his hand to eye-level. The butterfly looked back. In the marrow of us we are created as beasts yet some still masquerade as men. We are hollow now. Both you and I. Monsters lying in wait.

The swarm of butterflies flitted around the lord and their tiny companion. Sparks of light protruded from their wings. Soon all the butterflies transformed back into snow which fell around the lord and lady.

Let me be. I am locked away in madness by a beast who has violated my freedom and my mind. Where do I go from here? How do I escape these thoughts that invade my brain? Rosalind brought her hands to her face and grimaced.

Rosalind, the lord said, look at me.

Lifting her gaze, she saw the beast morph for a split-second, as if there was some crack in time and logic. Visions of a handsome man with fair skin and blond hair flashed. His familiar blue eyes bore into her, that well-known glare came out of his intense gaze. Rosalind felt a connection. An invisible thread joining him and her.

In her bedroom, the fire crackled into cinders. The shadow had fled the moment Caspian opened the unlocked door and stood at the threshold, listening to Rosalind speak in her sleep.

"I am looking at you," she uttered, still lost in the dream. A small moan escaped her lips as she rolled on her back. Rosalind's hair spilled around her head like a dark halo. Her hands clenched the covers into fists, "I see you..." then relaxed as she sighed.

Caspian faltered. He thought of Troy's words, of how his son believed he would harm Rosalind, take her innocence then kill her. "Never," he whispered angrily as he brought his fist onto the wooden door. "I will never harm you."

"Caspian." Rosalind stirred from the sound yet when she opened her eyes she was all alone.