Rosalind - Beauty and the Beast meets Dracula retelling

42- Cemetery Heart

The room was thick with the scent of the smoke. A torrid chill had long since slithered in and now resided there. It created patterns of frost in the corners of the window like a lattice design upon lace. No fire had been lit, no warmth ebbed, yet Rosalind had not noticed.

The lord sprawled on the armchair. His long limbs spilling down like the shadow Rosalind had been frightened of not so long ago. Yet the thought scared her no more. From her own seat, she regarded Lord Caspian with an overwhelming sense of calm. Her gaze lingered on him. The corners of her lips twitched into an enigmatic smile.

"Why do you look at me that way, my lady?" Caspian's voice sounded as though he were just waking up from a dream; unnaturally relaxed and slightly gruff. Touching the pipe to his lips, he drew in a deep puff and waited for her to reply.

"Seated in the armchair like this my lord, you do not look frightening."

A raise of the lord's brow as he digested her statement. "Have I suddenly changed in appearance to you?"

Rosalind shook her head.

"Perhaps I gave you too much." Caspian set the pipe down and brushed his hands free of any traces of petals and ash.

Rosalind spoke, "I can still see your face. The way those spikes on your head resemble a king's crown. The wings that could pen their own nightmares."

Hearing her words, Caspian chuckled. "You have a poetic way of describing a monster."

Not responding to his comment, Rosalind rose and walked to a shelf. Pulling a book out from its paper and wood haven. She began to flip through the pages. "Do you like poetry, my lord?" she asked, not looking up from the pages.

"Yes," he replied honestly, "I do. Will you read me one?"

Rosalind looked over at him. "I shall read you one of anguish."

Caspian straightened up and pulled his cloak around himself. "Read me one about love."

Turning the pages, Rosalind frowned. "All that this book contains is anguish twined with love. Will that do?" Lifting her gaze over the edge of the poetry book, she saw the lord nod.

Rosalind moved toward the window. Shards of moonlight entered through the glass giving her enough light to read without straining her eyes. "From my grave, I am left to wander. Down sullen paths, I roam. I am a lost soul with no heaven and no home. In my cemetery heart, I carry thoughts of you and I. Of a love that grew stronger in death than it did in life."

Caspian felt as though he were floating. Far past the ceiling, far away towards another place in time when things were not full of pain. An invisible hand reached into his chest and squeezed his violent heart. Caspian groaned and pulled the edge of his cape to his face. "Stop," he uttered.

Rosalind closed the book and clutched it in her embrace. Against her body, it felt warm. "My lord?" Concern filled her when she saw him that way, cocooned in his black cloak, his glacier-blue gaze full of regret. Setting the book back on the shelf, she walked to him and knelt before him. "Was the poem not to your liking? I could read –"

"No," he cut her off. "No more poetry. Do they who pen such things not know that words are mightier than swords?"

"All the poems within that tome were the same, my lord. All full of sorrow."

Blue eyes rose to her. "I should burn it. Cast the words into the flames and watch as they cinder." There was melancholy woven into every syllable. A sadness that reached to Rosalind and clawed to be let into her heart.

"My lord, I am sorry –"

"Say my name," he uttered as he released his hold on the cape. His hands moved to her face; inches away he stopped, desperate to touch.

Her heart though it may burst from a sensation she could not name. Inside her, the Dragon's Tongue played havoc with everything she held dear and holy.

"Say it," he groaned.

"Caspian," Rosalind whispered.

The lord's hands moved closer to her face. The chill from his fingertips was like heaven had come down. Rosalind felt as though she was dreaming, not really living the moment. She was not thinking when her own hand rose and the tips of her fingers grazed along his lips. In her mind, his name echoed over and again, dragging her further into the abyss. When a wolf began to howl mournfully at the moon, she snapped back to her senses and gasped. Rising swiftly she faltered, nearly choking on her words, "Forgive me, my lord." Her eyes darted to the door looking for an escape she could not name. 

"Stay with me," he begged and grabbed her wrist.

The image of her melting in his embrace terrified her. How cold and volatile having him would be. "I..." In the corner of the room, the crevices brought forth the shadow once more. It rose up, arms extended, and floated towards them. A dark mist with tentacle hands snaked around Caspian, the shadow's inky head leaned against his shoulder. Rosalind pulled herself free and backed away.

"Stay with me," he groaned.

"I cannot..." she whispered, "My lord, I..." Bringing her hands to her throat, she held back words she would have spoken were he someone like Stefan had been: human, free from curses, murder and hell. As his plea echoed in her brain she felt faint. Say my name. Stay with me. Rosalind did not realize her hands tightening their grip around her neck until she felt herself struggling to breathe. The shadow slid its hand over the lord's chest and lifted its head to her. "I must go." Turning, she ran out of the room before she ended up doing something she would regret.