Rosalind - Beauty and the Beast meets Dracula retelling

45- These Moonlight Desires

The music stopped and Rosalind held her breath. Wondering if she would be scolded, the pause between seconds felt eternal. The door opened with no sign of a host, yet the room welcomed her in. Through a veil of smoke coming from incense and candles, Rosalind stepped deeper inside until she saw the violinist with his bow and violin at his side.

The young lord stood in a pair of tan trousers, his white shirt was fully unbuttoned showing off pale, hairless skin, the frilly cuffs half-hid his hands. Rosalind's mind crept back to the night she witnessed him in the bathtub wearing nothing at all. She thought he looked beautiful either way, clothed or not.

Gently setting his instrument down, Troy bowed deeply. "My lady." His tone was alluring, soft and sultry. Rosalind could not help but compare his tone to Caspian's which was deep and rough.

"Forgive me for intruding," she began, "The music you were playing nearly made my heart stop."

"You should not be here," Troy said. "My father would not like it." But he ached for companionship and this uninvited guest was very welcome to stay.

The air was penetrated by the scent of sandalwood and vanilla. "You are Lord Caspian's son?"

Bitterness tainted his words when he replied, "I am."

"Yet you do not suffer from the same malady as your father," Rosalind gently commented. Troy bore no black wings, no crown of icy thorns. All I see is beauty, she thought regarding him, especially the way he stood in his open shirt and the way his trousers hung low on his hips. A voice inside whispered she was acting like a sinner. Nothing short of confession could save me. But this is not a church.

Scoffing, Troy brought his hand to the back of his head and pressed his knuckles against his auburn hair nervously. "I suffer, just not the same as he."

"I do not understand, my lord –"

"My name is Troy, my lady. Please do not call me my lord. I know you are Rosalind." He gave her a faint smile and lowered his hand. "May I call you by your name?"

Rosalind nodded. "Of course, Troy, you may." Formalities suddenly felt silly. "But...do you suffer, as well?"

Nodding, Troy extended his hand and beckoned her closer. There were huge cushions on the floor by the resting violin and Rosalind sat there.

"Yes." Casting a worried look towards his door, he sat by her. Troy knew his father never came into his room but the fear lingered. "All who enter this house suffer somehow. The wolf you have seen, Rosalind. The one who spoke to you in the woods...I..." Troy looked down at his lap – he was ashamed he was no longer human. "I am that wolf."

The shock of his admittance stunned her silent. Rosalind's body felt as though it were made of static. Her fingers tingled. Under her skin, it felt like spiders were running around in mad confusion. Her brain crackled. She pursed her lips to speak, yet could not form the words.

"Remember what I said that night?"

Rosalind nodded, puzzled. When she spoke, she could barely hear her own words, "You said there is no God here. That we are all damned."

Troy looked up at her with tears in his eyes. He placed a hand on one of the purple cushions, his nails digging into the softness. "We are all monsters here."

"The..." Rosalind choked out. "The maid. Agnes. Is she...?" She felt like a child stumbling with first steps, staggering over her words like she had suddenly been struck dumb.

"Dear Agnes is damned as my father and I. But, no," he shook his head, "she neither turns into a wolf nor do horns protrude from her head come midnight."