"If you must." Even though I was resolved on this course of action, I could not help but express my reluctance.
"If you would rather I did not…" she began, but I did not allow her to finish.
"I would rather you did not and, doubtless, you will feel the same once you have seen me. But I cannot remain in shadow forever, and so it stands to reason that now is as good a time as any for me to reveal myself."
She looked both uneasy and unhappy, but she did not protest further. Instead, she merely nodded, her eyes fixed on my corner of the chamber, but some distance from where I actually sat. Before moving, I took a moment to observe her features one last time, for I found that I wanted to fix her face in my mind. Shaking such thoughts aside, I stirred and moved into the dim light of the single nearby candle, emerging slowly so as to delay the horror of revelation as long as possible.
My paws were the first part of me that I allowed to be exposed, and I watched as the tension in Mira's posture increased at the sight. Her eyes studied them, moving slowly over my retractable claws, which I had decided to expose in the interest of disclosing the worst as quickly as possible.
"At least I can assure you that you need not bear this particular sight--I can conceal them when I wish," I said, bitterly. I retracted my claws and I could see the relief in her eyes. "Shall I continue?" I half hoped that her response would be negative.
But it was not. She nodded curtly and I continued to move slowly into the light. As I revealed myself, I watched the expression on her face change to one of utter terror, until I could bear it no longer. I averted my gaze as I moved my head into the light, for I knew that I could not bear to see the revulsion on her lovely face as she looked into my hideous visage.
The only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire, the faint hissing of the candles, and the sound of Mira's labored breaths. They came very quickly, even more quickly than when she had become aware of my presence in the chamber. I remained with my gaze averted, allowing her the time she needed to compose herself.
To my relief, she recovered swiftly. Her breathing slowed to an almost normal pace and, though her voice was shaky when she spoke, her tone was fairly even.
"Thank you," she said.
"Is the reality better or worse than what your father described?" I asked, unable to stop myself. I still could not look at her, and I did not know why I asked her such a question, for her response had the potential of causing me great pain.
She hesitated for a moment before speaking, and I realized she was concerned about saying something that would cause me pain. "I will be honest with you. You are very frightening, just as Papa said you were. But I am not one to judge solely based on appearances."
Her words were far more gratifying to me than I would have liked, and I found my gaze inadvertently drawn to her at last. The pity I saw in her eyes angered me, and I fought very hard to keep my temper in check. I did not want her pity. I did not want anyone's pity. If anything, the world should once more wish for my pity.
"You may go now," I dismissed her, unable to maintain my facade any longer.
I could see that she was reluctant to go, that she worried she had said the wrong thing. She remained in her chair for a moment, attempting to catch my eye, but I averted my gaze. I heard the soft sound of her sigh and then a rustling of satin as she rose from her chair. The door creaked as she opened it, and she hesitated there for a moment.
"Good night," she said, at last. The unhappiness in her voice was evident, as if she wished for the power to say something better, but did not know what.
I could manage no more than a soft growl and then she was gone, closing the door softly behind her.
Chapter 12
An Enigma
The beast did not approach me again for many days. I was glad, for the beast's mannerisms and our conversation had left me with a great deal upon which to reflect. I found him nearly as perplexing as he was frightening, and the more I thought about his behavior and tried to understand it, the more mystified I became.
Papa's description had been no exaggeration. When the beast had slowly emerged into the dim light of the library, I felt a sensation I had never before experienced in my life. It was difficult to breathe and I could not help but feel a sense of utter peril. I had been frightened before, but I had never feared for my very life as I did during those first few moments I had laid eyes upon the beast. Never before had I seen such a creature and, in truth, a part of me could not help but hope that I never again would. Such thoughts shamed me, for I liked to think of myself as a tolerant person of some understanding. Was I any more justified in judging him by his appearance than he would be were he to judge me by the smallness of my stature? He could not help what nature had made him.
In spite of being scared of him, I could not help but pity him, and I knew it was the cause of his capricious behavior during our meeting. I had looked at him with pity in my gaze and he had not liked it. However, the pity I felt was not meant to be of a patronizing nature, but as an expression of my compassion for his situation. Yes, incredible as it seemed, I felt compassion for him. How could I not? He so obviously knew little of love, and I could not help but feel compassion for any being so deprived of one of life's keenest pleasures.
The beast's utter aloneness was truly awful. How could he face a life without any sort of genuine, binding companionship? Worst of all, I believed that we both knew the chances of his ever knowing it were quite slim, for how could I be expected to be a friend to him? How could I possibly learn to care for one who had grievously injured the father I loved so deeply?
It had become my daily habit to walk for a while in the castle's desolate gardens. I knew if I did not fall into some sort of routine the unrelieved monotony of my days combined with my sorrow would drive me to madness. Upon waking each morning, I felt as though I would burst from unhappiness, and a vigorous walk in the garden was the only thing that alleviated the sensation. Moreover, it gave me a chance to breathe fresh air and, if I closed my eyes, I could almost convince myself--just for a second--that I was free. But even this bit of relief would not be available to me much longer. The weather grew increasingly cold and bleak, and each day I was forced to cut my walk shorter.
Several days after my meeting with the beast, the air was so frigid and the sight of the castle and forest so forbidding, that I had only the energy to stand outside for a few minutes, my fingers stroking the petals of a vibrant rose the color of sunset. My eyes filled with tears, and I bowed my head until my face rested against several of the roses, but even the softness of their petals against my skin, and their divine scent filling my senses were not enough to dispel my gloom.
I returned to my chamber very much oppressed. I had become so used to never seeing another soul that it did not occur to me that I ever would, and when I opened the door and saw the maids changing the linens on my bed and stoking the fire, I nearly gasped aloud with a combination of surprise and horror. After the shock of seeing the beast, the shock of seeing his servants was not as great as it might have been. Even so, I was very much unprepared for what I saw.
The beast had told me that the servants were mute, but he had not told me about their eyes. They were milky white orbs in their head, and stood out in drastic contrast to the gray pallor of their skin, a testimony to their years in the dank castle. They were frightful to look at, and I had to press my fist to my mouth and turn my head to avoid crying aloud at the sight. When I had gathered my wits about me, I found that they had paused in their work and turned their faces toward me. I knew immediately that, though their appearance would suggest otherwise, they were still somehow able to see. My cheeks burned with shame and embarrassment.
"Good day," I said to them in as steady a voice as I could manage. I walked into the chamber, pulled my gloves off, and unclasped my cloak. Instantly, one of the maids stood before me, arms outstretched to receive my garments.
"Thank you," I said, suppressing a shudder as I gave them to her. I fe
lt foolish and clumsy. Was it troublesome to them to be spoken to when they could not respond in turn?
The maid curtsied, and the other servants turned to continue with their work. I felt uneasy remaining in the chamber while they worked, especially in light of my poor conduct, so I left the chamber and went into the library.
Aimlessly, I trailed my fingers over the leather spines of the books as I wandered from shelf to shelf, seeing but not looking at any of them. My mind was whirling with thoughts of the beast and the servants and I wandered in this manner for some time, until I was at last so fatigued that I halted my pace and focused on the books.
It was then that I noticed something very curious about them. Frowning, I studied the spines more closely, reading the titles slowly. I moved over to the next shelf and studied its tomes and then to the next and the next. I made it only halfway around the library before my fatigue forced me to sink down into one of the deep armchairs that always left me feeling like a child, like when I would sit in my father's large chair and he and my mother would laugh at how it dwarfed me. Plucking idly at the frilly lace on the wrist of my gown, I thought about what I had seen. I supposed I must have noticed at some point that the books I had taken from the library were old, but it had never registered in my mind that they were all very old--three hundred years or more, to be precise.
"Three hundred years," I murmured, startled by the sound of my own voice breaking the absolute silence of the chamber. "Three hundred years. How long has the beast been in this castle and how did he come to be here with all these servants?"
Perhaps he had stumbled upon it after it had been abandoned by its original inhabitants. That seemed the most likely explanation. Judging by the general state of neglect and disrepair, it seemed logical the castle had stood empty for some time before the beast had come upon it. But how had he found it? Moreover, how had he procured his servants? And the most confounding question of all: how could a creature such as he even exist?
These questions hung about me, unanswered, and it seemed as though the castle began to thrum with some sort of unseen energy. I glanced around uneasily, but the fact that I could find nothing to account for this sensation only served to make me even more uneasy, and so I quickly moved my gaze to my hands, which were now tensely clasped in my lap.
"This is the reward I can expect for having such a curious mind," I whispered. To my relief, the sound of my voice seemed to make the energy dissipate. "Perhaps it is best not to think much on this subject."
Surely the servants must be finished with my chamber by now, I thought, losing all desire to remain in the library. For the first time since I had come to the castle, I found myself thinking of my chambers as something of a refuge.
When I returned, the chamber was empty, and I was relieved to be alone. I moved about it restlessly, wandering from window to window and pacing in front of the pleasant fire. I was tired of aimless wandering, and I yearned for some sort of real purpose. Picking up a book, I attempted to read, but found myself staring unseeingly at the page. No book could possibly divert me, even though what I most longed for was diversion.
I thought wistfully of the days before Mother had died, when I had been a rather idle creature who was easily diverted by books and stories and daydreams. Much had changed in the years since her death, and now I found that what diverted me the most was physical labor. But what physical labor was there for me to do? The servants cleaned my chamber every day, and I could not suggest that they allow me to take over the cleaning.
Sighing, I buried my face in my hands and allowed myself to wallow in self-pity. Suddenly, I straightened up, shaking my head and thinking of what a fool I was. Was there not an entire castle around me desperately in need of repair? Why not take advantage of this?
Because the beast will not like it, a voice inside of my head said, quite distinctly.
This was true and I knew it. Instinctively, I had known the servants would be unhappy if I were to ask them to leave the cleaning of my chamber to me because it was the only real labor that they performed, aside from the cooking of meals. Certainly they must be even more eager for distraction than I was. This being the case, the obvious question was why they had not cleaned the rest of the castle, and the obvious answer was that it was due to their master forbidding them from doing so.
If this were true, it made the nature of my accommodations all the more inexplicable. Why would the beast allow every corner of the castle except my chambers to fall apart? I knew without doubt or hesitation that had my father returned to the castle, he would have been immediately imprisoned, not installed in luxurious quarters and granted the right to roam about the castle freely. Why did my presence merit an entirely different set of circumstances?
The beast has plans for me. He did not want Papa at all; he wanted me. There must be something he means for me to do.
The strange, thrumming energy returned, much to my dismay. I had hoped that perhaps what had happened in the library had merely been a strange fancy of my imagination. At the very least, I had hoped that my chamber might provide me some measure of safety against this disconcerting sensation. I knew quite clearly that I was the cause of this energy, that somehow my thoughts were driving it. This realization left me feeling strangely violated. I did not like the idea that something was there that could penetrate my one remaining refuge.
For a moment, I wondered if it was the beast who was prying into my thoughts, but I quickly dismissed this notion. Had it been him, our conversation would have played out entirely differently. He would have been able to anticipate my every response. On the contrary, I knew I had left him rather perplexed, and it had been very obvious to me that he had anticipated neither my questions nor my behavior. I categorically denied that he was a talented enough actor to have dissembled so effectively as to have completely fooled me. Therefore, it was impossible that it was the beast that had this uncanny insight into my thoughts.
Does it see into his mind as well? I wondered, and the thought made me shudder. I was under the impression that he had lived in the castle for a considerable number of years. If it disturbed me to feel that my thoughts were being pried into and it had only happened to me twice, I could not imagine how disturbing it would be to have repeatedly felt the sensation. Once again, I found myself pitying him, and once again I found myself disconcerted by my ability to feel pity for the creature that had shown my father no mercy.
Evening wore on and the servants brought my meal. I thought it strange that they now revealed themselves to me, but then I decided that they must be doing so on the beast's command. The timing of this change was simply too coincidental, and it was most logical to assume that the beast must have had some hand in it. It seemed he had been trying to protect me from the sight of not only himself, but also his servants. Why he had done this, I could not say, for it was not as if I were at liberty to flee the castle if I found its inhabitants too unsettling. If I were to flee, surely the beast would chase me and bring me back.
That thought was enough to make me tremble, and I promptly pushed it aside. I had no wish to draw the beast's wrath down upon my own head, nor did I wish to provoke his wrath against my family. Though I did not like it, I would not leave the castle. I was certain that any attempt to do so would come to a bad end and, though my life in the castle was grim, it was certainly preferable to whatever calamity any foolish action on my part might provoke.
I ate little that night, for I had no appetite after such an unsettling day. I stared unseeingly into the fire as the servants discreetly cleared the dinner things away, and I felt nothing more than a vague twinge of guilt that all their hard work in preparing the meal had been for naught.
As much as I did pity them, it was hard to think of anything other than my own misery, and the weight of my thoughts began to oppress me. I had never before been given to fits of depressed spirits, and I did not like to think that I was succumbing so easily to the tyranny of the beast. Thus, I committed the only act of defiance I
could think of: I wandered forth from my chamber in search of the beast.
Despite my determination, I felt my courage wavering as I approached the library door. Angry at my own weakness, I pushed the doors open and strode into the library with as much confidence as I could muster, holding my head high.
The library was so dim that I could scarcely see, but I knew immediately that the beast was there. It was as though I had somehow become attuned to his presence. He was once again concealed in shadow, though this time he had not taken such care to hide himself, and I could see his great paws resting upon the arms of his chair.
"I had begun to wonder if I would ever see you again," I said, speaking before I was even aware that I had opened my mouth.
"I have been here these past three nights," was his reply.
"If you wished to see me, why did you not summon me?"
"I left it to you to decide whether you would see me again or nay."
I sighed at his words and seated myself in a chair angled at a short distance from him. I could see the outline of his form out of the corner of my left eye, but otherwise the position of my chair concealed him from my view. This was preferable, as I was not yet ready to look him directly in the face as we conversed.
"I very nearly chose not to," I said, truthfully. It surprised me that I was able to be so candid with him, but I found that I could be nothing less. I never desired to lie to another but, for some reason, with him it seemed impossible. His voice interrupted me before I could ponder why this was.
"Why did you seek me, then?"
"I suppose I felt I had no other choice. Yours is the only companionship available to me in this castle."
The Eye of the Beholder (2012) Page 9
