She’s seen me, and she’s terrified.
Damn it all. I thought this could be different. I thoughtshecould be different. Instead, everything is as much of a disaster as I expected.
I turn around and sprint away as fast as I can, the claws of my awful, scaled feet slipping on the slick flooring as I try to veer out of the kitchen.
“Mr. Edgewood!” she calls after me. “That is you, isn’t it? Mr. Edgewood!”
This is even worse. She knows what I am now.
It’s like the old man said, once upon a time:
And you will never, ever find happiness.
ten
. . .
rupert
It’s not until I’m back in my rooms that the pounding of my heart slows.
Oh, bollocks. What have I done? I should never have gone downstairs, not to a common area, even if it was the middle of the night. I was a fool. This all could have been prevented.
But if she reacted this way to seeing me tonight, what says tomorrow would have been different? No. No one can see this form. No one can tolerate me. I’m too hideous.
Surely she's going to leave, just like every housekeeper before her has.
I don’t sleep that night, and I don’t emerge the next morning, even when Kellen comes knocking at my door.
“Mr. Edgewood,” he says through it, which he knows I hate. “I heard what happened.”
I don’t answer. It doesn’t require an answer.
“She was simply frightened to find you in the kitchen at night. She thought you were a bear.”
A bear? That’s the silliest excuse I’ve ever heard.
No, she saw me. She screamed because I am a disgusting, monstrous thing that should not exist in this world.
“I have breakfast for you,” Kellen says after a minute of silence. “From Ms. Austin.”
I hear the clatter when he sets the plate on the table by the door, and his footsteps fade as he departs. Cautiously, I step out and bring the plate inside.
At least she hasn’t done a runner. That’s something at least.
Sitting in the middle of the plate are two perfect crepes filled with hazelnut spread and bananas, with caramel drizzled over the top and smattered with pecans. Beside them is a note.
I am so sorry, Mr. Edgewood. I didn’t mean to scream. I hope you will still join me for dinner tonight. I’ve prepared a menu for you, but it’s a secret.
-P
The way she signs with a flourish at the end, I think she is mocking me.
I crumple the note, all my anxiety about last night mutating into rage. She is apologizing for her natural reaction to me, to seeing something so foul, and she is trying tohumorme.
That is, perhaps, even worse. Now she will condescend to me, look down on me for being such an abomination. Perhaps she pities me.
Yes, that is what this note reeks of. Pity and disgust. It is most certainly worse than if she were frightened.
