“Who are you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. The Beast’s gaze was unnerving her.
“What do they call me in your village?” the Beast asked and tilted its head. So much like the ravens in her backyard.
“They simply call you the Beast,” she answered a little hesitantly, half-expecting it to take offence.
Instead, a cold smile spread across its pale face. “Ah, a fitting name.”
Corabeth’s eyes narrowed a little. This Beast the whole village feared, that was supposedly their curse, looked entirely too human.
“You must have a name?” she persisted.
The Beast turned its black gaze upwards, seeking something forgotten.
“I suppose I do,” it said and looked at her again. “Once upon a time, I was called Rooke.”
Corabeth nodded, as if something had been confirmed for her.
“I gather you have one of those as well?”
“A name?” asked Corabeth.
The Beast… Rooke nodded, not taking his black eyes away from her.
“I’m Corabeth,” she said.
Something in his face twitched.
A beat of silence. “Come downstairs tonight. There will be dinner,” Rooke then said. He walked in from the balcony, his black cloak billowing after him, leaving the door open.
“Close it, please,” Corabeth implored.
“There are clothes in the wardrobe,” he said instead when he made it to the bedroom door. He unlocked it and pulled it open, revealing the dark corridor beyond.
“Wait,” Corabeth called after him. Rooke halted without looking back.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
Rooke remained silent and unmoving for a long moment.
“Just come to dinner,” he said, his tone giving nothing away. Then he was gone.
Another cold gust of wind rushed in through the balcony door. Corabeth threw her blanket off, jumped down from the bed, and hurried to close the glass door, but the damage was done. She would have to get a new fire going to get warm again.
She was fanning the flame, her bare feet almost frozen on the cold floor, when she realized what Rooke had done. He had forced her out of bed, driven her into action, and now Corabeth was feeling wide awake.
When the ravenous flames had swallowed new logs and the room was comfortable again, the sky had begun to darken once again. Now that Corabeth had been awake enough, she could notdeny the pangs of hunger she was starting to feel. Her mind had decided to die, but the body still persisted.
Hesitantly, she opened the enormous wardrobe that loomed over her, the wooden knobs smooth in her palm. A mix of mustiness and a bittersweet perfume hit her as she took in the row of gowns hanging before her. Her hand slipped over the textures of cotton, chiffon, silk, lace. She admired the deep reds, purples, and blues against her pale skin. On the shelves next to the dresses, she found chemises, undergarments, corsets, stockings. All of them clean, seemingly unworn, simply stale from being in the closet for too long.
Corabeth chose the simplest dress she could find—a black dress with a high neckline and long fitted sleeves. Its bodice was adorned with matching elaborate lace appliques, its skirt voluminous and layered. Even though it was the simplest, it was still the most luxurious garment she had ever worn.
Brushing through her long black hair that was now wavy from the braid she had worn, her movements slowed for a moment. What she saw in the mirror was almost… beautiful, if not haunted. Were it not for her gaunt cheeks or shadows under her eyes, she could nearly imagine herself another person.
Corabeth didn’t allow herself to linger, however. She followed in Rooke’s steps, walking into the dark hallway and down the grand staircase. She could only begin to imagine where the dining room in this strange manor was. But as she reached the entranceway, the soft glow falling from an open doorway caught her attention. The door was opposite the supposed library she had caught a glimpse of on her first night there.
Her soft steps echoed in the empty hall, the scent of freshly cooked meat beckoning her forward. The door was cold under her touch as she pushed it open silently. Inside, there was a long mahogany dining table, easily seating twenty people. Each chair, high-backed and with intricate carvings, stood like a noble figurein the dark. The only light sources in the dining room were the lit fireplace and a candelabra with three candles on the table. Shadows danced across the large centerpiece made up of long dried roses, peonies, and hydrangeas, as though dinner had been served decades ago.
The spot at the end of the table closest to the door was set, a silver dome covering the plate.
