“A raven paid me a visit today,” Corabeth said and slid her thumb over the smooth silver.
Rooke let out a laugh that sounded somewhat rough, as if he was using muscles that were long dormant, but felt genuine nonetheless.
“Then it is your present. I will not have you part with it,” he said, amusement coating his words.
Corabeth kept it as instructed, placing it on her nightstand as she went to bed and putting it in her pocket when she went out on walks or to spend time in the library. She fingered it in her pocket the next time she went into town and bought a sheep from the same farmer, leading it into the forest to its slaughter.This time, when the animal started screaming in pure terror, she wasn’t surprised. She simply held on to Rooke’s cloak as he returned them to the mansion through the mist.
The third time, the farmer sold her a goat, although he glanced at her strangely from the corner of his eye. When she thought back on it, most of town had given her odd looks here and there.
When Corabeth returned for the fourth time, the market stalls she usually frequented were shut. The sellers spotted her walking down the road, closed their stalls, and disappeared from sight.
Dread reared its ugly head inside Corabeth.So it took only three visits for them to resent me,she thought bitterly as she slowed her steps and looked at the empty stalls.
No matter, she would make do. She was there for Rooke anyway. Snow crunched under her feet as Corabeth made her way to the farmer. The elderly man only opened the door when her knocking had turned into pounding.
“Hello. I am here to buy…” she said, but the farmer blew a puff of pipe smoke into her face and shook his head.
“I will not sell to you,” he said and tried to close the door. He would have succeeded if Corabeth had not managed to stick her foot out.
“Please,” she begged, but the farmer just shook his head.
“At least tell me why?” she asked, feeling the pressure of the door on her foot. She would not be able to hold the door open for long.
The farmer hesitated for a long moment before speaking. “Folks say you do terrible things to the animals. They hear them screaming in the forest. They say you are a witch in league with the terrible Beast that lives in the woods. I do not care for such things, but I will not sell my animals for torture.”
This time, when the farmer attempted to shut the door, Corabeth pulled back her foot and let it close. She stared at the patterns of the wooden door before her as she worked over in her mind what she had heard.
Corabeth knew firsthand how impossible it was to change the minds of people. In the eyes of the townspeople, she was now ruined. And were they so terribly wrong? Shewastied to the Beast. Shewasbringing the animals to slaughter.
Defeated, Corabeth walked through the quiet town again, hearing it come to life once more in her wake. As if she was the one that sucked the life out of it.
She walked into the misty forest, following her own footsteps until she spotted Rooke waiting for her.
“Let’s go,” Corabeth said, placing her hand on Rooke’s arm to let him guide her through the milky fog. Rooke tensed as if he had been struck, but Corabeth was too lost in her own thoughts to notice Rooke’s shock at the unexpected contact. He steadied himself and began walking.
“What happened?” he asked.
“They are scared and will not do business with me,” Corabeth explained and squinted through the mist. The outline of the mansion was becoming visible. “The animals screamed too much.”
Rooke nodded as if this wasn’t a surprise to him. “I cannot help it. The animals are terrified of me,” he said. Despite the news, he didn’t seem worried, although it had already been a week since his last feeding.
“What will you do?” Corabeth asked, worry marring her face as he looked up at Rooke. All at once, she realized how accustomed she had become to Rooke’s unusual features. At first, he had seemed so alien, monstrous even. Now, he was… just Rooke. His inky eyes no longer unnerved her. The lines of his face seemed less severe.
“Worry not,” Rooke said, patting her hand that was still resting on his arm. Despite the softly falling snow, his touch was warm. “I’ll manage. An animal is bound to come through these woods sooner or later.”
It didn’t remain unnoticed to Corabeth how Rooke had turned onto the garden path that spiraled towards the middle instead of cutting straight to the mansion. How his touch lingered just a moment too long. How her own heart fluttered at this.
“Is there no way to break your curse?” Corabeth asked with a frown. She was seemingly far more worried about the situation than Rooke himself.
“Sure, there is,” Rooke said, “Two things can be said about curses—they are meant to be broken, and they are meant to backfire on the originator of the curse.”
“Okay, so, do you know what needs to be done?” Corabeth continued the questioning, determined to get to the bottom of this.
Rooke nodded, looking into the sky. Snowflakes fell on his loose, black hair. “On the day the curse was placed upon me, I heard the words clear as day. Over the centuries, I have forgotten my father’s features, the touch of my mother, but never those words.”
Corabeth looked up at him in fascination, as if a child hearing their first fairytale. “What were they?”
"In forest so dark lingers endless mist,
