Beast: Chapter 4
Her presence changed things. It changed everything.
She had said she would make herself scarce, but she was everywhere. She had found the wing that was still intact, the rooms he had not dared go into in fear of the memories that lived in them. But they were not living hauntings to her - they were the only livable space in the whole forgotten castle. She flew the windows open and swept away the thick layers of dust that had turned into dense dirt. After cleaning a place to sleep in for herself, she continued to the next room. And to the next room. And it was very hard to forget her, when her soft humming, sometimes singing, echoed through the abandoned corridors and nooks, somehow always finding his ears wherever he was. It was impossible to forget himself, hearing the sound of living.
Then she touched the piano - a clear, if crooked and out of tune note sounded faintly through the rooms.
She startled, the note cut out abruptly, when his broken, intermittent growl foreshadowed his coming to view in the large doorway, doorway that only barely fit his form.
One could have assumed she hadn't been afraid at all, from the way she walked in the house, from the way she didn’t hide away and instead took her space. But though she hadn’t hidden herself, she had still evaded the places where his heavy steps dragged against the floor. And so her breath hitched, eyes widened, when she turned to face the danger.
”I’m sorry”, she said, anticipating something.
He hadn’t really thought ahead by coming here. He needed to make her stop, but how would he do that? His own breathing was loud and ragged.
He was panting and huffing, when he moved inside, into the hall-like room with a high ceiling, and dragged towards the large grand piano. The large room itself was golden, even beneath the greying dust that had sticked to every surface and made the air itself thick and dim. Too golden. Too much. Not belonging to him, or here.
”Stop”, he said, and by that he meant what she had been doing, her tentative fingers on the keys, but at that moment she had tried to take a step away, and so the movement was halted in the moment. But her disgust remained obvious, even though her feet were firmly planted on the faintly wooden floor. She was leaning away as much as she could.
He could not smash the piano. He had not done it before, and he would not do it now, and not with her there.
”You must not touch it. Don’t touch anything”, he growled. She was as close now as she had been during their first conversation - if it could be said to have been a conversation. Her eyes were cast down, towards the floor, but while she was still otherwise unmoving, they tentatively rose up to glance at him.
”It’s such a beautiful instrument”, she said.
”Do not touch it. I do not want to hear it.”
He started to turn away, slowly. Her voice was strong and brave, when she spoke.
”What happened here?”
It was a question she had clearly been thinking over.
”People used to live here”, she continued. ”Did you kill them?”
Beast would not answer such a question. Yes, people had lived there. Who, it was hard to remember. Someone who had played the piano. Someone who had limbs and fingers with which it was possible. That person was no more: and maybe he had killed him.
”It must’ve been long ago", she continued. "I have never heard of anyone dying or disappearing around these parts. Of course, I didn’t even know such a place existed.”
He would not answer and continued out of the room.
”Please, won’t you answer me?” she pleaded. ”You clearly can speak.”
”No”, he said. ”Leave me be.”
And she did not follow him.
The ground was always frosted at nights, but somehow it felt worse now - he had rarely noticed it before, but maybe autumn was changing into winter, outside the gates. There was a disorienting orange glow emanating from the dining room into the corridor, when he dragged himself towards it, and there was a warm fire in the fireplace, when he got there. There she was, poking the half charred logs of wood, trying to keep the flames alight, as if that was normal.
She didn’t say anything, didn’t flinch and didn’t even turn, when his frustrated growl crackled over the flames.
”I had to drag the logs from the cabin outside”, she said, somehow pointedly. But Beast would not feel guilt. Would not, because he had told her to go away - it was not his responsibility to make her comfortable. Comfort she would have to go find somewhere else.
She dared to watch him enough to see if he had reacted. Then she tied her cloak tighter around herself and sat in front of the table. He nearly decided to go somewhere else, but something about her quiet resolution to sit there made him angry and want to stay. This was not her table.
But it was also very hard to eat when she was sitting there, venturing to take glances at him every so often, as if she was carefully familiarising herself with his appearance.
”What are you?” she asked abruptly. He answered with the same lazy, mildly annoyed intermittent growl.
”I’ve never seen anything like you. I don’t know what you are", she said.
There was only one answer to that.
”A monster."
But she wouldn't accept it as easily.
”You’re very quiet for a monster.”
”Have you met many monsters?” Beast asked mockingly.
”A few. Though they were human.”
”Then they were not monsters.”
”Well, you haven’t met many humans, then.”
No, he had not met many humans. Not in years, decades. He daren’t thought if the time stretched into centuries. That didn't mean that he wasn't right.
”How come you can speak? Being as you are?” she asked, unfazed with his silence.
”I have a tongue, same as you.”
”No, I don’t mean literally. Although with the fangs, it was a surprise to hear you speak. But to know how to speak you must have been taught it somehow, humans must have taught you.”
”Why must you ask these questions?" Beast asked, frustrated. "Why do you care?”
She shrugged under her cloak.
”Haven’t you ever been curious?”
So that was what he was. A curiosity. Although that seemed somehow different from something to be afraid of, it didn’t feel much better. He glanced at her with his small, black eyes, and the reserved curiosity in her eyes seemed unbearable. She was so very alive, cheeks pink with the chill of the room, and her copper hair alight with the glow of the fire. Even beneath her cloak she was very small.
”Do not look at me”, he huffed, not able to keep the gaze anymore. Unbearable. Had the enchantress not made him revolting enough that someone could look at him? And someone like her?
She shifted, so she must have turned her gaze. From the corner of his eye he saw her pull her legs against her chest on the chair, inside her cloak. She was shivering.
”It’s so cold in here.”
”You’re welcome to leave”, he snarled.
”But I’m not welcome anywhere else”, she said quietly.
It was such an inane statement that Beast didn’t answer. What naïvete, what privilege and blindness to think that were true. Whatever her hardships, they must have been next to none to make her think it was so. Only the lack of adversity could have made her perspective so skewed. A beauty like her would be welcome anywhere: he might have not known much about the world, but that much he knew.
She didn’t speak again, so he ate something, while she sat there, shivering, and then, without either of them uttering a word, he turned and left to roam somewhere else.
A little after that, in addition to being heard, Beast could see her everywhere. She went back and forth, whenever he came away from his wrecked tower. Carrying elaborately embroidered curtains and bedsheets for washing, airing old linens and sometimes clothes she had clearly found in some forgotten cabinet he had yet to destroy. Whenever he went to eat, which was less frequently, now, she was there, either eating already or coming down to eat when he had put the first piece of food in his mouth. Somehow it made him self-conscious, something he had thought he couldn’t be, anymore. But there was some part of him that was embarrassed to wolf down the food. Most of the time she didn’t talk, because he wouldn’t answer, but she would watch. He didn’t want her watching.
The fire was nearly always burning, now. It made the dining room distinct from the nature outside.
”I don’t understand how you haven’t died from something called a dusty lung, yet”, she started. ”If I hadn’t seen you, I would’ve thought no one could live here.”
She had dug up candles from somewhere and had found a way to light the chandelier above the table. Beast wished she hadn’t. The living light made her face like a moving canvas, and so beautiful and human-like that it was hard to see. He could only imagine how he appeared in the light: he belonged in the darkness.
”I found women’s clothing in one of the bedrooms, dresses and furs. I’m going to wash them next and then see if I can sow them to be fitting—”
”No”, Beast interrupted with a sudden thunder. She flinched on her seat.
”Why not?” she asked, demandingly. She was gathering her thoughts, not having expected such a fervent response. ”Now that you have not killed me, I’m in need of new clothing. Especially considering that winter is coming, since I didn’t prepare for such cold weather.”
”I didn’t ask you to stay”, he growled. ”You can escape the winter somewhere else.”
She frowned, painfully.
”Won’t you tell me what happened?” she said, with a clear voice. ”It’s as if these items mean something to you. Something happened here, to make everyone disappear, and you know what it was.”
”It doesn’t involve you”, he answered, and then, maybe because he somehow knew it would hurt, even if he had made it clear from the start: ”Do not try to accommodate yourself. You’re not wanted here.”
Somehow she looked broken; tiny and withdrawn, when he left.
But it didn’t break her spirit. She kept at it, keeping herself busy, possibly because it was impossible to not freeze when staying put. And the colder the days got, somehow it started to feel as if the rooms didn’t want her in them; it was harder to get a fire going, and whatever she could light was easily reduced to smouldering blue flames when some corner let a draught in. A draught always got in.
Then, when the lively red roses caught hoarfrost on their ever-efflorescing petals, she disappeared from the halls.
Having gotten so used to her, though against his will, Beast soon noticed the absence.
There had been no indication that she would leave, and would leave so suddenly. But the castle was dead quiet, except for the wind howling in the walls and doors creaking from the draft. No more busy steps or gentle humming. No more sounds of living, which had so unexpectedly filled the empty spaces.
He tried to be satisfied with having his peace again, but the mere fact that it was a conscious thought made it a lie. The silence made him uneasy - he would need time to reach the former state of mindlessness, and right then the peace only felt wrong. Something was wrong.
His ears were sensitive, and when he set foot into the alienatingly clean west wing, immediately he recognised and picked the hitched breathing from the white noise of the castle.
She was sitting on the bed, against the bedframe, buried in covers from at least three different bedrooms, but they had evidently done nothing to insulate from the cold. All the warmth and colour had drained from her face. She was shivering violently, but was clearly alert enough that her eyes were already on the doorway, having heard the noise, when he came to view.
Beast was so astonished that she had not came downstairs to light the fire; so astonished that she had clearly been shivering there for almost a day, that he couldn’t think of anything to say.
”Aren’t you cold?” she asked, teeth chattering.
”I have fur”, he answered, though it was something he hadn't even thought about before.
”Is it— is it warm?” she asked.
He couldn’t think to answer, but he didn’t turn to go away either, so after a moment’s silence, she moved.
She pushed the covers away, and with limbs stiffened from the cold, she tugged herself towards the edge of the large bed. When she shed the covers, the dress she was wearing, even the cloak looked all too light for her - flagrantly too light in this weather, weather which stretched inside through the walls. With wooden, rigid movements, she stood up and started to walk closer, trembling all the way. He should’ve stepped closer, but he couldn’t believe it - that she didn’t halt, no, she came so close that she could extend a hand and then— and then touch his fur, bury her fingers into the hairs of his arm. Cold fingers, freezing, when she found his skin. He tensed only for a second, before sitting down, huffing. Nodding for her to come closer. Immediately, she reached both of her arms toward his chest and buried herself against it, grabbing the hairs like her life depended on it, letting out a weary sigh that trembled.
He let her rub her cheek on his chest; listened to the quiet sobs, muffled against his thick fur. Then, carefully, very carefully, because he didn’t want to accidentally hurt her with his claws, which were not used to that sort of gentleness, he scooped her between his arm and chest, enveloping her whole, and turned to head back down.
Downstairs in the hall, a fire was waiting for him, the castle having listened to his need for it. She was still shivering, whimpering now, quietly, when the blood was starting to circle back to her fingers, toes and ears. Her eyes were closed, when he sat in front of the fireplace. That was something he could do - sit and wait quietly, let her cling to him and gradually warm up.
They sat there for hours, as the dark night stretched in front of them and then over them. She fell asleep, and then woke again once in a while to the rumbling whirr of breath in his lungs, in his chest, against which she was nestled. As the hours passed, sleep became a dormancy, and she kept her half open eyes upturned, watching him, but less alert than before. Calmly. Soft, orange light dancing on her cheeks, which were starting to liven up with redness again. Very slowly, her hand started to roam his in places knotted fur, stretching upwards, towards his more thickly bearded neck and chin. He huffed a little in response, but it wasn’t unpleasant. On the contrary, it was… it was welcome, in an unspeakable way. Comforting. Never, indeed never in his life had he been touched that way, before or after. His small eyes were watering, which he didn’t know they could do. He blinked the wetness away, because even if it hurt, even if it was the last look that he would get, it was such a look. He would take it even if it was the last sweet hurt he would feel.
”You are not a monster”, she whispered, steadily, half aloud.
”You are a ghost. Haunting these halls.”
Somehow warm tears escaped the corners of his eyes.
She had said she would make herself scarce, but she was everywhere. She had found the wing that was still intact, the rooms he had not dared go into in fear of the memories that lived in them. But they were not living hauntings to her - they were the only livable space in the whole forgotten castle. She flew the windows open and swept away the thick layers of dust that had turned into dense dirt. After cleaning a place to sleep in for herself, she continued to the next room. And to the next room. And it was very hard to forget her, when her soft humming, sometimes singing, echoed through the abandoned corridors and nooks, somehow always finding his ears wherever he was. It was impossible to forget himself, hearing the sound of living.
Then she touched the piano - a clear, if crooked and out of tune note sounded faintly through the rooms.
She startled, the note cut out abruptly, when his broken, intermittent growl foreshadowed his coming to view in the large doorway, doorway that only barely fit his form.
One could have assumed she hadn't been afraid at all, from the way she walked in the house, from the way she didn’t hide away and instead took her space. But though she hadn’t hidden herself, she had still evaded the places where his heavy steps dragged against the floor. And so her breath hitched, eyes widened, when she turned to face the danger.
”I’m sorry”, she said, anticipating something.
He hadn’t really thought ahead by coming here. He needed to make her stop, but how would he do that? His own breathing was loud and ragged.
He was panting and huffing, when he moved inside, into the hall-like room with a high ceiling, and dragged towards the large grand piano. The large room itself was golden, even beneath the greying dust that had sticked to every surface and made the air itself thick and dim. Too golden. Too much. Not belonging to him, or here.
”Stop”, he said, and by that he meant what she had been doing, her tentative fingers on the keys, but at that moment she had tried to take a step away, and so the movement was halted in the moment. But her disgust remained obvious, even though her feet were firmly planted on the faintly wooden floor. She was leaning away as much as she could.
He could not smash the piano. He had not done it before, and he would not do it now, and not with her there.
”You must not touch it. Don’t touch anything”, he growled. She was as close now as she had been during their first conversation - if it could be said to have been a conversation. Her eyes were cast down, towards the floor, but while she was still otherwise unmoving, they tentatively rose up to glance at him.
”It’s such a beautiful instrument”, she said.
”Do not touch it. I do not want to hear it.”
He started to turn away, slowly. Her voice was strong and brave, when she spoke.
”What happened here?”
It was a question she had clearly been thinking over.
”People used to live here”, she continued. ”Did you kill them?”
Beast would not answer such a question. Yes, people had lived there. Who, it was hard to remember. Someone who had played the piano. Someone who had limbs and fingers with which it was possible. That person was no more: and maybe he had killed him.
”It must’ve been long ago", she continued. "I have never heard of anyone dying or disappearing around these parts. Of course, I didn’t even know such a place existed.”
He would not answer and continued out of the room.
”Please, won’t you answer me?” she pleaded. ”You clearly can speak.”
”No”, he said. ”Leave me be.”
And she did not follow him.
The ground was always frosted at nights, but somehow it felt worse now - he had rarely noticed it before, but maybe autumn was changing into winter, outside the gates. There was a disorienting orange glow emanating from the dining room into the corridor, when he dragged himself towards it, and there was a warm fire in the fireplace, when he got there. There she was, poking the half charred logs of wood, trying to keep the flames alight, as if that was normal.
She didn’t say anything, didn’t flinch and didn’t even turn, when his frustrated growl crackled over the flames.
”I had to drag the logs from the cabin outside”, she said, somehow pointedly. But Beast would not feel guilt. Would not, because he had told her to go away - it was not his responsibility to make her comfortable. Comfort she would have to go find somewhere else.
She dared to watch him enough to see if he had reacted. Then she tied her cloak tighter around herself and sat in front of the table. He nearly decided to go somewhere else, but something about her quiet resolution to sit there made him angry and want to stay. This was not her table.
But it was also very hard to eat when she was sitting there, venturing to take glances at him every so often, as if she was carefully familiarising herself with his appearance.
”What are you?” she asked abruptly. He answered with the same lazy, mildly annoyed intermittent growl.
”I’ve never seen anything like you. I don’t know what you are", she said.
There was only one answer to that.
”A monster."
But she wouldn't accept it as easily.
”You’re very quiet for a monster.”
”Have you met many monsters?” Beast asked mockingly.
”A few. Though they were human.”
”Then they were not monsters.”
”Well, you haven’t met many humans, then.”
No, he had not met many humans. Not in years, decades. He daren’t thought if the time stretched into centuries. That didn't mean that he wasn't right.
”How come you can speak? Being as you are?” she asked, unfazed with his silence.
”I have a tongue, same as you.”
”No, I don’t mean literally. Although with the fangs, it was a surprise to hear you speak. But to know how to speak you must have been taught it somehow, humans must have taught you.”
”Why must you ask these questions?" Beast asked, frustrated. "Why do you care?”
She shrugged under her cloak.
”Haven’t you ever been curious?”
So that was what he was. A curiosity. Although that seemed somehow different from something to be afraid of, it didn’t feel much better. He glanced at her with his small, black eyes, and the reserved curiosity in her eyes seemed unbearable. She was so very alive, cheeks pink with the chill of the room, and her copper hair alight with the glow of the fire. Even beneath her cloak she was very small.
”Do not look at me”, he huffed, not able to keep the gaze anymore. Unbearable. Had the enchantress not made him revolting enough that someone could look at him? And someone like her?
She shifted, so she must have turned her gaze. From the corner of his eye he saw her pull her legs against her chest on the chair, inside her cloak. She was shivering.
”It’s so cold in here.”
”You’re welcome to leave”, he snarled.
”But I’m not welcome anywhere else”, she said quietly.
It was such an inane statement that Beast didn’t answer. What naïvete, what privilege and blindness to think that were true. Whatever her hardships, they must have been next to none to make her think it was so. Only the lack of adversity could have made her perspective so skewed. A beauty like her would be welcome anywhere: he might have not known much about the world, but that much he knew.
She didn’t speak again, so he ate something, while she sat there, shivering, and then, without either of them uttering a word, he turned and left to roam somewhere else.
A little after that, in addition to being heard, Beast could see her everywhere. She went back and forth, whenever he came away from his wrecked tower. Carrying elaborately embroidered curtains and bedsheets for washing, airing old linens and sometimes clothes she had clearly found in some forgotten cabinet he had yet to destroy. Whenever he went to eat, which was less frequently, now, she was there, either eating already or coming down to eat when he had put the first piece of food in his mouth. Somehow it made him self-conscious, something he had thought he couldn’t be, anymore. But there was some part of him that was embarrassed to wolf down the food. Most of the time she didn’t talk, because he wouldn’t answer, but she would watch. He didn’t want her watching.
The fire was nearly always burning, now. It made the dining room distinct from the nature outside.
”I don’t understand how you haven’t died from something called a dusty lung, yet”, she started. ”If I hadn’t seen you, I would’ve thought no one could live here.”
She had dug up candles from somewhere and had found a way to light the chandelier above the table. Beast wished she hadn’t. The living light made her face like a moving canvas, and so beautiful and human-like that it was hard to see. He could only imagine how he appeared in the light: he belonged in the darkness.
”I found women’s clothing in one of the bedrooms, dresses and furs. I’m going to wash them next and then see if I can sow them to be fitting—”
”No”, Beast interrupted with a sudden thunder. She flinched on her seat.
”Why not?” she asked, demandingly. She was gathering her thoughts, not having expected such a fervent response. ”Now that you have not killed me, I’m in need of new clothing. Especially considering that winter is coming, since I didn’t prepare for such cold weather.”
”I didn’t ask you to stay”, he growled. ”You can escape the winter somewhere else.”
She frowned, painfully.
”Won’t you tell me what happened?” she said, with a clear voice. ”It’s as if these items mean something to you. Something happened here, to make everyone disappear, and you know what it was.”
”It doesn’t involve you”, he answered, and then, maybe because he somehow knew it would hurt, even if he had made it clear from the start: ”Do not try to accommodate yourself. You’re not wanted here.”
Somehow she looked broken; tiny and withdrawn, when he left.
But it didn’t break her spirit. She kept at it, keeping herself busy, possibly because it was impossible to not freeze when staying put. And the colder the days got, somehow it started to feel as if the rooms didn’t want her in them; it was harder to get a fire going, and whatever she could light was easily reduced to smouldering blue flames when some corner let a draught in. A draught always got in.
Then, when the lively red roses caught hoarfrost on their ever-efflorescing petals, she disappeared from the halls.
Having gotten so used to her, though against his will, Beast soon noticed the absence.
There had been no indication that she would leave, and would leave so suddenly. But the castle was dead quiet, except for the wind howling in the walls and doors creaking from the draft. No more busy steps or gentle humming. No more sounds of living, which had so unexpectedly filled the empty spaces.
He tried to be satisfied with having his peace again, but the mere fact that it was a conscious thought made it a lie. The silence made him uneasy - he would need time to reach the former state of mindlessness, and right then the peace only felt wrong. Something was wrong.
His ears were sensitive, and when he set foot into the alienatingly clean west wing, immediately he recognised and picked the hitched breathing from the white noise of the castle.
She was sitting on the bed, against the bedframe, buried in covers from at least three different bedrooms, but they had evidently done nothing to insulate from the cold. All the warmth and colour had drained from her face. She was shivering violently, but was clearly alert enough that her eyes were already on the doorway, having heard the noise, when he came to view.
Beast was so astonished that she had not came downstairs to light the fire; so astonished that she had clearly been shivering there for almost a day, that he couldn’t think of anything to say.
”Aren’t you cold?” she asked, teeth chattering.
”I have fur”, he answered, though it was something he hadn't even thought about before.
”Is it— is it warm?” she asked.
He couldn’t think to answer, but he didn’t turn to go away either, so after a moment’s silence, she moved.
She pushed the covers away, and with limbs stiffened from the cold, she tugged herself towards the edge of the large bed. When she shed the covers, the dress she was wearing, even the cloak looked all too light for her - flagrantly too light in this weather, weather which stretched inside through the walls. With wooden, rigid movements, she stood up and started to walk closer, trembling all the way. He should’ve stepped closer, but he couldn’t believe it - that she didn’t halt, no, she came so close that she could extend a hand and then— and then touch his fur, bury her fingers into the hairs of his arm. Cold fingers, freezing, when she found his skin. He tensed only for a second, before sitting down, huffing. Nodding for her to come closer. Immediately, she reached both of her arms toward his chest and buried herself against it, grabbing the hairs like her life depended on it, letting out a weary sigh that trembled.
He let her rub her cheek on his chest; listened to the quiet sobs, muffled against his thick fur. Then, carefully, very carefully, because he didn’t want to accidentally hurt her with his claws, which were not used to that sort of gentleness, he scooped her between his arm and chest, enveloping her whole, and turned to head back down.
Downstairs in the hall, a fire was waiting for him, the castle having listened to his need for it. She was still shivering, whimpering now, quietly, when the blood was starting to circle back to her fingers, toes and ears. Her eyes were closed, when he sat in front of the fireplace. That was something he could do - sit and wait quietly, let her cling to him and gradually warm up.
They sat there for hours, as the dark night stretched in front of them and then over them. She fell asleep, and then woke again once in a while to the rumbling whirr of breath in his lungs, in his chest, against which she was nestled. As the hours passed, sleep became a dormancy, and she kept her half open eyes upturned, watching him, but less alert than before. Calmly. Soft, orange light dancing on her cheeks, which were starting to liven up with redness again. Very slowly, her hand started to roam his in places knotted fur, stretching upwards, towards his more thickly bearded neck and chin. He huffed a little in response, but it wasn’t unpleasant. On the contrary, it was… it was welcome, in an unspeakable way. Comforting. Never, indeed never in his life had he been touched that way, before or after. His small eyes were watering, which he didn’t know they could do. He blinked the wetness away, because even if it hurt, even if it was the last look that he would get, it was such a look. He would take it even if it was the last sweet hurt he would feel.
”You are not a monster”, she whispered, steadily, half aloud.
”You are a ghost. Haunting these halls.”
Somehow warm tears escaped the corners of his eyes.