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Ihave found the sunniest place in the castle, and it is a grand terrarium that has a large glassed-in ceiling and soaks up all the heat from the sun even in the cold. I’ve never been in such grandeur.
One morning I wake to sunlight coming in through my bedroom window and miss walking through the brisk air outside. I know I’m missing something that was more a fantasy than anything. Although I had some time to myself, it was occupied more and more by working at the bakery with Ara.
Lately, I have been seeking out the dark, neglected hallways in the castle. I think the magic wants me to stay where the castle is still well-kept, but with so many hours stretching before me, I seek out the places it has not been. There are more than I would have guessed at first, but as I wander, asking the castle to clean itself, watching fresh sheets and bedding snap onto beds that can’t have been used in many years, it begins to make sense. The beast is only one person. He cannot have used all these rooms, even if he made up some sort of schedule and spent time in each. The castle is large enough that some of the spaces have been covered in the dust and grime of neglect. They’ve been abandoned and the walls themselves seem to hold pain. Perhaps from the memories of what should have been.
I am finding fewer and fewer of those places now. I have to look harder for the narrow hallways that haven’t seen light in too long, and they are quicker to put themselves back in order, as if they have been warned I am coming by the room I’ve slept in. As if rooms can whisper to each other. What a mad idea. The more I think of it, the more it seems plausible. What else would be happening?
The life where I worked in the bakery with Ara and huddled under my blankets trying to keep warm each night of the winter seems as far away as the dreams I had when I slept in my father’s house. Living in a castle was only a fantasy that I never dared to truly entertain because it was never going to happen. I was never going to marry into riches. I was never going to meet a prince, or even a beast. Why would such a person ever notice me?
And now, in this strange twist of fate, I am living in a fairytale. Sometimes it feels as if the castle is the dream and I might wake up at any moment, blinking and trying to warm my fingers before I go to work, knowing that it will be easier to arrive at the bakery early and let my hands warm up while I sweep the floors and prepare the goods for sale.
But though I wake up from many dreams, the castle is not one of them. I wake up warm in my bed every morning under a thick comforter filled with down. Well slept with peace and ease surrounding me. It’s so comforting I feel that I cannot trust it.
There is no one else in the castle. It is just me and the beast, still alone, and he does not come to me nearly as much as I wish he would. Even though the two of us are not enough to fill all the emptiness, the castle is alive, and more and more parts of it are returning to how they must have been when there were many people in and out of these rooms and voices filled the halls and servants rushed from place to place, delivering food and clothes and messages.
My bed still makes itself every day, and the room keeps itself fresh, and I am teaching additional rooms to do this every time I wander the halls. I want for almost nothing here. A tray with a delicious breakfast appears in my bedroom every morning and lunches and dinners are no less perfect. If I feel a pang of hunger throughout the day and wonder about tea and biscuits, a tray floats through the door and arranges itself on a nearby table almost before I have finished the thought. No one brings the trays. I have tested this many times, walking around the tray as it floats, waving my hands underneath, and even catching the trays out of the air, but it is truly magic.
Today, on this bright, sunny morning, I work my way through toast dripping with butter, bacon, and honey ham. My father and I could rarely afford these expensive meats after my mother died. We were grateful for the castoffs from the bakery that Ara sometimes let me take. There is fresh fruit dusted with sugar for me as well and eggs that are still hot, as if they have just been tipped out of the pan, though I know they had to travel here from the kitchen somehow.
I think often of my father and how he must be worried. It does not escape me that the magic seems to calm my thoughts when they drift to him. Like a distraction or a sweet little lullaby. I wish it wouldn’t. The guilt of being so comfortable consumes me.
When I can’t eat another bite, I go to the large bathroom and bathe as the sun streams down, casting reflections of the water on the walls. I have never used such fine soap as I do in the beast’s castle. It never chaps my skin and is perfumed with the essence of roses. When I step out of the bath I feel like I’ve been born into another world and my old life has become a dream.
As I dry myself off and dress for the day, I think of how easy it is to get used to hot water and fine food. My hair is clean and shiny all the time and when I move it carries the scent of the soap I used.
In a way, my life at the beast’s castle is simpler than my life in the village. It was harder when I lived with my father, but I knew the basics would not change. We had to make money. We had to buy food and collect wood for the fire, or else we would starve or freeze.
Here, those worries are nonexistent. There will seemingly always be food whenever I’m hungry, and the fires light themselves. I never have to go collect wood and worry I won’t be able to find enough. I don’t have to bother with concerns that I’ll be hurt somehow, or my father will get injured, and we’ll have to make do without one of our paychecks. I’m beginning to think I could read for years and never run out of books in the beast’s library, and if I twisted my ankle, the magic would probably send bandages to wrap around it and a cushion to rest it on.
When I am dressed and ready to explore more of the castle, I find myself missing the heat of the summer and the blue skies above and all the green plants that fill the countryside. I had not spent much time in the terrarium because it seemed so alive and not in need of my help to fix itself.
Now I go there simply for the pleasure of it.
The terrarium is larger than the ballroom. It’s large enough to fit rows and rows of garden beds built up so I can let my fingertips brush the flowers as I walk through. There are even trees in the terrarium, placed at the corners and throughout the flower beds. It does not remind me of the forest, but perhaps a small orchard without full rows of trees.
It’s almost as if I’m walking outside, but there is magic here, too. As I walk, flowers bloom ahead of me, opening as if I’m the sun telling them that it’s time to wake up for the day.
I walk through each row, marveling at the many hues of the flowers. Each one has perfect petals, and they seem to open themselves wide and lush as if they want to impress me. These flowers have only ever known this life. They do not find it strange to be pampered in a terrarium. They would probably be happy to be picked by someone passing by and placed in a vase where they could decorate other parts of the castle.
They’ve never had to worry about birds swooping down from the sky to pluck them away or being stepped on by a woman walking too fast to get to work. They are beautiful, and if I could, I would write about them to my father.
I again feel the twinge of guilt for leaving my father and not pressing the beast to let me contact him. I have to take him at his word, and I feel like my asking would only be answered in silence. I want to tell my father I am well, and there are not many chances to see the beast, so it is almost always on my mind.
My father must be worried. He has to support himself alone and collect firewood and fret about warming the house. He is older and life has not been kind to his body. He has to put food on the table and probably cannot spare any time to search for me. I hope he does not. I do not know what I would do if my father arrived at the gate looking for me. Would I be able to stay inside? Or would I tell him from within the walls that I do not have to worry about anything but freedom in the beast’s castle? There is nothing for me to want other than freedom…although even more than freedom these days, I want company.
How many days have I felt lonely? I have lost track. It is not because my freedom is not important, it just seems…impossible to get it if I want to keep my father safe. And the magic always soothes me if I think about being a prisoner. Or maybe it is the gorgeous clothes and the fine food and the comfortable bed. How can I be a prisoner if I am grateful to exist within these walls?
For this and many reasons, I am more at peace with my capture every day. I do not want to be starving and struggling to stay warm. I have dreamed more than once about having a library like the one in the castle with stories to escape into and imagine another life. I am more accepting now and more at ease, though I cannot explain why and I cannot entirely get rid of the guilt of leaving my father.
As I turn my back to walk down the next row of flowers, footsteps sound in the hall. The beast is a muscled man, from what I have felt, but he is graceful and does not walk with loud footsteps unless he wants to warn me he is coming. His presence immediately fills the terrarium as he steps inside.
My pulse races but in a way that heats every nerve ending along my skin.
I do not find his presence frightening now, but more…exciting. I am in awe of his strength and silence, and I want to know more about him. I want him to talk more freely to me, but I think that can only come with time and obedience.
My heartbeat quickens as I look at the flowers in the row, carefully keeping my eyes away from where I heard the footsteps. They move toward me, giving me the warning I need to keep my eyes averted. It is not fear I feel as the beast moves closer, but anticipation. I want him to be closer. I want him to touch me, maybe even kiss me. I want him to lose control with me the way he did before, but now he seems more determined to maintain a bit of distance.
I bend to smell a flower but do not turn. I know I’m not allowed to. The scent of the flower is rich, and I do not think I’ve ever smelled one like this before. It would make a lovely perfume. I inhale once again.
