Beast. The suffocating darkness of black. Not the black of the night sky, which had little holes to breathe throughthe stars and the moon. But the black of the inside of a closed coffin, trapped under pounds and pounds of black earth. It was the black of being choked to death, stones pressing against your throat. Of fainting, falling, the darkness closing in around you. One word turned the whole world black.

"Miss? Are you alright? Miss Bourne?"

The faint sound of a door shutting.

Rose lifted her head. Mrs. Kensington shuffled into the gathering room.

"Yes, I'm fine." Her reddish-pink eyes fell to the floor once more.

Mrs. Kensington took a seat beside the young woman. She laid a hand on her lap. "I come bearing news. The baron has proposed another solution besides marriage. One which you might find more agreeable."

Rose's thin, strawberry brows knitted together. "What do you mean? I thought the purpose of my being here was for marriage…"

"Ah, yes, well it was. But…" The old lady's lips pursed together, wrinkles forming around her chin. "His Lordship does not want to be married."

"To me?"

"To anyone." She looked away, tossing her hand around in the air lackadaisically. "He would much rather be a confirmed old bachelor living life as he pleases. And now that his mother has passed…" Her hand fell to her side. She gazed out the window. "He can do precisely that."

Rose gasped. Her fingers drew up to her mouth very quickly without her realizing. "Her Ladyship is…"

"She has passed, I'm afraid. God rest her soul." Mrs. Kensington's head fell. Her eyes became gray and old. "Her whole life was devoted to ensuring her firstborn son was married, but now it is in his hands. And he has chosen to go against his mother's wishes."

The stiffness Rose had felt earlier around her neck began to loosen. Little pockets of air seeped through, and she could breathe again.

Mrs. Kensington took a deep breath, straightened up, and continued with a business-like attitude: "His Lordship has agreed to still give your family a fair amount of money—a testament to the business and friendship Her Ladyship and Mr. Bourne sustained over the years. No marriage required."

Rose blinked several times, followed by a blank stare. Tears swirled around in her eyes; she shut them and leaned over, drizzles of water sliding down her face. The breath she had been holding forced itself out.

"There is one stipulation, however." Mrs. Kensington crossed one leg over the other.

Rose's eyes opened once more. She picked herself back up, sniffling. "Of course."

"You must—not ever, to no one—speak a word about His Lordship's true form. Understood?" Her eyes were fierce and predator-like.

Leaning back in her seat, Rose nodded. Her lips parted and the little droplets of salty tears reached her mouth.

"If any word should spread outside of this castle about a beast residing here, all money will be cut off. You will be expected to pay it back to His Lordship in full, and then some. Does that sound fair?"

Again, Rose nodded—a child obeying her strict nanny. She pressed her fingers against one another and her wet, pink, pouty lips trembled.

"Very good." Mrs. Kensington smiled, dusting her apron off and standing up. She clasped her hands together behind her back. But then her eyes suddenly widened. "Oh, before I forget. There is one last thing: You may stay at the castle for as long as you like. Her Ladyship's funeral will be in a few days. You may stay until then, or longer if you so wish. We always love having visitors at the castle."

Rose's legs fumbled underneath herself as she stood up. She felt the blood leaving her face and it turned a ghostly white. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Kensington," she said, finding her bearings. "I—I suppose I could stay. At least until the funeral."

Mrs. Kensington's eyes flashed and her smile widened. "I'm so very glad to hear that. I'll lead you to your room then."

Trailing behind the stout little woman, Rose kept her head down. She watched as Mrs. Kensington's heels kicked up; they had dark blue soles underneath. And the floors were white marble with a clear, pearly finish. After several minutes of walking, the marble floors gradually turned darker—a silvery-gray color instead of white. The hallways became shadowy, but it was a pretty sort of shadow, like soft rain clouds blocking the sun.

"Here we are, Miss Bourne," the older woman said, the clickety-clack of her heels ceasing.

Rose's head shot up. A small, round door. Not unlike the round architecture of a quaint cottage. It was hand-carved and polished, made of dark, beautiful mahogany. The walls surrounding the door were a pale yellow hue. It all reminded Rose of a brisk, early morning in the forest.

Mrs. Kensington opened the door, holding onto the knob, and gestured for Rose to go inside the room. She took several steps forward, her head lifting to the ceilings. Everything was so natural and lovely—little green trimmings all across the furniture and walls could have been vines from a forest. Like the hallways, the room was a pale yellow with mahogany furniture. It was the largest bedroom she had ever been in.

"Your maid—hopefully—will not be too much longer."

Rose turned around, facing the door again, where Mrs. Kensington stood. "My… maid?" The word seemed so strange in her mouth. Like she shouldn't have said it—like she shouldn't have a specific servant to tend to her and her alone. Even during her youth, when the Bourne family was fairing well, she had never had a maid to only take care of her. Yes, they had a nanny, but she took care of all of the children—not just Rose.

Mrs. Kensington gave the girl a strange look. "Yes, your maid. It was intended that she would be a lady's maid to the future baroness. But since the engagement has been called off, Miss Carter will merely be taking care of you for the next few days, or however long you wish to stay."

Rose realized how silly she must have sounded. "Yes, of course. Thank you, Mrs. Kensington."

"You're welcome." The old woman curtsied and went about her way.

The door closed, and Rose was left inside the room. It felt strange and awkward being alone. But when she turned around again, an excessive amount of light broke across her face. Her naturally pink skin became basked in light from the sun and turned gold. Her reddish-orange hair gleamed, glinting like firelight. She walked over toward the balcony, where the light was coming from, and opened the French-style doors. Stepping out, one foot at a time, Rose felt a sudden breeze envelope her. It was as though she were at the hem of a ship—the winds tugging at her hair and her dress. She took another step, leaning her head over the railing.

A vast landscape had been painted for her. The mountains from the north, the nearby villages, the great forest that blanketed everything. She saw the changing of the seasons from up high. There were still some dead trees that littered the landscape, but most everywhere, new life had sprung and bright green leaves caught her attention.

For a moment, Rose forgot about the baron—the beast. She gripped onto the railing, shut her eyes, and let the wind take her hair and do with it what it pleased. Her curls waved about wildly, breaking loose from her up-do. Fresh-tasting air filled her nostrils and familiar splotches of pink returned to her cheeks. She had almost forgotten what health and vigor felt like. That she could even feel alive at all.

"Miss Bourne? Miss Bourne?" the voice of a woman called from inside the room.

The breeze ceased. Reality sunk in.

Rose let go of the railing and spun about.

A middle-aged woman—no older than forty—stood in the mahogany doorway. Once she caught a glimpse of Rose, she gasped, shooting toward her at lightning speed. "Oh, dear, what's 'appened to your 'air?" she exclaimed in a thick Cockney accent.

Rose stared at the woman, pulling her fiery red curls over her shoulder and petting them. "The wind got to it, I suppose."

"I'll say!" The woman put her hands on her hips, before gasping. "'Scuse me, Miss Bourne. I've yet to introduce myself." She curtsied hastily, her plain gown rubbing against the marble floors. "Miss Lucille Carter. At your service."

"How do you do, Miss Carter?"

Miss Carter. A name that felt so formal, like the stiff feel of a suit that had been pressed and tailored to perfection.

"Oh, I'm positively peachy, Miss Bourne!" she said, a lilting rhythm in her speech. "But, you know, you don't 'ave to call me 'Miss Carter'." She leaned in, cupping her mouth. "I much jus' prefer 'Lucy' anyway. But don't let Mrs. Kensington 'ear you call me that." She cackled, but it was not the cackle of an old hag, but of an old friend.

Rose smiled. "If you so insist, then I shall call you Lucy."

Lucy. The sound of the woman's cackle echoed in Rose's ears while she spoke the name. The name and the cackle were one and the same.

"Yes, yes," Lucy said. "Now, 'ow can I 'elp prepare ya for dinner? A new do, I 'spose?"

Rose's eyes widened. "D-dinner?"

"Why, yes. You're expected at dinner, soon, miss. Did Mrs. Kensington not tell ya?"

"No…" Rose felt a catch in her throat. "Will His Lordship be there?"

"No, miss, 'e's with—" The woman's head fell and her brunette bun leaned forward. "With 'er Ladyship. May God rest 'er soul."

"Oh…" A sudden relief came over Rose.

Lucy perked. "But I imagine some of 'is family will be there. And maybe even Mr. Chesterton! You'll like Mr. Chesterton."

"Who's that?"

"One of the longtime residents 'ere in the castle. Been a friend to 'is Lordship since they were both youngsters." She laughed, hugging her stomach, then stopped herself. "But listen to me! Jabberin' on when I've got to get ya presentable for dinner. Come on over 'ere and sit down, won't ya?"

Lucy motioned toward the vanity. Rose walked over and sat down at the stool in front of it. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror once, but for the most part, looked down at her hands.

Even though Lucy was quite brash in her tone and manner of speech, she was exceedingly gentle with Rose's hair. The young woman hardly felt a thing as the maid's skillful fingers glided through her curls.

"What I wouldn't do to 'ave ringlets like these!" Lucy said.

"They can be such a handful. You wouldn't want them." Rose giggled, burying her face in her palms.

"Oh, pish-posh! The last lady I tended to 'ad 'air straight as a board—like mine—and it was so much trouble to curl it! Those blasted ringlets never stayed."

"But I would almost certainly guess that her hair never had knots in it. Am I correct?" Rose smirked a little, looking in the mirror at her facial expression. Not long after, a frown replaced it, and her eyes fell away.

"Now, that, Miss Bourne, is somethin' which I can't say for sure. She always brushed 'er 'air out before I could get my 'ands on it." Lucy laughed as she put the finishing touches on the updo. She pressed a small, decorative hair comb with a pretty yellow flower into the top of the bun; two braids encircled it, and then curly ringlets framed Rose's heart-shaped face.

"Well, what do ya think?" Lucy asked, her hands falling to her side. She grinned at her work.

Rose forced herself to just look at her hair and not her freckled face. She touched the soft ringlets and then moved her hand up to the firm braids. "Oh, it's lovely, Lucy. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, 'ow about we move on to the cosmetics?"

Flinching, the girl said, "Cosmetics?"

"Yes, yes. We 'ave all sorts 'ere at the castle." She pulled open one of the drawers of the vanity and took out a box full of products. "Right 'ere we 'ave—"

Rose put her hands up, stopping the woman. "I'm sorry, Lucy, but I'm not interested. I've never worn cosmetics before."

Lucy's thick, dark eyebrows came together, forming a wrinkly line. "You 'aven't?" The older woman's eyes scoured across Rose's nose and cheeks, pausing on each freckle she found. "Well, if you ever wanna try 'em, let me know. I'd be 'appy to 'elp."

"I'm not sure that will be necessary," Rose said. "But thank you."

"Of course. Let's go on and get you dressed then."

Lucy undressed Rose—a process which was slightly uncomfortable for the girl, as she had not had someone undress her since she was a child. The older woman then laced up her corset to be slightly tighter than before.

"Let's see what we 'ave in the wardrobe," Lucy said, walking over to a large piece of mahogany furniture. She opened one of the drawers and then pulled out a sleek gown—pale yellow, like the walls. "This matches the comb I put in your 'air, miss."

Rose smiled, her eyes trailing up and down the dress. "It's beautiful."

"Is this what you'd like?"

"If it's what you think would be best."

Lucy looked back and forth between Rose and dress. "I… think that per'aps it would work if we got one more color in there." She pondered for a minute, before shouting: "Blue! Say, a light blue necklace, some blue earbobs, and a blue sash or ribbon. That'll add some variety. It'll match your eyes, too."

"Splendid idea." Rose giggled. "Whoever stayed in here before me must have liked yellow."

"Oh, this is merely a guest room, miss. It's 'oused a revolvin' door of 'em. But, if you're wonderin', 'er Ladyship chose the colors for in 'ere."

"Then… Her Ladyship must have really liked yellow."

"She must have."

Lucy pulled a hoop skirt up over Rose's hips, then fluffed it out, making it poofier. Next, she fitted the gown over Rose's petite frame, shimmying it down her body. After it fit her like a glove, Lucy tied a pretty blue ribbon around Rose's waist, creating a bow in the back.

"There we are. Pretty as a picture! Let me go get that jewelry box." Lucy shuffled out of the room.

Rose breathed in deeply, looking in the mirror. She wasn't quite sure what she thought of the brightly colored gown. It was something her sisters would have worn, not her.

The jingly-jangly sound of the jewelry box, as necklaces and earrings shuffled about, crescendoed. Lucy shuffled back in. "I've got a selection for ya, Miss Bourne. Let's 'ave a look-see." She sat the jewelry box down on the settee and flipped up the glass top.

Glittering jewels dazzled, reflecting in Rose's eyes. She was immediately drawn to the box.

Lucy picked up a long necklace, with a light blue pendant in the middle. She then opened up another section of the box and selected a pair of blue topaz earbobs from it. "Let's try these." She wrapped the necklace around Rose's neck, setting the pendant in-between her collar bones. Rose insisted on putting the earbobs in herself.

A moment later, just before dinner, Lucy picked out a tiny pair of yellow slippers. As Rose slid into them, the older woman primped up the gown a bit. She then took a few steps back, smiling at her creation. "There now. You're all ready."

????

The dining hall was empty. A white and cream-colored table stretched out long across the room, with Rose directly in the middle. But no one sat near her. No one even attended to her after she had been seated. She turned her head back and forth, from the swinging door that led into the kitchen, to the fireplace, to the entrance of the Grand Hall. The girl folded her hands in her lap and focused on breathing regularly.

Again, like the rest of the castle, most everything was white marble. A true spectacle, a vision, to behold. It was heaven, but without angels. Just Rose all alone in the white and silvery mist.

No doubt this was caused by the baroness's passing, she concluded. Rose did not mind these circumstances. She would much rather the servants tend to other areas and people of the castle. But, even though she did not mind this, the girl still felt as though something was wrong... She did not belong here, she was out of place amidst the death and grief for a woman she hardly knew. A woman who was meant to be Rose's mother-in-law, but now had hardly any connection to her at all.

And what of the beast? The beast that was almost her husband… How could she go back to her home, back to her family, with the knowledge of this monster? How could she keep this dark secret of a gruesome creature she hadn't even seen yet?

She hadn't even seen him. Perhaps they wouldn't meet at all. And perhaps it was all just a myth, a fabrication to deter her from marrying him. Just as the "deformed baron" had been a myth.

Rose's thin, strawberry eyebrows unfurled. She glanced at the silverware in front of her, noting its ornateness and the impeccable placement of each utensil. Surely, a beast could not be in charge of such a grand estate that housed such a lovely dining table with such precise tableware placements.

But then again, Rose would never truly know whether or not he was a beast. For she would not be meeting him. No, not at all. She would go home after the funeral and wait for her true love, one of the men in her books. The one who would rescue her from this nightmare. What a perfectly agreeable idea!

As the wonderful thought whirled about in Rose's mind, hurried footsteps sounded behind her. She turned around, and much to her surprise, a young man—no older than thirty—stood at the other side of the room, right in front of the opening that led from the dining room into the Grand Hall. He stooped over a bit, breathing heavily, a few strands of slick hair protruding out over his forehead.

"Excuse me, Miss Bourne," he said, catching his breath.

"Oh, sir, are you alright?" Rose began to back out of her chair.

He reached out a hand, stopping her. "Stay seated, miss. I'm quite alright. I just didn't realize how long you had been waiting here, so I came as soon as I could. No guest shall eat alone, not in this castle." The man laughed a little, giving her a reassuring smile.

Rose scooted the chair across the floor, back underneath the table. "If you insist."

The man's facial features were soft and youthful, not totally unlike a woman's, but he had a man's figure. Slim and trim, nice to look at.

What a sleek fellow, Rose thought.

"Allow me to introduce myself." He placed a hand across his heart, bowing elegantly, grinning. "Judas Morgan Chesterton."

Judas Morgan Chesterton. Flashes of quickly turning pages from a tome, in a dimly lit library somewhere in the heart of a city, candles flickering. Droplets of rain pattered against the window panes, and the smell of baked goods wafted in from the local bakery.

Rose's face lit up. "Ah, so you are Mr. Chesterton!"

The man lifted his head, a smirk tracing his features. "So, you've heard of me? Depending on who you got your information from, you may not want to have dinner with me." His chest rose as he laughed.

"Oh, no, no, not at all. I would be delighted to have dinner with you, sir. Lu— I—I mean, Miss Carter told me the bare minimum about you, so I shall have to learn for myself what you are like." Rose batted her lashes, drawing attention to her icy blue eyes.

"Well, I can believe that she only told you the bare minimum, as you say. Or else you wouldn't want to even be in the same room as me."

Rose shook her head. "I'm sure I'll find that not to be the case."

"You put too much faith in my character, Miss Bourne," he said, pulling out the chair across the table from her and sitting down. Mr. Chesterton stretched his hands out and wiggled his fingers as he looked at the silverware before him. "I can't believe they haven't brought any courses out yet." He looked at her, a more intense glare in his eyes this time. "No one came to your service at all, you say?"

Rose shrank in her chair slightly. "No, sir—but it's quite alright! Circumstances being what they are, I completely understand."

Mr. Chesterton's eyes faltered a little. "I suppose you're right. Typically, the cooks are so attentive to guests, but… today is different."

For a moment, Rose had forgotten about everything, while in the charming presence of Mr. Chesterton. She sank back into reality, slowly seeping back into the ground.

"Were you close with Her Ladyship?" she asked, her voice low.

Mr. Chesterton stared at the silver plate before him, choking on a hesitant laugh. "Close? More than close. She was like a mother to me…" He took the handkerchief out of his pocket, wiping his eyes, but keeping his gaze straight in front of him.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Rose said, her eyes narrowing. "I wish I had known her better."

Suddenly, the man put away his handkerchief and looked Rose in the eye. "But I digress. We shouldn't have to talk about such matters. You're a guest after all." His warm smile thawed out the silvery-white room. "It is the intention of both Ashworth and me that you feel welcome here for the duration of your stay." The man scooted his chair back and excused himself to the kitchen.

Not too much later, several cooks broke through the swinging door, coming to attend to Rose. They had a solemness about them, a sad look in their eyes, but they smiled nonetheless and spoke with such happy tones.

"I'm famished," Mr. Chesterton blurted out, re-entering and sitting back down in his chair. "It's been such an exhausting day. No one ever said that being the confidante to a baron who is grieving the loss of his mother would be an easy job."

Rose lifted a brow, but soon let out a small laugh at the macabre humor. "I can't imagine that it would be easy."

A servant brought out a glass of water and the first course—a small salad and soup.

"Thank you," she said, before turning to Mr. Chesterton. "You sound like a wonderful friend and confidante, sir." The girl sipped on her soup; its warm richness trickled down her throat.

"Oh, that I am!" he insisted. "We're practically brothers, though Ashworth would never want to admit such."

Rose squinted her eyes, pondering over the very human way that Mr. Chesterton spoke of Lord Ashworth. But he did not speak of the fallen-through engagement, and for that, Rose was thankful.

"Speaking of brothers," Mr. Chesterton put down his small spoon, pulled out his napkin, and dabbed the corners of his mouth before laying it back down, "Ashworth's real family should be arriving shortly. They're joining us for dinner."

Rose's eyes widened. "Oh, they are?"

"Yes, I'm afraid." He turned toward the Grand Hall, squinting. All of his previous charms fell away, and his eyes grew to be dark. "Something to note," he whispered, his eyes fixated on the entrance, "Ashworth's family are only here to collect their portions of the will and leave. If any of them actually cared about Her Ladyship, they would have visited before now."

"You mean, they never visited their mother?"

"Not since each of them moved out, no."

"How awful!"

"Yes, but—" Mr. Chesterton's eyes shot back to Rose. "Ashworth is generous, and he will give them their portions of the will—perhaps even more."

Small wrinkles popped up on her forehead for a moment. "But why?"

Mr. Chesterton shrugged. "That is his business. Not mine." He leaned in closer to Rose. "Though my theory is that he wants them to leave him alone, so instead of them begging for money, he'll just give it to them all at once. Then he never has to worry about them again!"

"Did he never like his siblings?"

"Oh, no, not at all. Not with the way they treated him."

"Did they treat him poorly?"

"Yes. I can attest to that."

"Why?"

"Sibling rivalry, I suppose." He picked up a piece of bread and tore a chunk of it out with his teeth. "After all, aren't most siblings jealous of the firstborn?" Mr. Chesterton asked through chews. He bounced the rest of the bread around in the air as he thought, looking up at the ceiling.

Rose lifted her brows, amazed at this suave man who dined so casually, so naturally. She did not mind his manner of eating, and in fact, watching him was rather amusing for her. It was as if they had been friends for so long he did not mind eating comfortably around her—eating without performing. It reminded her of Ferguson almost, but if Ferguson looked more like Harrison, of course.

Just as the first course was being taken away, a hoard of whispers broke out in the Grand Hall. Mr. Chesterton rolled his eyes, then put on a forced smile.

Rose whipped around, her eyes landing on a crowd of people, all dressed in dark clothing. They had a sort of look of pity—not grief—but pity and sorrow as their eyes met hers.

One of the older men stepped forth, clearing his throat. Perhaps an uncle of Lord Ashworth?

"You must be Miss Bourne." He took off his top hat, holding it over his chest and bowing. "Welcome to the family."