Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 74631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
The large windows are not only impressive because of the amount of glass it takes to make panes of this size, they are also beautifully framed. Everything in the room is elegantly decorated with the kind of expensive moldings my father would never be able to afford. A raised stage extends into the opposite wall, the empty space looking as though it could hold an entire orchestra.
All at once the ballroom seems even larger because of its emptiness. A ballroom of this size could hold dozens of couples. Stories of royalty and what once was in this castle come to my mind. I can almost hear the music soaring off the ceiling. I can almost see women in fine dresses and men in well-made suits twirling around me. Even with twenty couples I would still be able to put my arms out to the sides without touching them.
I drink in the sight of the room, once again taken aback by the amount of wealth signified by such a ballroom. Even in the dark, it’s obvious everything in this space has a sheen, like gold and riches. It is different from the comforting furnishings of the bedroom I slept in, more dedicated to hosting and not a private part of the beast’s home. Ballrooms are meant to be seen and danced in by guests, and this one is certainly meant to be seen. Each intricate detail offers another place for my gaze to catch and rest for a moment.
Moonlight gleams on the polished floor, which looks to be miles of finely carved hardwood. My feet tingle in my house slippers. I have never danced in a room so large, and I would do it now if I had a partner.
I have only dreamed of such things. Fantasies that I’d hoped one day would come true when I was a little girl. Love and happiness is found in these spaces. Although in this moment, the room is dark, cold, and empty.
With a prick at the back of my neck, I’m brought back to the present and drift from the dreams of a young and naive version of myself.
I consider turning to search out the beast with my eyes, but he has moved away. It is obvious he doesn't want me to see him, so I do not look, though I want to know what it’s like to be spun around the most beautiful ballroom I’ve ever seen, even by moonlight. It would be even more breathtaking at sunset or sunrise when the light was warm and ample.
It is the most meticulously clean ballroom, too. Nothing like what I’ve been told, and it dawns on me that perhaps what I think I know is false.
I lower my eyes from the ceiling. It is not a loud sound but a soft one, swishing and swishing.
There. A broom sweeps the floor in the far corner of the ballroom, moving back and forth in a column of moonlight coming in through one of the tall windows. Broom might be the wrong term. I take a few steps, drawn by the movement. The sound is so quiet that it can only be a duster. It’s not the sturdy sort of broom I use to sweep the bakery, one that would scratch polished floors like this. Shock holds me still with wide eyes.
The duster is moving by itself.
It is moving by itself.
Disbelief wars with my own vision and I have to touch it. To feel that it is real.
Before I know it, I am nearly to the duster, staring down at it, moving my head at different angles, trying to see if there’s a person sweeping the floor. I do not know how they would remain concealed like this, with me staring at them directly, but when I stretch my hand out above the duster, I touch only empty air.
Cautiously, I lower my fingertips to the handle of the duster. Can this be real? Can this really be a duster sweeping by itself?
At the first touch, the duster falls to the floor with a loud clatter.
I whirl around, forgetting that the beast wanted to stay out of sight. “Is it real?” I ask, my voice echoing in the empty ballroom. Amid all the curling decorations, I cannot see him. After a few seconds I find the shape of him in a deep shadow on the other side of the room. A bit of the moonlight catches his eyes. That’s all of him I can see.
The silence drags on. Perhaps he will not answer me. Perhaps he will write me a note and slide it across the ballroom floor. Suddenly I feel desperate to hear his voice.
“Yes,” he answers, his deep voice sliding smoothly over the walls and floors. His shadow does not change. I can’t see sharp teeth. I can’t see his mouth moving at all. Only the vaguest outline. A darker shadow within a shadow.