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)
I try to focus on the book in my lap, but my thoughts wander to the beast.
He is here, because he does not leave the castle. But I’ve still yet to see him and I’ve barely gotten to know him. It doesn’t take much to feel his brokenness though. His need for love.
I frown down at the book. I have not gotten to spend as much time getting to know the beast as I would have liked, having lived in this castle for weeks. However, he does not seem like the kind of person—kind of beast?—who would kill for the love of killing.
If that’s what he was like, then I would likely not be alive right now.
My chest aches, thinking about the beast alone here in the castle, which reminds me that my father is alone in the cottage. The magic gathers close to me and tries to soothe me as it senses my thoughts lingering on my father. I wish I could shove it all away. I do not wish to be soothed, I wish for answers. I wish to send this luxury to others. It feels selfish to have it all to myself.
I hope the magic delivered my letter. I hope my father is not trying to look for me. Worried out of his mind for my wellbeing. I can only imagine how angry and betrayed the beast would feel if my father came to the gates of the castle and refused to leave.
No one can know you are here.
Would he truly hurt the only other person I love? Oh, the thought comes quickly, and I choose not to think much of it and instead focus on the beast’s command. I remember how the beast’s voice sounded when he said those words to me. No one can know you are here. I understood his seriousness down to the core of me. That is why I told him that I did not need to tell my father where I was.
But I still pray the magic delivered the letter as he said it would.
I let out a sigh. Should I have pushed the beast to tell me why my presence here needed to remain a secret?
The magic answers for me. No.
My thoughts stray back to my father, who had been so heartbroken when my mother died. I know he won’t fully recover from losing me as well.
For the first time, I’m beginning to think about what would happen if something were to happen to the beast.
It’s an unsettling thought and brings on a surge of strong emotions. Why would I wonder that? Would my heart be broken? I feel things for him, of course. I feel drawn to him and intrigued by him, and I find myself missing him when I have run out of things to do in the castle and want someone to talk to. I am lonely without him. I love what he does to me and how I crave him more than anything else within the confines of the castle.
Am I…falling for him?
“I want to make tea,” I say quietly. “I’d like to make it myself.”
The tray floats into the room a few minutes later and the tea things spread themselves out on the table next to my reading chair in the bedroom. There is enough room for the kettle and the pot, along with two cups. The first time I asked for this, the house brought me tea. I did not know what to do with the magic then. I don’t know if this counts as doing magic.
What I know is that when I touch the kettle, the water inside begins to heat. It’s not an instant process and it takes a few minutes before it whistles. By then I have prepared the leaves. I take the kettle and pour the water over them. I breathe deeply, clearing my head while the leaves steep, and then I touch the pot.
It pours a perfectly portioned cup of tea into one of the cups, then settles back on the table.
I add milk and sugar to the tea, then lift the cup from the table, imagining as I do that the cup and its matching saucer could talk.
If they could, I would talk to them.
I would talk to anyone or anything who would listen and converse at this point.
Emotions fill my chest again, but this time it’s a sorrowful loneliness. I’m so lonely that I would talk to a teacup. All the fine things in the world can’t replace a person who listens to you and tells you their ideas.
I laugh a little, though it sounds almost like crying. Have I gone mad? Is this what it’s like to go mad? My loneliness twists at my heart, getting deeper as I sip at the tea. It is hot, but not so hot it burns my lips. The perfect temperature.