Chapter 7 Corabeth
Seven
Corabeth
It was some time before dawn, when the shadows were deepest, that Corabeth finally fit the key into the lock and set herself free.
There was a slight tremble to her hands, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the cold, the exhaustion, or the fear.
It was most likely an unpleasant cocktail of all those things.
Her fingers brushed against the chilly, uneven stone wall to her left as she walked towards the faint light coming from the top of the stairs. As she suspected, the door had been left open.
When Corabeth had first entered the mansion, the entryway had been entirely dark. Now, there was a single door ajar across the enormous hall, a warm glow emanating from it. The light flickered and moved across the black and white checkered floor as if it were a living thing.
Her steps were entirely silent as she walked towards the only sign of life in that house. Part of a leather armchair with a high back became visible, then the wall behind it with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, each one filled to the brim.
Corabeth placed her hand softly on the door to push it open.
“Upstairs,” said a voice that by now was familiar to her. She pulled her hand back.
“Left wing. Second door on the right,” the Shadowbeast instructed her.
Corabeth hesitated for just a moment. Then her feet started to move towards the grand staircase as if on their own. She was so exhausted, so bewildered, that it felt good to just follow orders. To have someone tell her what to do.
On top of the stone staircase was a large round window overlooking the misty forest outside. Somewhere in the distance, there was the faintest glow of sunrise.
She turned left into a richly decorated, dark hallway.
The two lit sconces did little to repel the hungry shadows.
The walls were covered by a deep red wallpaper with elaborate damask patterns, framed by intricately carved dark wood paneling.
Here and there, the wallpaper had come loose, the corners folding over themselves.
A plush red carpet ran the length of the hallway like a fleshy tongue lolling out of a gaping maw.
There were paintings on the walls, their artwork too dark to make out any details, but their golden frames glinted dully as Corabeth passed them.
She counted two doors. The unassuming wooden door to her right creaked silently as she pushed it open, and she was immediately greeted by a lit fireplace. Warmth stroked her chilled cheeks as she closed the door behind her.
A four-poster bed was an imposing figure in the dim light, a nightstand on either side of it.
Directly opposite of it was the fireplace that was large enough for Corabeth to climb into.
A fierce fire burned there, throwing dancing shadows all across the room.
To the left of it was a magnificent wardrobe. All cut out of the same dark wood.
It was easily the most grandiose room Corabeth had ever seen or imagined. She was reluctant to even enter. She still had dried mud covering her dress and arms. Her loosened strands of hair had turned solid from… muck? Blood?
Then her gaze snagged on a door in the back wall that was slightly ajar.
Careful to avoid the plush, deep red carpet, she walked around to it and pushed it open to reveal an attached washroom.
In the middle was a large copper bath that stood out against the black floor tiles.
Steam rose from the bath, curling towards Corabeth invitingly.
Was this all for her?
She spun in place, half-expecting to see the Beast lurking somewhere. She would have preferred it. At least then she could have asked it questions. Not that it had so far offered many answers…
But it had sent her here. It had offered her freedom and told her where to go. And the bath seemed so warm, so alluring. And she was so very cold, so very dirty.
Corabeth returned to the bedroom, locked the door leading to the hallway, and, having returned to the washroom, did the same with its door.
She was under no illusions that the Beast couldn’t just barrel through those locked doors.
She also wasn’t sure she would mind it very terribly if it finally decided to come kill her.
Peeling off her clothes, Corabeth let them crumple to the floor into a filthy pile, and finally stepped into the bath.
The hot water was like stinging nettles against her chilled skin, but she sighed with content as she sat and sank deeper into it.
Immediately, the dirt started to dissolve, making the water around her murky.
She scrubbed herself raw, washing away the events of the day. The hands that had grabbed her, the insults the villagers had lobbed at her, the soot from her burning home. When she washed her hair, she felt a large scab that had formed on her scalp. The water turned pink as she washed the blood off.
For a moment longer, she allowed herself to sit in the bath, surrounded by everything she had tried to wash away.
Her eyes glazed over as she stared at the water.
Imagined herself slipping under, never surfacing.
A watery tomb where she was buried under her pain.
But this time, the thought came with a question: what comes after?
The Beast finding her naked corpse, exposed and helpless. And that, she could not stomach.
By the time Corabeth stepped out of the bath, she felt strangely lighter, as if some of her burdens had dissolved in the bathwater.
She found a fluffy towel to dry herself off, and folded next to it was a cream-colored nightshirt.
It smelled slightly musty as she pulled it over her head. But it was clean and dry.
She found the bedroom undisturbed upon her return. Only the fire had slightly died down, deepening the shadows in the corners of the room.
Tired of fighting or questioning her circumstances, Corabeth climbed into the four-poster bed and lay down between sheets that smelled of the same kind of mustiness.
The smell of being forgotten, obsolete. She turned to her side and faced what she now realized were balcony doors, flanked on either side by heavy velvet curtains.
Outside was bathed in the pale light of dawn. Barren tree branches swayed in the wind. But Corabeth was inside and warm and so tired.
I can die tomorrow, she thought, and fell asleep.