Chapter VIII
Cassandra
It’s a strange feeling to wake peacefully, with no one yanking me out of bed or screaming at me in the middle of the night. Instead a calm, quiet stillness fills the room, so serene that the dust has settled into all the cracks along the decrepit walls.
As I further awaken, my eyes adjusting to the dimly lit room, candles crackling as they burn, I realize that my mind holds no thoughts.
No fantasies of wanting to commit panicked suicide.
Instead, there’s just…silence. My heart is no longer in an immediate state of anxiety; my body recognizes that this place, unfamiliar as it is, is safe.
It’s like I’m floating in the middle of the ocean, and there’s no one else around me.
It might be the closest I’ve come to feeling peace.
Stretching my arms wide across the bed, I sigh, my fingers twisting into the silky sheets.
Luxury clings to them, caressing my skin so that I feel I’m resting on clouds.
I have never touched anything so soft. For a moment, I want to pretend that this is my life, before the bubble inevitably bursts and the world reverts to shades of despair.
I sit up and take in the room now that panic no longer clouds my mind.
The bedroom is beautiful, despite the decay that lingers.
The bedposts are intricately carved with roses and vines, though some spots of the wood have been worn down by time.
The sheer fabric of the canopy dances down in strips, eaten through, but still magical.
The damage doesn’t mean that it’s lost its mystique.
Earlier, the air in the room felt evil and old. Now there’s a softness, as if I’ve misunderstood everything about this space, and underneath the crumbling grandeur is a lingering presence. It’s a faint sweetness with grief shrouding the edges; the energy feels different from my own emotions.
The flowers beside the bed pull my gaze, and my fingers trace the vibrant-yellow petals of daffodils as I rise.
Bringing my nose closer to the vase, I inhale the honey-sweet fragrance.
The scent alone tells me they must be fresh, and the thought of the monster––my monster––picking such delicate flowers with such large hands makes me smile.
It would take intentional care not to crush them under his grip.
I blush thinking of how he used that care when touching me.
I feel every ache in my body while I move towards a large wardrobe settled in the corner of the room.
It creaks open with a groan, what must be a century’s worth of dust flooding out.
Some of the gowns, once fit for a queen, have faded, and are now laced with moth-eaten holes.
My hands skim over an emerald-green velvet dress, and I gasp as I pull it towards me.
It’s beautiful. I hold it against my body, picturing myself in it, imagining how I would feel like a princess wearing it. Spinning around, I clutch the dress to my chest. It’s mine now; my inner child, who was never safe enough or loved enough to long for such things, wants it desperately.
I leave the wardrobe to continue my exploration of the room. A fireless hearth sits in the center, stone stained with soot and infested with cobwebs, and a forgotten music box rests on top. Beside the fireplace is a slightly ajar door.
Crossing towards it, I push through, a giggle of wonder leaving my mouth.
A single chair sits beside what I can now see is a bathroom.
Carefully, I drape the gown over its back before turning to admire the ornate tub standing in the center of the room, adorned with golden lion feet.
An iron candelabra rests beside the tub, the lit candles dripping wax down onto the marble tile.
Rose petals float in the water, and I dip my hand, then gasp—it’s still warm.
Wasting no time, I undress, discarding the bloody nightgown, and moan as I sink into the water.
This bathroom is heaven. My hands rub gently against my skin, relieving the aches and washing the dried blood that has crusted on my inner thighs.
I slowly reach up between my legs, remembering the way the monster—Izcacus—was there.
I can’t believe that I let him feast upon me despite the necrosis rotting his face.
His body resembles a cadaver more than anything alive, but I can’t bring myself to regret it. Or him.
I study the veins of black mold trailing like ivy up the marble walls as my head rests against the edge of the tub, but it’s not long before my mind returns to Izcacus.
I can’t stop thinking about him, the giant, gentle monster that lurks within these walls.
I debate for a moment before nodding my head once, decided.
After my bath, I will put on the pretty gown I’ve found and find him, because, for some reason, I don’t want to stay away.
“I have a surprise for you.”
My face lights up with excitement, though doubt casts a heavy shadow.
For a moment I’m convinced that my ears are deceiving me, because it can’t be possible.
Everyone in my life this far has shown me that I am forgettable, that no one thinks of me, let alone enough to surprise me.
Above all, everyone has shown me that I’m unworthy of kindness.
Useless girl.
“Really?” I ask softly, insecurity weaving its way through my tone.
My fingers pick anxiously at my nails, needing to tear the skin away until nothing is left but a festering hole.
Though the monster hasn’t given me any reason to doubt his words, it’s ingrained in me to hear lies instead of the truth.
Izcacus stands rigidly, like he’s frozen to the spot. For a second, I’m afraid that he has, and I resist the urge to prod him to check. He’s impossibly still, his face as blank as stone. But then his pointed ears twitch and he nods his head, brief and curt, before holding out his hand…to me.
Wonder and disbelief fill my eyes as I stare at his hand.
My heart feels like it will leap up through my esophagus, exploding out of my mouth in a burst of giddy happiness, like little fireworks set off in the night.
I’m learning as I spend time with Izcacus that soft edges and quiet kindness make up his heart.
He’s showing that there are goodhearted creatures in the world, and bruising cruelty doesn’t make up every being.
My teeth nibble into my bottom lip, but I can’t contain the smile that fights to break free and instead grab his hand. Izcacus looks away, as if embarrassed by the contact, and I glance up at him through my eyelashes, wondering if the light-blue tinge on his cheeks is his version of a blush.
That first, initial touch is always a shock.
His skin is as cold and hard as ice, but when his fingers wrap around my hands, our warmth melts away the sharp edge of frost. It’s a strange sight, his skeletal hand encompassing mine like gnarled roots around a long-forgotten ruin.
Tender touches are not something I’m used to, but I’m learning that they make my heart flutter.
When my mind isn’t being invaded by terrible thoughts that make me want to set myself on fire, I’m learning that I can enjoy the way I feel when with him.
Izcacus leads us outside, and with my claimed gown swaying around my ankles, I feel like the princess of this ravaged castle.
Everything I see, I find enamoring. Moonlight shines through fractures in the stone, and grass grows wild across paths.
We walk through open iron gates that hang crookedly, and I admire the haunting beauty of a graveyard.
Fallen, stone angels lie to the side, their faces eroded by weather.
The thought of death has always brought me comfort.
A mother’s embrace come to carry me to freedom.
Mist curls between headstones, and overgrown snapdragons and midnight hyacinths join twisted vines to ensnare sunken graves for themselves.
When I spot a clearing in the grass, nestled between tombstones blanketed with an ornate rug and surrounded by glowing lanterns, I gasp. It’s a beautiful setup, and when I realize that Izcacus has done this for me, I turn to him, mouth agape.
“I thought you might enjoy supper outside because the stars glow particularly bright, but if you prefer the castle, we can certainly go back.”
A lump forms at the back of my throat as emotion wells. This is the nicest thing that anyone has ever done for me.
“Perhaps I should have asked you first. I apologize. I do not mean to assume what you might prefer. I only wanted it to be a surprise. Hopefully a pleasant one.”
“It’s beautiful,” I tell him as I look up at his decaying face, but he again avoids my gaze. “Thank you.” I see the same blue tint adorn his cheeks in the moonlight.
“Please, do not speak of this to anyone. It shall tarnish the reputation that I wish to uphold,” he says stiffly.
My hand covers my mouth as I stifle a giggle.
This time I don’t miss the way a corner of his lips twitches up, and I find myself wondering about him and the hidden truths I’ve not yet uncovered.
Izcacus always speaks in such an old-fashioned way, and I know he’s old, like I-should-be-dead old, but I wonder what his age really is.
I won’t ask, though. I know it’s impolite to pose such a question, and I don’t want to upset him or make him mad.
Or make him hate me.
Sitting on the rug, I shuffle closer to Izcacus, finding that I would rather be nearer to him than farther away, as if gravity draws us together.
“Why do you want people to be scared of you?”
There’s a moment of silence as he deliberates his response.
“Monsters do not kneel, they do not beg, they have no masters. In fear, there is freedom. No one dares to chain me; the only rules are my own.”
If being monstrous means that I belong to no one but myself, then I can understand why he would want people to fear him. It would be a blessing to be free.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if I were more like him.