Chapter 6
Chapter six
Consuming Dreams
Annabel
Sleep refuses to come, scraping raw against my nerves.
I twist beneath heavy blankets that offer no warmth as my mind prowls restlessly through the shadows.
When exhaustion finally forces my eyes closed, the castle does not grant peace.
Instead, it drags me into its depths, eager and merciless, seizing my dreams as if they are its rightful prey. What does it want to show me?
Suddenly I am back in the great hall, which is vast, echoing, and stripped to its bones.
No velvet gowns or jeweled laughter… not a single silver tray.
The marble table stretches before me, a slick black mirror that reflects nothing but the emptiness around it.
Candles line the tabletop, their flames cutting crimson, bleeding thick rivulets of wax that slide down the sides and pool on the table in silent, accusing puddles.
Smoke curls upward, twisting into thorns that encircle me, pressing close, tightening. I swear I can feel them prick my skin.
I stand at the head of the table, my pulse wild and my breath barely a whisper.
Across the marble, he waits, Lucien, the Beast. He does not sit.
He does not retreat to the throne but stands tall, motionless, watching me with a gaze that cuts through the gloom.
The faint candlelight glances off his features, casting shifting patterns on the walls.
His face emerges and fades, sharpened by shadow and doubt.
His face I almost recognize yet belongs to someone I can’t name.
I strain to see him, but the harder I try, the more his features slide away from my memory’s grasp, leaving only the uneasy feeling that he is both stranger and something achingly familiar.
A sudden heat blooms on my wrist, and the mark glows fierce and golden.
I stare as chains unravel from the burning symbol, metallic serpents that slither across the marble and coil around him.
The chains bind us, their links pulsing in rhythm with my heart.
Each beat draws them tighter, until I feel the tension in my veins.
He speaks then, and his voice pours through the hall, deeper than thunder and colder than ice. “Do you fear me now?”
The words shudder my bones and echo through the emptiness, threatening to shatter me from within.
I try to answer, to shape my terror into sound, but my mouth will not obey. I open my lips, but silence spills out, thick and suffocating. The air is heavy with everything I can’t say.
He moves closer to me. With each step, the chains drag him nearer, or perhaps he pulls them; I can’t tell. Shadows billow out and encircle my body, pressing against my skin like velvet and smoke. My chest tightens until I can’t breathe.
He lifts his hand, his skin gleaming in the candlelight.
I brace myself for pain, every muscle locked and waiting.
But instead, he touches me with the tenderest tracing of the line of my jaw.
It’s so gentle, my heart stammers and skips, then races.
The sensation lingers, icy and electric.
I tremble, unable to move, unable to speak.
My lips part, not with words, only with breath. Each inhale is a rebellion, each exhale a plea.
The candles hiss, their flames bending inward as if craning to watch. The hall grows even darker, filled with silent witnesses.
He leans closer, his breath grazing my cheek, hot and intimate.
“It is not your fear I crave,” he murmurs, his voice so soft, it curls around my heart.
“It is this.” He hovers, so close I can taste the tension between us.
His mouth lingers a breath away from mine.
I see the desire in his eyes, and I find myself wanting to feel his touch.
I ache for it. But I don’t know if this is real or if I am just feeling this way because of the curse.
A scream erupts, tearing through my dream.
Roses burst from the shadows, their thorns snapping outward, sharp and glistening red, each dripping blood.
The chains seize my wrist and squeeze until the mark blazes, agony shooting up my arm.
I cry out, my voice ripped from me as Lucien’s face blurs, dissolving into pure darkness.
I can’t tell if he is pulling me closer or pushing me away.
All I know is pain, fear, and the cold certainty of the disappearance of his passion.
Awakened, I bolt upright in bed, my breath ragged, sweat cold on my skin. The window shows only dark. My wrist burns, pulsing in time with my racing heart.
I press my palm against my burning wrist, whispering to myself, “It was only a dream.”
But in the silence, the castle seems to murmur back, “Dreams are where truths dare to speak.”
A shiver consumes me as I pull the covers close and lie back down.