Chapter 7
Chapter seven
The Hall of Mirrors
Annabel
The castle is restless tonight. Its corridors breathe, stretching and sighing as though they have grown tired of the silence, and my dream weighs heavily on my mind.
Candles flare without warning, guiding me deeper into its shifting halls.
Shadows flicker along the walls, and I sense the wraiths lurking just out of sight, watching with hollow eyes.
Every so often, I catch glimpses of Erik moving between doorways or reflected in the glass of a passing window, but when I try to call out to him, or to any of the silent watchers, they do not reply.
I am not choosing this path; I have learned that my every move, the castle chooses for me.
Tonight I’ve been lured into an area of the castle I have not seen before.
And while I am hesitant, my steps are guided by a curiosity prickling at the edges of my unease.
As I approach a large set of double doors, they yawn open.
I pause at its threshold, letting my gaze sweep the space.
My breath is shallow. Mirrors fill the chamber, crowding it from floor to ceiling; their tall, slender frames stretch upward, impossibly thin, and their glass seems to ripple like water disturbed by a passing current.
Every surface glimmers with distortion, as if each reflection hides a secret waiting to be revealed.
My pulse flutters with anticipation. I can’t resist the pull, so I move farther in, fascinated by the way the mirrors catch the faint candlelight and throw it back in twisted ribbons.
Shadows swirl across my vision as I lean closer, peering into the warped glass.
At every angle, my own image is fractured.
My eyes are elongated, my mouth bends strangely, and the silhouette behind me flickers in and out of view.
The air feels charged, humming gently along my skin, as if the mirrors themselves are alive and watching, eager for me to step deeper into their embrace.
Suspense coils in my chest, each reflection promising more than mere glass, as though they might open to something far more dangerous than I can yet imagine.
I crave more.
I want more.
I need more.
I step closer to the mirrors, and my own image greets me in the reflection.
I am startled by my plainness. My chestnut hair tumbles wild and loose from its braid, stray strands catching the flickering candlelight like threads of gold.
My eyes, rimmed with exhaustion, seem larger than before, dark hollows echoing sleepless nights and secrets I dare not voice.
My lips, drawn tight with fear, press together as if holding back a trembling confession.
For an instant, I hardly recognize this girl; she is a stranger shaped by grief and dread, no longer the one who ran laughing through sunlight or trusted that her every step was truly her own.
A chill prickles along my skin as I realize how much has changed—how much I have changed.
But then, the glass stirs. The surface ripples as though a drop of ink has fallen into a moonlit pool.
My reflection warps and shimmers, features blurring and reforming, and my heart hammers in my chest. The air thickens, charged with possibility.
Anticipation roots me in place. For behind the trembling sheen of glass, something stirs, something wondrous yet terrifying waiting to be revealed.
The mirrors seem to breathe, eager to show me not just who I am but what I might yet become.
My mirrored self tilts her head back, exposing her throat in a gesture that is both surrender and invitation.
Darkness spills over the image, gliding across like velvet atop bare skin as it wraps her in a shroud of midnight silk.
The shadow deepens, seductive and possessive, as a claw traces the delicate curve of her neck, neither threatening nor restraining yet unmistakably claiming her.
Her lips part, trembling with a breathless gasp that pulses between pleasure and anticipation.
No fear exists in the reflection, only longing and the electric promise of his touch, as shadow and flesh entwine, dissolving the boundary between danger and desire.
I’m caught between longing and fear, and my breath hitches.
A feverish heat blooms across my cheeks and rushes down my neck, the sensation so fierce, it feels like a secret touch.
Shame pulses in me, hot and raw, but beneath its sting, a darker thrill unfurls, velvet and forbidden, heavy as midnight. Desire.
I stumble backward, the movement unsteady, as if the ground has turned molten beneath my feet. My heart drums wild and desperate against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that aches with anticipation.
“You feel it.” His voice, thick as smoke, curls from the shadows behind me and scrapes low and intimate against my skin. His breath is hot, his tone rough and threaded with desire, each syllable a caress.
I spin around to face him, drawn by the magnetic pull of his voice and the desire that pulsates through me. My body trembles with a new and dangerous hunger, hunger I haven’t experienced before but must sate. In this moment, I do feel it. I want him. I need him. And worst of all, he knows it.
The Beast steps into the torchlight, his horns casting cruel crescents along the walls. His coat bristles with stitched brambles, and his claws flex and scrape against stone. His eyes glow molten gold, a furnace burning in the hollow of night.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I feel it.”
He closes the distance between us, his presence looming.
An irresistible gravity draws me in. He turns me to face the mirrors and presses his body against my back, heat radiating through the fragile barrier of my nightgown, every inch of him a promise and a warning.
I feel the hard curve of his muscles as the shudder of his breath ghosts along the curve of my neck.
It is intoxicating and far too close, but I can’t make him step away.
His clawed hand circles around my waist and rests against my belly, firm but not cruel, bracing me for what I am about to see.
“Look in the mirror,” he commands, his voice a low growl that vibrates straight through me, half threat, half caress.
I want to refuse. Terror coils in my gut, icy and tight.
My chest heaves, and a tremor ripples through me as I stare at my own reflection, dreading what I might see.
The glass feels alive, its surface trembling with every shiver of my body.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a heartbeat, desperate to avoid whatever truth or horror might be waiting in the warped, haunted glass.
But his hand remains steady at my belly, grounding me, securing me against him.
The warmth of him behind me is inescapable.
My heart slams against my ribs in fear and something darker warring in my veins, while his command lingers in the air, demanding surrender.
As I slowly open my eyes, the world sharpens.
Every sensation amplifies, as if the mirror might reveal not only who I am but every secret I have ever tried to bury.
In the mirror, he is not the monstrous silhouette whose presence has terrified me since I arrived.
He is a man, a beautiful man. The harsh lines of his body are softened, raw and achingly human, his scars trailing like silver rivers along his skin, glimmering with the memory of lost warmth.
His face is hollowed by suffering, and shadows pool beneath his eyes, which burn with both longing and sorrow.
Grief is carved deep into his features, but it only heightens the devastating beauty that clings to him—a beauty broken, haunting, and yet irresistible.
Each ache and wound on his body tells a story that calls to me, and in those ruined planes, I see not only pain but hope, fragile and flickering.
Desire coils low in my belly as I study him. I am captivated, unable to tear my gaze from the tragic grace of his reflection. My fingers reach for the glass, yearning to trace the outline of his cheek, soothe the furrow of his brow, and offer comfort I did not know I craved to give.
“That is who you were before…” I whisper, my voice trembling with awe and something deeper, almost reverent.
I ache to turn and over my shoulder, desperate to glimpse the man I see so vividly in the mirror.
But when I risk a glance into the flickering torchlight behind me, he is not there.
Only the Beast stands in the gloom, his horns catching firelight and his eyes burning gold, monstrous and magnificent.
My heart aches with longing, torn between the reflection and the reality, the dream of the man and the shadow at my back.
His jaw tightens. A muscle jumps in his cheek. I turn back toward the mirror and see that his reflection remains a man, even as the Beast looms behind me.
“And that,” he growls, pointing at the glass, “is what you are becoming.”
I was so entranced by him that I neglected to really see my own reflection.
I watch as my mirrored self pushes against the man, her back arching for his touch, wanting him.
Her lips part and her eyes close, trusting him to give her what she wants.
When I realize what she wants, what I want, is for him to take her, I am ashamed.
He lifts a claw to my throat and it tightens slightly. I don’t believe he intends to harm me but to steady me. The darkness around me holds me not as a shroud but as an embrace. His embrace. And like a good little girl, I wait, poised for him to strip me bare and take me.
Heat surges into my chest, my throat, and my face and then reality crawls in. Trying desperately to regain my composure, I reply, “The mirrors are not reality. They do not command my spirit.” My voice shakes, but I speak as steadily as I can.
His hand on my belly releases its hold, and I take a step forward, trying to put some distance between us, but he steps in stride. His mere presence swallows me, cold and hot at once. My pulse thunders, but I lift my chin.
“Look. Look at yourself,” I demand. “That beautiful man is what you bury beneath claws and cruelty.”
The torches throw anxious shadows across the gilded walls, each flame shrinking as if the very bones of the castle recoil from my defiance.
The mirrors tremble on their hooks, as if they, too, fear what has been spoken aloud.
His breath catches, a sharp, broken sound that splits the silence.
His claws tremor as they flex wide, their talons gleaming dangerously in the torchlight.
The threat of pure unbridled passion is so close, it hums in the air between us.
For a single, trembling heartbeat, I am certain he will close the final distance, that he will seize me and rip the truth from my lips with teeth and claw, and I am both terrified and desperately yearning for it.
But then, without a word, he’s gone. Shadows consume the place he stood, blending him into the darkness between mirrors.
I stand alone, my heart racing so fast it hurts.
The gallery is silent, yet the mirror before me still reflects my body entwined with his. My throat is bared, my lips parted as though waiting… wanting him to take me.
My wrist pulses with heat. My throat burns with the echo of a touch that will never come.
I am mesmerized by what I see in the mirror. And yet, I hate that no matter how hard I try, I can’t look away.
Lucien
I am lost and defeated by her.
The mirrors have betrayed me.
I stalked into their gallery ready, with my claws bared, anxious to watch her fear, poised to drink it as I have so many times before.
But the glass did not obey as it was told.
It showed her not as the trembling prey I had asked for but a woman, a beautiful woman yielding to my command.
Her throat was bared, ready for the taking.
Her lips were parted, hungry for my kiss.
Her body, surrendered to a darkness that looked too much like my own.
Damn, I would have taken her right there in front of the mirrors.
“Fucking mirrors,” I groan. How dare they show her what I was? How dare they show her a man, scarred and broken yet still recognizably me? She was never to see my vulnerability.
I wanted to shatter every pane, to tear the frames from the walls and grind them to dust. But the mirrors held fast, immortal as the curse itself.
They forced me to see what I was, and they forced her to see me.
In turn, they forced me to see what she could make of me.
They forced me to fear her and what she could do to me.
That is unacceptable. She is supposed to fear me.
Her words had cut deeper than any blade. Still they press into the place where the thorns pierce my chest, a place I thought was long dead. She stepped into my shadow and forced me to look at the man I once was. I could not look away but knew I had to.
For the first time in years, I long for the man I was.
My castle bucked at her defiance. The torches choked, and the mirrors trembled. The curse screamed in my blood, demanding I silence her. My claws twitched, aching to close around her throat—not to crush but to stop her voice from unraveling me.
And yet…
I flinched.
It was the smallest recoil but enough for her to notice. I had no choice; I had to retreat into the shadows before her fire consumed me.
Her act of defiance unsettled me, I tell myself. And for that, her insolence deserves punishment.
But the truth, the unforgivable truth, is that for one heartbeat, I wanted it all to be real.
For one heartbeat, I wanted to be that man again.
For one heartbeat, I wanted her with an all-consuming desire, desire like I have not felt for many years.
And I have not wanted like that for an exceptionally long time.
The castle feels it and hates me for it. The walls groan. The roses hiss from the gardens, their thorns rattling in rage. They want me cruel, solid, and steadfast. They don’t want me shaken or broken. They want her broken, not burning with desire.
I curl my claws into my palms until blood wells between my fingers. The pain steadies me.
I am the Beast.
I am grief made flesh.
And I will not let her fire undo me.
And yet, even as I hold steadfast to what I am, I know her eyes will follow me into my dreams, showing me everything I could be with her.