Cursed

10. Belle's Sanctuary

10. Belle's Sanctuary


I Can't believe this is happening. This can't be happening. How is this even possible? Nothing like this ever happens in California. I hate the UK.

I turned the key to lock the door then plopped onto the enormous bed and cried into a pillow. My dad has been carried away by a chair. I am the prisoner of a beast. The dresser in the room is trying to comfort me and the candleholder on the table beside my bed just lit itself. I gave myself permission to freak out.

“Don't cry my dear,” said the dresser while one of its doors opened to display a large variety of dresses, “look at all the pretty dresses I have here for you.” One look at the dresser and I only cried harder.

...

I woke up the next morning confused. Where was I? I was laying in an enormous bed covered in excessive plushy pillows. I was in my usual jeans and a T-shirt, my boots were kicked off on the floor and one of my socks was missing while the other was only half on. I never was able to keep socks on while I slept.

I sat up, found my other sock and snapped them both into place. I took a long look around the room and last night's impossible events came flooding back to me.

I rolled off the bed and crept to the door and unlocked it. I twisted the knob slowly and peeked through the door. A candleholder greeted me cheerily.

“Good morning, miss,” it bowed, “the master wishes you to join him for breakfast, follow me please.” I shut the door, locked it and snatched the key out of its hole. There was a knock on the door.

“Miss?” Another few knocks.

“I–I'm not hungry,” I chocked. I held the key too tightly and the grooves pressed into the inside of my hand painfully.

“The master wishes that you join him, you don't have to eat,” the candleholder called through the door.

“No.”

“Miss...”

“I don't want to!” The candleholder didn't answer but I could hear it conferring with other voices outside my door in a hushed tone.

“What shall I tell Lord Daurien?”

“He won't be happy.”

“Why don't you try to reason with her.”

“Why don't you?”

“I already did!”

“Stop, stop bickering. I'll try.” More knocks.

“I'm not coming out. I don't want to come out.” I yelled.

“May I come in?” The voice was female.

“Leave me alone!”

“Surely you are hungry?”

“Go away!”

“It's no use,” said the voice. My back hit the wall with a thump and I found that I had been backing up as I was calling through the door. I heard clattering as whoever or whatever were outside the door left me to myself and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

“Hmm, not particularly polite, is she?” A chair commented from a far corner of the enormous room. Honestly, it was probably not much smaller than our whole London apartment.

“Shut up and look who's talking,” huffed another. I sat on the edge of the bed and watched them with wonder.

“Refusing to join one's host for a meal is extremely rude,” said the first

“Have you not been listening at all to the current events of the manor? The poor girl didn't exactly choose to stay,” answered the second.

“I have been listening, and quite intently, I might add. And she did, too, she chose to stay in place of her father.”

“It wasn't much of a choice, if you ask me, and it was a particularly brave thing to do.” They continued to discuss me for quite some time and eventually I grew tired of it and crawled back into the bed.
I wriggled under the covers and pulled them over my head. I had made myself a little sanctuary like I used to when I was little and I was scared of the monsters under my bed. My mom had taught me to do it. She used to join me in my bed and pull the covers over both of our heads like I had just done and tell me silly stories. They were about how the monster under my bed was more scared of me because I was a big girl and already potty trained and he wasn't and that he had so many legs that they always got tangled in knots so he couldn't get out from underneath the bed even if he did want to scare me. Things like that. I felt a lump in my throat like I always did when I thought of my mom.

I felt the back pocket of my jeans for my phone and pulled it out. Eighteen percent battery. Oh well, it's not like I had reception anyways. I slid it back into my pocket.

I don't know how long I hid there but my stomach growled and I grimaced at my situation. I won't leave this room. It growled again.