Rosalind - Amby Awards 2023 TOP PICK

48- Bellua

Night came and Troy was nowhere to be seen. Rosalind spent hours by the window yet dared not get too close to the glass in fear of seeing Caspian's name again. When twilight turned from gray to black, a flock of magpies took to the skies in a cacophony of caws. The blackness of the horizon reminded Rosalind of the lord's wings. Ominous and savage. Looking up, she saw there were no more birds yet under a thread of light, a lone bat now flew.

Dinner was served on the silver tray. Agnes informed Rosalind that the lord would not be back until late. "He begs your forgiveness, my lady," the maid said, "but he has a pressing matter to attend to."

"Thank you, good maid," Rosalind whispered barely looking at Agnes as the maid curtsied and left the room.

The food sat barely touched, all but a few spoonfuls of soup which Rosalind ate with little interest. It was the jug of warm wine she found solace in and nearly emptied it by the time midnight crawled to her. With the goblet pressed against her chest, and her head gently swimming, she watched the fire die in the hearth.

The sound of horses' hooves pulled Rosalind out of her silent thoughts. They echoed from the outside and came to grab her attention as the sound of the violin had. Setting the goblet down with a clank, she bolted up and ran to the window so fast she nearly lost her footing. Her palms fell flat against the glass, her heart thundered like a ravished beast's. But there was no one outside, nothing in the snow except the tell-tale signs that Caspian's steed had been there seconds ago.

The room began to sway as the full effects of the drink intoxicated her further. Stepping back, she felt as though she had been physically hit. In the pit of her stomach, there was an ache so grand it made her double over and crumble to the floor. She drew in ragged breaths, each one as labored as the next. Rosalind's mind spun with confusion. Do not do anything you will regret. Sitting with her back to the wall, she wrapped her arms around her legs and willed herself to calm down.

Silence unfurled at her feet. Everything was so still that she was able to hear her own heart beat. If it had not been for that perfect hush, she would not have detected the gentle tap against her door, like someone had leaned something carelessly against the wood. "Caspian?" she uttered though her thoughts whispered, Troy. Rising and steadying herself, she straightened her dress and staggered to the door.

When Rosalind opened it, a book fell at her feet. Around her, the hall was as silent as the fall of snow. She wanted to call out a name but was not sure whose she should speak. The candelabras gave off little light as only a few remained lit. Rosalind could not see to the end of the hall. She did not see the pair of blue eyes watching her. Picking up the tome, she closed the door and headed to her bed.

A book bound in black leather sat on her lap. On the front, a single word was stamped in scarlet print: Bellua. Rosalind opened to the first page where an inscription lay. The exquisite penmanship violated the immaculate white page in black ink. Rosalind read out-loud, "Sunlight and shadow are the same. Caspian."

The room spun as soon as she spoke his name. He had not signed it Lord Caspian, but rather Caspian, making it more intimate. Rosalind brought the book to her face and breathed it in. The aroma of wine tinged with the slightest scent of copper blended with the old leather. She felt the tome press against her lips, the letters created small imprints on the otherwise smooth cover. Rosalind felt the lord's presence. It was as though he was sitting behind her on the bed. The thought made her mind fuzzier than the wine did.

Setting the book on her lap, she smoothed her hand over the cover and read the title again. The old Latin word watched her with red eyes. She dipped her fingers in the small craters the letters had made, then she whispered, "Beast."

The hush of the night found her emerged in the poetry book. Every stanza had been hand printed in the finest of penmanship. When Rosalind flipped back to the inscription, she realized Caspian had written the whole book. "Surely, he cannot..." A poet's heart could never reside in a monster like him, could it? There were twenty or so poems, each one bleeding out the anguish of love and desire. Hunger and need were spoken in black ink.

Rosalind turned a few pages. Her gaze fell upon a random piece and upon the second line of the third stanza of a poem titled Epigraph. Silently, she read. Though death comes closer, a reminder of what was lost. I bleed epigraphs as I think of you.

She drew in a breath and let the words seep into her very existence. "Another," she uttered and turned a few pages forward. "There lies no monster, no Devil nor God who dares from darkness to promote me."

The words were volatile. Every line leaving a small eruption within her. "More..." she whispered to the empty room and continued to read.

Tendrils of light on the wall, cast by a lone candle, swayed. From the cracks, the phantom-woman watched Rosalind. Serpentine arms draped around a bedpost. Her long dress flowed from bed to door. Inching to glance over Rosalind's shoulder, the figure listened to Rosalind as she read out-loud. "We are of feral heart. Of brittle bones of ash and soot." When the shadow-woman placed her hand upon Rosalind's shoulder, Rosalind did not acknowledge her existence.

As the solitary candle began to die out, Rosalind felt herself getting sleepy. She shut the book and held it close. As her eyes closed, the figure watched her lay down and fall asleep.

In her dreams, Rosalind saw fire. But the blazes were quickly destroyed when snow and ice devoured them. She saw Troy's hand reaching for her and she slipped her hand in his. As Rosalind neared him, she felt an almighty pull in the opposite direction. As though she were captured by a strong gust of wind, Rosalind found herself floating further and further away from Troy.

The world around her turned silver; spectacular and bright. A cluster of butterflies followed her as she headed towards a tunnel of black. As she hid her eyes from the darkness, Rosalind heard the caw of crows.

"You are safe with me," said a voice, and a pair of hands pulled her into a Herculean embrace.

Rosalind melted against the man and buried her face in his dark attire. By the light of a thousand candles, she opened her eyes and saw Caspian holding her. His black wings enveloped her. His pale arms held her tightly. When he hooked a finger under her chin she looked up and saw the electric blue of her eyes. "You will always come back to me," he spoke.

Rosalind lifted her hand and brought them to Caspian's face. The monster lurked behind his ghastly appearance, yet somewhere the man she desired remained.

"Do you want me?" he asked, his voice a low growl. When he pulled her closer, Rosalind felt every inch of him pressing against her.

She fought the maddening want to slide her hands all over his body and under his clothes until he knew her reply.

"Do you?" he asked again. His wings cocooned her as though they were to be one. The lord cupped her face and brought his own down to hers. "Tell me you desire me," he hissed, "That you want me inside you, writhing and worshiping you." Releasing her face, Caspian hand's moved to her wrists. Grabbing them tightly he brought them to his groin. "Tell me you want me."

"Stop! Stop!" The book fell onto the floor with a thud, thrusting Rosalind out of her dream. The darkness surrounding her was welcomed as it was a different sort of dark that the one she had just escaped from. Every ounce of logic clawed at her, begged her to take this dream as a nightmare. "Oh dear God," she cried and brought her hands to her face. "What is happening to me?" But no amount of praying would make her feel as though it were a nightmare. Rosalind wanted to crawl like some famished animal back into the dream where she would come before Caspian on her knees begging him to ravish her. Bringing her hands to her chest, she realized her room had never felt so lonely. Under the warmth of her palms, her heart raged. Rosalind swung her feet off the bed and grabbed the book. With all her strength, she hurled it against the wall with an almighty crash.