(Aesthetic "Don" by InkedWriter)
Don stood before a narrow window, gazing intently upon a crescent moon embedded in the blackened sky like a fragment of glass, casting glimmering moonbeams upon the vast, green terrain. His sudden intrigue of the silver host had him contemplating their coinciding fates, for it too was bound infinitely to darkness.
The notion drew him further into the deep chasm of his thoughts.
His eyes swept the countryside to the village scattered beyond the verge of the forest, and suddenly he recalled a bargain struck with a peasant.
His temporary lapse of his senses had resulted in a ridiculous idea, and now he was saddled with a peasant's daughter on the account of vexation. The man's daring and intrusion had certainly struck a nerve, and rather than cast the serf out as his instincts had forewarned him to do, he did quite the opposite. He truly hadn't expected the man to agree to his terms, let alone bequeath him a daughter without a word of protest. But desperate men did foolish things.
Don muttered a curse beneath his breath.
Much against his displeasure, he could not negate their arrangement, to do so would portray him contrary to what most believed him to be – a cruel, heartless blackguard of sorts.
And mayhap he was – for he fully intended to collect on his debt.
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Elle could feel her sisters' emotions, a combined static of outrage and fear, diffusing the air like uneasy threads that pulled terribly at her senses.
How could she have not known? How could she have not questioned the food and supplies mysteriously bestowed to them? But suddenly everything came into absolute clarity as to how they had fared better than others. Realizing every bit of it had come with a terrible price.
Stricken, her mother had fallen quiet, her silence disconcerting.
Elle could barely utter a word herself; in fact, words failed her entirely. There was nothing she could do or say to change the inevitable. She had mixed feelings about what her father had done and like her sisters, felt a semblance of fear and anger, but the other part of her sought to understand his motive, which must be grave to have driven him to the mercy of the Rossetti Beast.
The tension was too much to bear and no amount reasoning could alleviate that impalpable strain on the air. It wrecked havoc on Elle's senses and so she sought the evening, autumn breeze hoping to relieve her of that visceral pressure. But as she wandered outside and stood amidst the village her ears began to burn with the hiss and buzz of the villagers. What her father had done had spread like wildfire and now their murmurs carried garrulously to her ears.
"The beast demanded a daughter as payment," an older man divulged, whom Elle recognized as Lionel Bouchard, the blacksmith of the village, "And Duncan agreed!"
"Surely to ravish the poor girl," Bouchard's wife, a short-winded woman as a result of her rotund size, proclaimed with an audible note of empathy and fear. She was a woman of astringent manner and often kept the Bouchard men on their toes.
"Clearly not the dark-haired one," Abram Bouchard, their son, attested, unconcerned with her proximity as he added insensitively, " – she is not as comely as the other two."
"Shh!" Mrs. Bouchard admonished, "Hold your tongue, Abram!"
"What use could the Beast possibly have of her?" the younger man asserted, emphasis clinging to the word her, and Elle could just picture Abram motioning to her with a wave of his hand. "She cannot see, for pity's sake!"
"But she can certainly hear!" the woman hissed followed by a resounding smack.
Elle felt their probing stares, labeling her the odd and frail Duncan. They thought her incompetent and a burden to her family. She felt a measure of their pity and fear of what they did not understand – her blindness. They took extra precaution in avoiding her, placing a considerable distance between her and them; fearful they too would succumb to a fixed darkness. Their reactions towards her were nothing short of being human, but it didn't make it any less hurtful to be the recipient of their prejudices. It made her feel – estranged. She didn't fit among them. She didn't fit with her family. They didn't understand her lack of sight and how it came to be; only that she was different from the lot of them and that warranted an arsenal of harsh judgment.
Her hands fisted at her sides. She wanted to scream at them for their unabashed opinions, and their relentless staring she felt burrowing into her back. Aye, she was restricted to darkness, but her heart was all the same! And now her father had done an unspeakable act and that sanctioned more judgment, more malicious whispers on the autumn atmosphere.
It was enough to make her head ache. But she would not falter under their convictions. Instead, she seized her wooden staff that aided her steps and prodded her way through the assemblage of villagers with her chin tilted skyward.
She followed a path out of the village, appeased when the villagers' whispers softened to but a vague, incessant hum.
Elle knew not to stray far from the village. Her father had warned her continuously of the peril that lurked within the veil of darkness encompassing the forest at night. But she did not fear the darkness itself, not when she had only ever known darkness. It was a comfort to her.
The lulling sound of silence was soothing to her ears with only the occasional chime of crickets to render the sheen of black. A smile pulled at her lips as she tread along the perimeter of the forest, listening. She could hear a breeze entangling through the trees, rustling bent limbs, forcing leaves from their stems to a lazy, spiraling descent.
Without her sight, she would never venture into the wild-wood but merely scale the brim of it, listening to the stream of sounds that emerged from its depths.
And then she sensed it, whether from the prickling of unease that bristled beneath her skin, or within the current of sounds that assailed her, there was a particular unsettling to the air that raised the hairs at the nape of her neck.
She felt a presence even before a grim, velvety voice resounded from the dark. "A maiden like you should not tarry at nightfall."
Elle stiffened, all her senses resonating with warning. The haunting voice was unlike any other she had ever encountered. It was like fine black velvet disguising rough, jagged edges. A blend of raw emotions, so compelling and ominous, weighed its deep timbre.
Her heart hammered against her breast, its frantic pull so loud on her ears she feared even the stranger could detect its wild rhythm.
And then she recalled his remark and felt a touch of irritation flit through her, "A maiden like me, sir?" she challenged, undismayed.
There was a sudden rustling and her heart turned over with a flickering of alarm. The stranger had dismounted, and how she had not heard his horse approaching, confounded her. She was normally very attentive of her surroundings but this stranger, this man, had managed to catch her unaware.
Her heart accelerated with every step that brought him closer, strays of grass crunching beneath his boots as a dark and tantalizing scent assailed her nose.
"Beautiful and alone."
Elle gasped, startled by his proximity as his warm breath fanned her forehead. And though she could not see him, she felt the magnitude of his size in the air as it all but governed her darkness.
He stood above her, so close that if she reached out her fingers would graze him. Her thoughts reeled objectively at the thought of touching a complete stranger and inherently she took a step back. Her throat constricted feeling suddenly coarse as she remembered what he had said. She'd been certain he'd meant her blindness, but wondered now if he had even noticed.
She raised her chin and answered without a hitch in her breath, "I am not far from the village, sir."
"Ah, but even the little distance that divides you and your village leave you entirely at my leisure, would you not agree, little nymph?"
Elle paled, quelling the urge to retreat even further. Was he trying to frighten her? Despite his efforts, she detected a hint of humor beneath that rich baritone. However, he needn't say a word for his very presence alone accomplished the feat of fear.
Her fingers tightened around her wooden staff, "Have you something in mind, sir?" she demanded somewhat taken aback by her own boldness. What on earth had compelled her to say such a thing? For if this man had any intent of harming her, there was no one there to gainsay him.
(Aesthetic "Elle" done by InkedWriter )
The delightful woman before him rendered Don wordless. Most women would have fled screaming at the mere sight of him, but all women he had encountered had not been blind. He had noticed that when first he laid eyes on her. She did not peer at him but rather past his shoulder whilst clutching a gnarled length of wood.
If only she knew as to whom she addressed, mayhap then she would flee to the village. But nay, she stood her ground, unafraid with but a rough cloak about her slender shoulders that gave way to the drab skirts of her dress. Tendrils of raven-black hair trailed the curve of her jaw, escaping from the restraint of its plait.
The moon favored her, as if she were derived from it. Her ivory skin prompted an unusual, inexplicable urge in him to run his fingers the length of her cheek. And though she was blind, aside from her straying gaze, her doe-eyes gave no indication of it. Fringed in thick, downy lashes, they were the color of a deep, sable brown. And her mouth, a soft pink, appeared full and pliant – ripe for kissing.
Don stiffened, taken aback by that passing thought. Why should this black-haired maiden rouse such a staggering whim? Mayhap it was contributed a lot to the fact that she was disarmingly beautiful, so much so, that it revived an emotion in him that he thought hadn't existed. And he had an inkling that she knew very little of just how beautiful she was. How long had he endured the dark, loathing it, embracing it, devoid of light and all things lovely? And here stood beauty fashioned in a cloak of darkness, her dark eyes unseeing of the monster before her.
A wry thought suddenly occurred to him, "What if I wanted to kiss you, little nymph? What say you to that?" His eyes inadvertently settled on her mouth. What at first had been an attempt at grave humor, suddenly flared into a perilous kindling of something akin to desire. The shock of that carnal awakening rendered him stunned and for a fleeting moment he dared to wonder what it would be like to a sample a taste of a moon-derived maiden.
A cynical grin tugged at his mouth as his eyes did a cursory sweep of her. He wouldn't have asked another woman, nay, but she intrigued him. She smelled alluringly of fresh rain and jasmine as though she had rested amid a patch of grass strewn with it. He reached out a hand as if to touch her but quickly withdrew it.
"I would advise against it, sir." She answered, taking an involuntary step back.
His muscles tensed at her retreat, dousing his humor, reminding him all too well of his darkness.
Don scowled. What was she doing out here alone anyway? Did she not know the dangers that could befall such a woman? Did she not realize the present danger?
His expression blackened and his mouth formed a hard, grim line as he replied, "'Tis wise of you, maiden." Then recalling his purpose, added, "Mayhap it best you return home – lest I abandon all courtesy."
He stalked away from her and mounted his horse, sparing her one last glance before nudging his steed onward.
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