Two weeks away from her beloved household passed in a blur of odd emotions. Fear. Sorrow. Confusion. Rosalind found herself needing to stay in her room for longer spells, only coming out for dinner when she was summoned. She did not crave exploring, not even tip-toeing downstairs to witness any of the lord's new kills.
The dream lingered thick in her consciousness. The strange desire calling to her was not welcome. Her mind continued a terrible game of cat and mouse with her thoughts. When she closed her eyes, she saw the monster morph, if only for a second, into a man. She saw herself call for him as she stood knee-deep in an unfriendly flurry.
When Rosalind was called for dinner, she kept her head hung and her words minimal. She did not want to see Caspian. She did not want to partake in any sort of conversation. Once, when she briefly looked up at him, she caught him looking intensely at her, his head lowered and his gaze raised. Those blue eyes spoke of snow and ice, of parts of her dream where she wanted him.
Every question or comment of the lord's was greeted with either a handful of words or complete silence. One night, Rosalind looked away from him so quickly that she nearly knocked her cutlery down in her haste to fill her mouth with food so she would not have to speak. When Lord Caspian set his own knife and fork down and asked her why she suddenly craved this deafening silence, Rosalind whispered, 'If you want words come pry them out of my mouth."
Each passing evening grew quieter until one night, the lord sat down in silence and did not speak to her. Not a single syllable. The food was bitter upon Rosalind's tongue. The wine was dry. When Caspian left the table, she longed to run after him and beat him with her fists until his true self came to her and slaughtered her on the dining room floor. Let me continue to hate you, her mind screamed.
On the night of her fifteenth day, she set the book she was reading down, the red cover facing up, and walked to her bedroom door. The embers in the fireplace crackled delicately and gave off a soft orange glow, but Rosalind was too far away to enjoy the heat. Standing by the door, she felt the familiar chill. In her nightdress, she shivered. Her bare feet sucked up the cold coming underfoot. When she touched her ear to the wood, she thought she heard the sound of music.
The door opened with a faint creaking sound. Rosalind placed a toe on the cold floor and the chill ran all the way up her thigh. Somewhere from the room with the white wolf's hide, came a glorious sound.
Rosalind wrapped her arms around herself. Not bothering with slippers or a shawl, she walked the length of the stone floor towards the other room. As the music got louder, she recognized the sound of a violin being played. The melody was an oasis in a desert, the hand of God in a turbulent sea. Standing now inches from the door, she listened to the violin serenade her weary soul.
The notes floated in the air. Tendrils of music wrapped themselves around Rosalind, pulling her in a warm embrace. It was the sound of love. She felt herself relaxing for the first time in a long time. Closing her eyes, she leaned fully against the door.
The bow must have been in expert hands. The strings sang like a church choir in the gloom of the lord's manor. Rosalind found it odd Lord Caspian even allowed something so wonderful to partake in all the misery.
Perhaps he turns a deaf ear to the sound, she thought, A man like him could not possible respect or enjoy something so divine, could he?
She desperately wanted to see who the musician was yet at the same time Agnes' words floated around in her mind, reminding her that the occupant was not the sort that desired company.
With a heavy heart, she moved away from the music. Rosalind allowed the violin to accompany her half-way to her chamber before her and it parted. And nothing but silence remained.