Seeing Beauty – Chapter 3
I spent several minutes going around the room. There were enough colored threads and needles and muslin in the cabinet by the chairs to keep me occupied for months, even if I did nothing else. I paused to look out the window closest to the hearth, letting the fire dispel some of the chill. Looking down from this height, I could see most of the garden—this room must have one of the best views in the house. Below me, two figures appeared, moving quickly along the path still marked with our footprints. I recognized the courier as one. The other was a young woman, clutching her cloak around her and—I could think of no other word—fleeing. That fit with Hanne. What was so awful about this house or its inhabitants? I turned away from the window, stepping closer to the fire. I watched it dance among the logs until I was warm enough and calm enough to continue my exploration. There wasn’t much else here besides the bed and the wardrobe and a table with a washbasin and pitcher. The water in the basin was cold, but I splashed my face and felt a little refreshed.
I opened the doors to the wardrobe and looked through the dresses slowly. Each one was fit for a princess. I ran my hand over the fine fabrics in awe. Papa occasionally got expensive commissions, but he and Mama took on those themselves; we girls only ever worked with the common materials. And how much these gowns must have cost! There were dozens of them, crammed together in the oversized wardrobe.
I turned away from them, overwhelmed. I hadn’t seen a single dress for ordinary wear—or an ordinary girl—in the entire collection. I looked down at my own dress and coat, which seemed dull and worn after the finery in the closet. But they were comfortable and homey, and I didn’t want to give them up. I sighed. What was I going to wear for dinner?
I was facing the bed now, and as if in answer, I saw something I hadn’t noticed before. Two gowns were laid out over the near edge of the bed. The first was all pink and gold and almost blended in with the counterpane. The second was silk as blue as the sky on a spring day, with pearls dotting the creamy lace insets. I walked over to them, unable to take my eyes off the blue one. I wanted to wear it so badly, but who was I to wear such a dress? Without consciously deciding to, I began unbuttoning my coat. I slipped it off and laid it on the bed. The room was cold, even with the fire going. I pulled my dress off over my head and laid it with my coat, then reached hesitant fingers toward the blue dress. No harm in just trying it on.
It fit beautifully, sitting just off the shoulders, with layers and layers of silk and lace flowing like a happy waterfall to the floor. I don’t think I breathed for a whole minute as I looked down at it, turning this way and that to see all angles. It was like something out of a fairy tale, something not made by human hands. I swallowed hard and took it off.
The pink dress fit me well too. It covered my shoulders and seemed to have fewer layers of fabric, though some of the trim looked like real gold leaf. One commission like this would feed my family for months.
I found a comb on the table with the washbasin and ran it through my hair, braiding it again carefully. At home I didn’t care if loose strands escaped the braids—my hair was just curly enough to make it hard to work with, not like Grace’s or Joy’s, which were perfectly straight—but here, in a dress like this, I wanted to look at least presentable. Ribbons of all colors were in a box in the wardrobe. I chose a white one for my hair.
When I’d finished, I realized that I had no idea how much time had passed. There was no clock in my room, and I hadn’t heard any tolling from elsewhere in the castle. I didn’t want to be late for dinner, or for finding out what horrors to expect here, so I left my room and walked the long hall back to the staircase. Butterflies were multiplying in my stomach, and I paused on the landing to take a deep breath.
Nothing awful has happened yet, I told myself sternly, my fingers tracing the edges of the rose pendant at my throat. It’s actually quite nice here so far.
So far didn’t help the butterflies any. I continued down the stairs.
The dimness of the entrance hall was unnerving, I admitted to myself. Unlit torches and candelabra lined the walls or stood on side tables. Two doors stood closed on one side of the hall. On the other, one half of a pair of double doors was cracked open a hand’s breadth, and the faintest glow spilled out. I pushed it open tentatively, just enough to poke my head around. I blinked. The room, large and echoey, didn’t smell musty or unused like most of the castle I’d just walked through. But there was another smell, a live, wild kind of smell, that didn’t seem to fit—with the room or with anything I’d ever encountered before. I hesitated in the doorway for a moment, trying to figure it out. I took a deep breath, still mystified, and stepped inside. The flickering candlelight I’d seen a hint of in the hall gleamed on porcelain and silver and a creamy white tablecloth, and I could see steam rising from the covered dishes lining the long table.
My stomach growled. I took a step nearer. A motion caught my eye, and I froze. Something was moving at the far end of the table. I stared hard but couldn’t see it clearly. It was coming closer, whatever it was. My heart galloped. My mouth was dry. About halfway along the table, a particularly large candelabra cast more light than the others, and as the thing passed by this, I saw it a little more clearly. I screamed.
It froze and watched me. I could see its dark eyes glittering. It was huge, as tall as the table even as it walked silently on all four feet. Its fur was dark, and I couldn’t make out its face, but I saw a long tail twitch.
We stared at each other. I had the feeling that the creature was waiting to see what I’d do. Would I keep screaming? Would I run? I wanted to scream again, but I bit my lip instead, so hard I tasted blood. What was the good of screaming? Was there anyone else in this place to hear me? And wouldn’t they be on the monster’s side? My feet were glued to the floor.
Out of the silence came a deep voice that growled like distant thunder. “You have nothing to fear.” I started shivering uncontrollably. “You are welcome here, Anora.”
I squeaked and bit down harder on my lip. When I’d gotten my nearly-escaped scream under control, I asked, “How do you know my name?” My voice shook.
“I’ve been expecting you,” the creature said, still not moving from his place halfway along the table.
I let out a whimper.
“You have nothing to fear,” he—it had to be a he—said. “I will not harm you.”
I worked up the courage to speak again. “Why am I here? What is going to happen to me?”
“Nothing,” rumbled the distant-thundery voice. “Consider this your home, for as long as you wish to stay.” He let out a breath that might have been a sigh. “And if you cannot bear to remain near me any longer, you may go at the end of one year.”
It was hard to read expressions in a voice that was a mix between a growl and a storm, but I thought he sounded forlorn. My shivering subsided, and I asked again, “But why?”
“This castle is big and lonely,” he said. I definitely heard the sadness now. We watched each other a moment longer. He said, “You must be hungry.”
I wasn’t sure my appetite had survived the encounter, but I nodded.
“Sit, then, and eat. You are safe here.”
I hesitated, fighting with myself. I wanted to run back to my room, but I didn’t want to anger him by not doing what he asked. I unglued my feet and tottered to the nearest chair. I fell into it gracelessly.
I lifted lids and half-filled my plate with potatoes and vegetables, roasted chicken, still-warm buns. But there was more food on that table than my entire family would eat—we could have hosted all the neighbors and still had plenty. Was this food for the creature too? He must have a massive appetite. A memory of fairy tales I’d heard as a child, of evil enchanters and monsters who had fattened children up before eating them, drifted through my mind. That wasn’t what was happening here, was it? I swallowed hard. No—I’d seen the last girl leave, and I’d seen Hanne when she’d come home. But my appetite had disappeared completely.
I took three or four bites because the creature was watching me, but I could do no more. I pushed my plate away and stood up.
“Forgive me,” I said. “It’s been a long journey, and I’m very tired.”
“Yes,” the creature rumbled. “I wish you a good night.”
I dropped a curtsy as I’d been taught in school and slipped back out into the entrance hall. The darkness was even deeper as night fell outside, and I imagined monsters in all the corners, hiding in the blackness, ready to pounce. I fled up the stairs, lifting my skirts so I could run full tilt back to my room. Once there, I slammed the door, turned the lock, and leaned against it, panting. When my heart was going at a more normal speed, I went over to the dying fire. I built it up and sank into the chair. I stayed there until my eyes began to get heavy, which wasn’t long—the journey had not been short, and today had been overfull. I found a nightgown in the wardrobe, hung up the pink dress next to the blue, and climbed into bed.
I dreamed again that night. I was standing at the foot of a snow-covered mountain, just one in a range that spread in either direction. I’d never seen mountains in real life, but there was no doubting what this was, stretching all the way to the clouds. My teeth were chattering—I seemed to have come without a coat in the middle of winter. I hugged myself and gaped at the mountain. As I watched, snow at the peak began to come loose, tumbling over itself, loosening more and more snow as it rolled toward me, sending up a cloud of snow above the mass of whiteness roaring down the mountain. I heard a voice beside me and looked—it was the same man from the dream before. He looked from the mountain to me, holding me with his dark eyes.
“Help me stop this,” he said again. “It will bury the villages at the foot of the mountain.”
“How?” I asked, turning back to the avalanche. Not even an army could have stopped the rush of snow and ice, and I didn’t have an army.
“Please help me,” he pleaded one last time.
It was a wall of whiteness coming toward us, a flood of snow rushing over us. It filled my nose and mouth and eyes, and it hurt to breathe.
I woke up in the darkness. It was freezing in my room. My teeth were chattering. The air was cold in my lungs. I was in the big bed alone—no sisters beside me to help me stay warm. I stumbled out of bed and over to the fire. I stirred the embers and got the fire going again, then tripped back to bed and fell fast asleep.
Copyright 2025 by Eliza Prokopovits