Page 2 of Ruin & Desire
The man staggers forward, his grip white-knuckled around the rose as if its battered petals might shield him from damnation. When my looming shadowdrownsthe moonlight, he buckles,hisknees thuddingagainstthe cold, root-tangled earth. Fearconsumes hisbody,his breath comes in shallow,ragged gasps, and his eyes flit desperately between the rose and the darkness swallowing him whole.
I crouch nearer to him,myhorns scraping against the low-hanging branches.“Speak, trespasser. What drove you here, into the jaws of my curse?”
He swallows,andhisvoiceisragged.“My name is Henri, sir. My daughter’s name isAnnabel.”His voice shatters, spilling pleas for mercy andforgiveness,his words choked by sobs and terror.“She is all I have left in this world. After her mother died, it was just us. We have nothing, not since debt swallowed ourhomeand sickness took what little hoperemained. Last night, she asked for a single rose,something beautiful to mark her birthday, a reminder that happiness is not dead.”He lowers his head, clutching the wilting bloom tighter.“I stole it because I could not bear her sadness,couldn’twatch the light fade from her eyes. I thought,foolishly,that one rose might bring her joy.”
I lean closer,andthesilence of the forest grows heavier.“Soyou risked everything foryourchild’s happiness?”There was once a time when I would have done the same.But I am a different man now.
Henods,shame etched in everydeepline of his face.“She deserves better than this life of hunger and sorrow, better than a father whocan’tprotect her fromthe world’s cruelty. I have failed her in every way, save this…this tiny, foolish act.”Tears streak his cheeks.“I never meant to trespass, nordid I consider I was stealing fromyou. I only wanted to give myAnnabela moment of hope.”
My claws flex against the damp earth, rage simmering beneath my skin. Mercy, sentiment… These are weaknesses Irefuse toindulge. The law of my curse is absolute, and theft, no matter its motive, demands retribution.Henri’s pleas echothrough the groundsof my castle, but they do nothing to sway me.My heart,if it still exists, is forged in suffering and loss; pity is a luxury I abandoned long ago.
I prowl the edge of my domain,circling him likeprey,mysenses sharpened, letting the taste of his desperation fuel the darkness within me.“Stealing is a crime,”I snarl, my voice reverberating through the bones of the castle.“No love, no sorrow, no plea can absolve it.Youentered knowing the risks, and nowyoumust pay the price.”The roses shudder in wickedanticipation,theirthorns glistening, eager for the reckoning that is owed.
There is no forgiveness for trespass, and no exception for those who act out of desperation. Henri will pay, as all must, for daring to defy the curse that governs this place. This is the only justice I offer, and I will not be persuaded otherwise.
“Have mercy, sir,”hesays,stumbling.“I beg you.”He offers his life.He offershis soul,if only thisnightmarewill passhim by. Each trembling syllable betrays his horror,hisheart thundering in his chest as if it hopes to flee. The rosetrembles in his grasp, a pitiful talisman against the monster that will not be bargained with.
Pathetic, I think in disgust. This isfar too simple to satisfy the hunger gnawing inside me. Hissubmissionholds no challenge, no spark of defiance. The way hegrovelsand weeps is beneath even the monsters my legend conjures.Revulsioncoils in my chest, bitter and sharp, as I watch him tremble and beg. How effortless it is to break those who trespass, how hollow the victory when they offer themselves up without a fight.This is not what I had hoped for.I need a challenge.I need someone who will try to fight against me and my curse.
“Tell me about Annabel,” I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me. I know I shouldn’t go there. I feel the danger prickle on my skin, but I can’t resist the temptation.
Henri’s shoulders tremble as he draws in a shuddering breath. For a moment, he stares at the floor, as if summoning the strength to speak of the one bright light in his shadowed world.“Annabel…She is unlike anyone I have ever known,”hesays, his voice hoarse but steadying with every word.“My other daughters,theyleft when times grew hard, found husbands and new lives.Idon’tblame them. But Annabel?She is different.She cares for othersmore than herself.Shehasrefused every offer, every suitor, because she would not abandon me, her aging, broken father.”
He lifts hishead,eyes haunted yet illuminated by fierce pride.“Her strengthisn’tlike other girls’,sir. She does not weep for her misfortune,nordoes shecurse the fates that left us with nothing. Instead, she works beside me, never complainingyetcaring for our barren house and tending what littleremains. She sells what she can at the market, and when there is not enough food, she tells me she is not hungryso that I will eat, though I know she lies for my sake.She puts everyone before herself.
“Annabel’s loyalty is unyielding. She promised her mother, as she lay dying, that she would never let me fall into despair or destitution. She keeps that vow every day, facing hardship with grace and courage. Her sisters call her stubborn, but I call itdevotion. She is selfless to her core, sacrificing her own happiness so that I will not be alone in my old age.”
Henri’s hands tighten around the rose, petals bruisingbetween his fingers.“She is gentle with all who cross her path, kind even to those who have wronged us. The villagers respect her. They call her softhearted, but she is made of iron beneathherkindness. She is my strength, my hope. I do not deserve her, but she stays, nonetheless. She is…”He lets out a defeated breath.“Everything.”
“AndI gather from your most endearing tribute,she is what you love most?”I ask, knowing the answer, but still my question gives him hope that she will be spared.
“Yes, she is.”He bows his head again, tears glinting in his lashes.Realization dawns on his face,and hemust knowexactly why I am asking about her.And then regret shadows his face for giving me more information about her than he should have.His voicebecomeslaced withalarm.“If you must punish someone, punish me. Do not take her. She is goodness made flesh, and Ican’tbear tosee the lightin her eyes extinguish.”
“No.”My voice pours through the forest, deep and unyielding, aliving thing that rattles the marrow in his bones and makes thecastletremble. The roses drink in his terror,andtheir thorns rattlewith pleasure. I loom over him, my horns casting twisted shadows.“Bring me the one you love the most. Bring her to my gate and leave her,”I command, my wordsfirmand flat.“If you do not, I will come and claim her myself.”
He hugs the ground, sobbing, his body wracked with despair. The stolen rose shakes in his trembling grasp. The petals are already wilting, their deep crimson deepening to black as shame and guilt seep into its bloom. I know what drove him to pluck the rose. It was not greed or even thoughtlessness. It was desperation, a father’s desperate love for his daughter. He longs to give her one small piece of beauty in a life of hardship he knows he has condemned her to.
But he has no idea what he has condemned her to now.
This rose was meant for her, his most beloved child.She is the only light left in his shattered world. I envy that love.I envy that light.And while I understand his motives—truly,Ido—I donotcare.I haveseenherthrough his eyes,and I want her, nothing but her,for she is the only payment I will accept.She is the price he will have to pay.He has no other options.
As the iron gates groan and slowly uncoil, he clutches the dying flower as though it might save him. His eyes are wild, tears tracing muddy paths down his cheeks.
I feel nothing.
“Please,” he chokes out, his voice trembling, pleading again. “I beg you to take me, spare my child. Take anything, anything but her. She is pure and innocent.”
That is exactly why I must have her,I think to myself.
Istepfrom the shadows,myhorns silhouetted against the moonlight. My presence fillsthe night with dread. The roses hiss and twist, eager for blood.
“No,”I rumble, my voice rolling through the forest and rattling the iron.“Yourpleas arewasted here. Youknow what I want.Bring her to me,or I swear on that dying rose in your hand, Iwillcome and claim her myself.”I pause.“And trustme, youwould not wishthaton your worst enemy.”
Henri shudders, desperation flickering in his eyes. “You can’t mean it,” he whispers, still clutching the blackening rose in desperation. “She is all I have left.”
My gaze hardens, merciless.“Perhaps, butshe is all I want.Do this, or watch everything you love rot away, including her.”
A sob wracks his frame, but the gates groan wider, and the forest closes behind him, swallowing his presence as he crawls away. I trail my gaze to follow him, anticipating her arrival. I stop for a moment and think how surreal it is to actually be looking forward to something.
