The Eye of the Beholder (2012)

by Elizabeth Darcy

  This task is far too difficult, I thought irritably. Strangely enough, I found that a small part of me enjoyed the difficulty. I had thought my past life enjoyable, when everything had been simple for me. Now that life seemed dull indeed when compared to the challenging and baffling nature of my present circumstances. Perhaps my mind had simply lain dormant for too long. All I knew was that now that Mira was here to engage my intellect, I found myself feeling rather more alive than I had felt in hundreds of years.

  However, my apprehensions could not be denied. I felt as though I were attempting to cross a thin sheet of ice; a single misstep and I would plummet into the icy waters. It was a rather dramatic thought, but I knew that it was true. If I were to fail with Mira, I would die. It was as simple as that. The importance of this tour I was to give her could not be denied. It was imperative that she grow accustomed to my company, that she grow used to my appearance, or I could have no hope of success with her.

  "Shall we meet here after I have broken my fast?" she asked, her voice interrupting my thoughts. Her words seemed to come swiftly, and there was something of an anxious expression on her face.

  "Aye, that will do," I said, studying her.

  "Very well," she replied, and I could hear the relief in her voice.

  I puzzled over the cause of her anxiety for a brief moment before it occurred to me that perhaps she preferred to meet me in the library because she did not wish to see me in the corridor leading to her chambers. Perhaps she wished to feel as though some part of the castle was her own, where she would be safe from the sight of me. I was not pleased with this thought, and I was very loath to allow her this bit of sanctuary. My instinct, of course, was to rule by fear, but I had to force myself to the understanding that ruling her by fear would not serve my purposes any more than increasing her wariness of me would.

  Though I was unwilling to admit it, I was also secretly glad to stay as far away from her chambers as possible. They reminded me far too much of the past, and I did not like the power those remembrances held over me. My life was complicated enough without such added worry. If she wished for her own corner of the castle, I would force myself to grant it to her.

  "This is a very large castle. Have you lived here long?" Mira asked, reclaiming my attention.

  I turned my gaze to her and allowed myself the indulgence of looking into those beautiful and guileless brown eyes of hers. My experience with women was not extensive, as my being transformed into a beast just as I reached my prime had proved something of an obstacle. What I could remember of women were the courtiers who had been overrepresented in my court. They had always had such knowing eyes, eyes that spoke of the many schemes they devised in order to curry favor and gain power at court, eyes that spoke of just how far they were willing to go in order to achieve their goals. I had known full well that none of my courtiers had ever loved me. Every courtier, princess, or queen who had ever shown an interest in me, who had ever attempted to engage me in conversation, had done so simply because she wished to win me and to gain my power and wealth. Mira did not know who I truly was but, even so, I could not shake the conviction that if she did, it would not make a bit of difference to her. She was intelligent, but she was not scheming. I did not believe she would try to take advantage of another. There was something bewitching in that conviction.

  "I have lived here my entire life," I said, answering her question without exactly answering it.

  She seemed to sense that she was broaching one of the topics that I would not discuss, and she changed the direction of the conversation. "Are you fond of reading?"

  "I was, once," I answered.

  "Have you read many of the books in this library?"

  "Aye, I have read a good number of them."

  "Which books do you prefer?"

  I smiled slowly as I realized why she was asking such questions of me. "I suppose you wish to know so that you might draw conclusions about my character based on what I prefer to read."

  She frowned at me, and I knew at once that I was correct. "How else might I draw conclusions about your character? You share so little of yourself with me, and I am not certain it would be entirely fair of me to draw conclusions based upon what I have seen thus far."

  "I have no doubt that if you were to attempt to form my character based solely on what you know of me thus far, the results would be less than flattering to me. You strike me as the sort to wish to do justice by everyone, so I imagine what you really mean to say is that you are curious whether I possess some redeeming quality that you have not discovered."

  "Does it bother you that I feel your character is deserving of reproach?" she asked me pointedly.

  "I should think you know me well enough to be able at least to answer that question."

  "Then it does not bother you," she sighed.

  "It does not," I confirmed. "Why should I care what others think of me?"

  "You should not care what others think of you if your only object in caring is to conform yourself to their opinion of what you should be."

  "I take it you know something of this."

  "Perhaps."

  It seemed I had touched a nerve. Naturally, I could not resist probing a bit further. "I cannot say that I am surprised. You are, after all, very different from other maidens."

  "And what of it?" she asked, jutting that defiant chin at me.

  I smiled again. "Obviously you care little about what others think of you. If this is so, why do you berate me because I do not care?"

  "You willfully misinterpret me," she accused, leaning forward and fixing me with a fiery gaze.

  I was glad she met me with defiance again. When she did so, she let down her guard. She forgot to maintain her distance from me, and she forgot her resolution not to meet my eyes. I liked her nearness. It enabled me to study those intriguing eyes of hers more closely, to admire the lovely sheen that graced them when she became passionate about something.

  In truth, I liked her nearness far too well. I liked her abundant curls, her smooth skin, and her exquisitely sculpted features. The scent of lavender always clung to her, and I had begun to associate it with her. Even when she was nowhere near me, the scent of it instantly caused me to think of her. When she was near, the scent stirred something within me, an emotion I could not name and was reluctant to probe.

  The temptation was strong, and I was bafflingly weak. I leaned ever so slightly closer to her and smiled mockingly. "Oh, so you accuse me of willful misinterpretation simply because I see fit to point out your own hypocrisies to you?"

  Her nostrils flared slightly and her color deepened, rendering her lovelier than ever. Rather than withdrawing or protesting my proximity to her, she leaned even closer to me. "Hypocrisies!" she cried in an indignant tone. "How dare you call me a hypocrite! No, I do not care what others think insofar as their opinions will not force me to conform to their ideals of what a maiden should be. But I do care what others think in that I, unlike you, believe in showing kindness to others."

  "What does showing kindness to others avail you?" I asked, enjoying this little discussion immensely.

  "It is typical of you to think of nothing other than your own gain."

  "It is typical of me? And here I thought you were refraining from drawing my character until you knew something more of me."

  "Is it your intention to always frustrate and provoke me?" she blurted.

  "Nay, indeed," I said, feigning innocence. "Perhaps it is simply that you are far too easily provoked."

  "You are the most frustrating creature in the world," she declared. Her small hands were balled into fists, and she rose from her chair with an annoyed sweep of her skirts. I thought she meant to leave but saw that she had risen simply so that she could pace before the fire. Her color was higher than ever and she was truly beautiful in her anger.

  "And I suppose you are the world's most tractable maiden?" I asked, amused by the reaction I had provoked in her.

  "I do not doubt that you wish
I was."

  "See, you do not know me as well as you would like to think. You are very wrong about that. I would not have you be anything other than what you are."

  I believe the admission stunned me more than it stunned her. She stopped pacing and turned to stare at me in disbelief. I immediately felt uncomfortably warm, and I scowled darkly. At the expression, a glimmer of fear passed through her eyes and, for once, that fear did not please me. What pleasure was there to be derived from inspiring fear in her when I was such a monstrous, hideous thing? It was only natural that she should fear me. But in telling myself that I was provoked that she feared me because of my appearance and not because of the ability that my comely self had once possessed to inspire fear in others, I was lying. The truth of the matter was that I was provoked because I did not wish her to fear me.

  This was strange indeed. I had spent my life delighting in the power instilling fear in others had granted me, and suddenly I found myself wounded because Mira feared me. What was happening to me? What was this weakness to which I found myself succumbing? Why did what she thought or felt matter to me?

  "If…if you would b-be so kind as to excuse me… I am very tired…" Mira said. She appeared highly confused as she stumbled over her words and I waved a paw, causing her to fall silent.

  "Good night," I said.

  "Good night," she replied, fleeing so quickly from the chamber that her skirts streamed behind her as she exited.

  I found myself watching her go and wishing I had the power to say or do something that would make her stay. Irately, I rose from my own seat to retrace her steps, pacing restlessly on all fours before the fire.

  The years had somehow softened me, or perhaps it was because I found myself facing my own mortality. Whatever the reasoning behind it, I was growing to like Mira. I had told myself that I needed to spend more time with her so that I could win her over. I had told myself that I only wished to see her because I was determined to break the spell, but I had lied to myself. The truth was that I wished to see Mira simply because I wished to see her. It was madness, utter and complete madness, but I wished for it nonetheless.

  What is happening to me? What is this change? If I did not know her better, I would suspect her capable of the same sort of sorcery as the enchantress.

  But Mira was no enchantress, I knew this. Mira was just a maiden, a maiden who had once lived in a small cottage on the edge of the forest with her father and her two sisters. But she was so much more than this. Her beauty had somehow captured my notice, when every other beauty had failed to inspire a modicum of interest in me. She possessed a lively and intelligent mind, and a fiery and implacable will. If I so desired, I might try to break her spirit, but I knew that I would never succeed. She was strong, strong enough to defy me and live to tell the tale. No matter what I did or said, she would never bend her will to me, and I admired her for it.

  Unbidden, my mind replayed the words the enchantress had spoken all those hundreds of years ago. She had said that I must win the love of another but that I must also learn to love. For three hundred years, I had scoffed at the very idea of my learning to love anyone other than myself. I had been certain that I could feign love and break the spell but, for the first time, I was uncertain. Could the spell be broken if the maiden loved me but I did not love the maiden? Surely the enchantress must have seen that I was incapable of love. Why else would she have placed such a condition on her curse?

  But am I incapable of love? a small voice in my mind asked. Or have I simply convinced myself that I am incapable of it because I have never known it and worried that I never would?

  "This is madness," I growled insistently. "Love! What is love but weakness? And I am anything but weak! I have no need, no use for love. It is the curse that the enchantress has placed me under that is causing me to have such foolish thoughts. She was not satisfied with destroying my body; she also wished to destroy my mind!"

  The torment I felt was second only to the torment I had felt in the days immediately following my transformation. I, who had never doubted myself, found my doubts weighing so heavily upon me that they would not allow me a moment's peace. I wanted nothing more than to lock myself in the library and never again emerge, but I could not. If I were to lock myself in the library, I would never again see Mira.

  Retiring to my chambers offered me no abatement of the torment I suffered. I cursed myself for having destroyed the panes of glass in the windows, for the wind blew ceaselessly throughout the night and it seemed to me that with every gust, I could hear Mira's name and smell the beguiling scent of roses and lavender.

  Chapter 18

  Touring the Castle

  I could sense the nervous tension in the air the moment I rose from my bed. Apparently, Lysander had informed his servants of his intent to escort me on a tour of the castle. I watched in amazement as my normally composed maids raced about my chamber in what struck me as a state of near-panic.

  They wish for me to like their master, but why? They know I am his prisoner and cannot leave here by choice, so what does it matter whether I like him or not? Are they simply afraid of his wrath? But that does not make sense! Why should he be wrathful with them if I do not like him? As far as I can see, it seems as though he has never been particularly concerned with seeing to it that others are fond of him.

  I did not puzzle over these thoughts for long, for almost as soon as they began to tumble through my mind, I again felt the strange, unnerving thrum of energy. It seemed that the servants could feel it as well, for they looked at one another and then at me. Were they able to talk, I believed they would all have been chattering nervously at once.

  "I-is my meal ready?" I asked, for lack of something better to say.

  Instantly, the energy dispersed and the servants seemed to slump with relief for the briefest of seconds before they returned to their tasks. One of the maids nodded at me and raised a hand, gesturing toward my breakfast.

  "Thank you," I said.

  The strange energy and the nervous bustle of my servants had discomposed me, and I was able to eat little of my meal. I must have lingered over it for some time, lost in thought, for I was turning a bit of ham over and over with my fork when one of the maids gently rapped on the table in order to claim my attention.

  "Oh my, I have lingered overlong, have I not?" I asked.

  She nodded briefly at me, and I rose from the chair and rushed to my bathing chamber. I disrobed quickly and climbed into the tub, washing hastily. Wrapping myself in a towel, I hurried into the dressing chamber thinking that I should ask one of the maids to assist me. This was not necessary, for two maids were already in attendance in the dressing chamber. I saw that they had laid a gown and slippers out for me, but I was not able to examine them, for the servants immediately began dressing me, their fingers flying over hooks and laces. When they were finished, I was seated rather unceremoniously so that they could see to my hair. I was some distance from the looking glass, so I was unable to see what they were doing to me.

  At last, their work was done, and I stood up from the chair and looked at them. They looked at one another and then at me, both of them nodding. They held their hands clasped before them in apparent delight. Moving over to the looking glass, I could not help but see what had given them such pleasure.

  Looking into that glass was one of the strangest sensations of my life. I knew that it was my own reflection that I studied, but the young woman staring back at me seemed to be an entirely different person. She was clad in a stunning gown of crimson and gold samite that was embellished with gold embroidery. The square neckline showcased an elegant neck and smooth skin. The sleeves were tight up to the elbow, at which point they became loose and flowing, so long they almost brushed the floor when she let her arms fall to her sides. When she moved, the sleeves fell back gracefully, accentuating delicate arms. Her hair had been pulled back from her face and arranged in a becoming mass of curls that tumbled gently over her small shoulders. Several tiny broaches
embellished with garnets had been clasped in her hair, and the gems winked and flashed as she turned her head, their fiery light bringing out the red-gold highlights in her hair. Her face was becomingly flushed, her eyes large and luminous.

  "Is that me?" I whispered, reaching a hand out and touching the glass in disbelief.

  I could see the reflections of the maids standing behind me. Their smiles grew even broader, and they nodded simultaneously.

  "I…I hardly know myself," I breathed, addressing my reflection.

  The maids allowed me a few more seconds' leisure to continue staring disbelievingly at myself before one of them gently touched my elbow. I turned away from my astonishing reflection and made my way to the door that would lead me to the corridor.

  As I walked through my chambers and the corridor, servants stopped and turned their heads toward me as I passed. I could feel myself blushing even more furiously at these attentions, and I fixed my gaze on the marble floor. No one had ever before considered me lovely, save my mother and father. My sisters had always attracted admiring stares, but I never had, and I did not know how to conduct myself. The attention embarrassed me and I found that I felt uncomfortable in my own skin.

  "I am not lovely!" I wanted to tell them. "This is some sort of illusion, some sort of trick! I am simply plain old Mirabelle, whose very name is a mockery."

  But I held my tongue, though it pained me. I was relieved to reach the library doors at last. Here, at least, I felt that I need not fear any sort of admiration, for Lysander seemed to admire nothing. As I reached for the doors, I remembered that this was to be the first time I would see Lysander in the light of day, and my sense of relief vanished as my heart began to pound fearfully and my stomach tightened.