The Eye of the Beholder (2012)

by Elizabeth Darcy

  I will seem even lovelier once the two of us walk side-by-side through the castle, I thought. A nervous laugh escaped me, and then I was ashamed of myself. I paused for a moment while I allowed the shame to wash over me. I did not like this side of myself.

  Is it so unjust to have such cruel thoughts of him? It is not as if he has any redeeming qualities. He is every bit as hideous on the inside as he is on the outside.

  But was he? Was there not some glimmer of humanity in him? Did I truly believe him incapable of seeing the error of his ways?

  Humanity in a beast, there was an interesting thought. In many ways, Lysander was human, but there were ample amounts of bestiality that accompanied the small amount of humanity. And yet I found myself wondering, almost wishing. Perhaps there was something in him worth saving, perhaps there was some small spark of good that lay underneath that could be coaxed into a brighter flame.

  "I believe that anyone can be redeemed, if they truly wish for redemption," I whispered to myself. The world was not a black and white place, I knew this. No one was entirely good, and I wanted to believe that no one was entirely evil either. For as awful as Lysander was, he had shown some small glimmers of consideration.

  There was a new sort of energy in the air at my words. This energy did not make me uneasy as the thrumming energy had. Indeed, this one was quite pleasant. The air seemed to shimmer for a moment, and I found myself smiling.

  It is hope, I thought. The air grew even brighter, and I thought of the window at the end of my corridor. The word that the servant had inscribed upon its grimy surface still stood out in vivid contrast to the filthy window.

  Suddenly, I felt a warmth in my heart that I had not felt since my mother had died. It was as if she was with me, her hand upon my shoulder as she smiled down at me. I felt her presence so strongly that I could almost smell her familiar perfume of bergamot and ginger. She had taught me to be kind to others, to be patient and fair. If I could follow her lesson, if I could be kind and patient and fair with Lysander, perhaps some good of it would come, for us both.

  Breathing deeply, I pushed the doors open and entered the library. Though it remained dim inside because only the faintest of light from the sun was able to penetrate through the layers of grime on the windows, it was rather brighter than it was at night. My eyes wandered the chamber, but it did not take long for them to spot their object, for Lysander stood before the great fireplace, his body turned so that I saw his profile.

  I was certain that he had sensed my presence even before I had opened the doors, but he did not move as I slowly entered the chamber, fixing my gaze on him and refusing to allow my eyes to glance away, though the sight of him was nothing short of terrifying. He had not been mistaken when he had told me that the light was not kind to him. It threw every one of his frightful features into stark relief, and I saw that he was even more hideous than I had thought.

  In spite of my fear, in spite of the revulsion I could not help but feel when I beheld him, I also felt a sense of sympathy for him. As I had told myself, he could not help how he looked, no more than I could help that I had brown eyes. It was true that he was hideous, but he was also growing familiar to me and even the ugliest of objects can grow pleasant to the eyes of one to whom they are familiar.

  As I continued to gaze at him, I picked up on details that had been overlooked in the initial state of fright with which I had first beheld him. He was dressed in deep blue breeches, a white linen shirt, and a deep blue vest with a matching frock coat. It was strange to behold a beast dressed as a man, but no stranger than a beast that walked, talked, and thought like a man.

  It occurred to me that I had been standing and studying him for quite some time, and I blushed, hurrying forward to greet him properly. At the sound of my step upon the inlaid wood of the library floor, Lysander turned to face me. There was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes as he took in the sight of me. Though I had not noticed him slouching, it seemed he had been, for he drew himself up to his full height as I continued to walk over to him.

  "Good day," I said, smiling and curtseying.

  The gesture seemed to surprise him, and he looked at me for a moment before responding. "Good day," he replied, bowing at the waist.

  "There, see how proper we can be?" I asked.

  The lightness of the response seemed to catch him off guard. His smile was quick; a smile that I had come to recognize as genuine, a smile that I knew caught him off guard because it was unanticipated. It extended to his eyes, and for once their stormy blue-gray depths seemed pleasant rather than disturbing.

  "Very proper indeed," he responded.

  "Forgive me for being late."

  "I am not patient." There was a slight edge to his voice.

  "Yes, I have seen ample evidence of that," I said mildly.

  His eyes widened as he regarded me, and he shook his head very slightly, the gesture almost imperceptible. "There are times when I do not know what to make of you."

  "I suppose that is only fair, as I do not know what to make of you the majority of the time."

  He smiled again. "I suppose I should be pleased. I have no wish to be easy to understand."

  "You need have no fear on that account, for I find you quite incomprehensible."

  This time his head shake was distinct. "You are not what I expected."

  "Then I confess that I am pleased, for I have no wish to be predictable."

  "You need have no fear on that account, for I find you extremely unpredictable."

  "Wonderful! Do you not think life would be very boring if everyone was predictable?"

  "I am not certain that predictability is bad."

  "Then I shall have to teach you that it is," I replied in a light tone. "Come. You asked me to tour the castle with you, and I dare say we will not see much of it if we continue to stand about and converse in this manner."

  I turned from him and walked toward the door. As I moved, I thought I heard him mutter something that sounded like, "I think I have begun to learn", but I could not be certain of this. Even so, the words brought a smile to my lips. Lysander's world had been far too ordered, and everyone in it too apt to conduct themselves according to his whims. In my opinion, it was high time someone had come along to disturb that routine.

  Though I had done a great deal of wandering about the castle during my first week of residence, I had seen little of interest or importance, except for the library. I felt almost as small as a speck within the massive chambers of the castle, and I had found myself lost in its labyrinthine corridors many times. When I had accepted Lysander's invitation to tour the castle with him, I had been uncertain, but now I found that I was anticipating what the day was to bring. I had a great desire to see the castle's points of interest, and who better to serve as my guide than its master?

  He moved easily and I followed him as closely as I dared, worried I might lose sight of him and find myself lost. We turned so many times that I grew disoriented and lost all sense of where we were in relation to the library, but his step never faltered.

  "This is the ballroom," he said, opening the door to a particularly gloomy chamber.

  As I stepped within it, I felt a great deal of sadness. Though the chamber was in a frightful state of disarray, I could see that it had once been quite magnificent. The ceiling had been painted to resemble the night sky and, though the mural had been neglected and the paint was flaking, it was so well executed that I felt almost as if I was standing outside gazing up at the stars. The floor was a stunning parquet of starbursts composed of wood of every shade imaginable. Its surface was deeply scarred, and I knew that it had met with Lysander's claws more than once.

  Lysander stood immobile as I made my way through the chamber. Glass littered the floor, sparkling like small diamonds as I picked my way through it. Looking at the walls, I could see brass sconces backed with brass frames, and I knew that those frames had once been fitted with the reflective glass that now littered the floor. I closed
my eyes and tried to imagine how dazzling the candlelight would have been as it reflected off the panes of glass, but all I could picture was the ruin that lay before me.

  I opened my eyes with a sigh of regret and continued through the chamber. I ran a wistful hand along the chipped marble walls as I approached the wall of glass doors that stood at the far end of the chamber. Every last piece of glass had been shattered, some of it still attached to the brass frames of the doors in jagged shards.

  "What happened to all the glass in this chamber?" I asked at last, turning to look at Lysander. He stood some distance from me, but I could see his expression darken.

  "I shattered it," he replied.

  "Why?" I asked softly, picking my way over to him. I wanted to look at him, but I had to look at the floor lest I step upon one of the sharp shards of glass. My thin samite and leather slippers would offer me little in the way of protection.

  "Need you ask such a question?" he asked, a slight growl in his voice. "If you had such a face as mine, would you wish to see its reflection everywhere you went?"

  His words made me feel a deep sense of sadness. I halted my step, looking at the sea of broken glass about me. Broken glass for a broken castle inhabited by a broken master. The wind whistled through the shattered doors, and I shivered slightly.

  "Let us move on," Lysander said. "It is cold in this chamber and you are not dressed for it."

  "No, I am not," I said sadly.

  I followed him to the corridor, pausing for one last regretful look into the ballroom before he led me onward.

  Chapter 19

  The Chosen Path

  The vision of Mira standing adrift in a sea of broken glass remained in my mind, no matter how hard I tried to rid myself of it. She had looked so sad as she gazed about the ruin of the ballroom, and I wondered what had possessed me to show it to her. What kind of idea was a tour of the castle? What could I have hoped to show her by leading her on such a tour, other than the desolation that permeated every chamber, every corridor of the castle? Even I, who knew nothing about charm, knew enough to understand that the disastrous state of disrepair of the castle was neither likely to cheer nor charm her.

  "This must have been a magnificent castle once," Mira said suddenly, her voice wistful.

  "I would imagine it was," I said curtly. You cannot fathom just how magnificent it once was…

  "Lysander," she said hesitantly, "have you never thought of restoring it?"

  "Never." My tone clearly conveyed that I had no intention of continuing this particular thread of conversation.

  Mira fell silent and I hazarded a glance at her. How out of place she looked amongst the dirt and squalor that surrounded her. She seemed to shine as brightly as the sun in her gown of crimson and gold. I found myself thinking that even if the castle were to instantly be restored to its former glory, all its beauties would pale in comparison to her. As I gazed at her, I knew that she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

  Though I had told myself that it mattered not at all to me what she would think of me once she saw me in the light of day, I had been very anxious as I had waited for her in the library. The moment she had stepped to the outside of the doors, I had known she was there. I could hear her soft footfalls upon the floor, and her sweet lavender scent had filled my senses. My initial urge had been to hurry to her side as soon as she entered the chamber, but I had waited. I had pretended not to notice her presence so that she could have as much time as she needed to accustom herself to the sight of me.

  I do not know what I would have done had she turned and fled the chamber in fright. Reluctantly, I had to admit to myself that I would have been deeply wounded and that galled me. I did not want her to possess the power to wound me. Why had I granted her this power over me? I had not cared what she had thought of me when she had first arrived in the castle. But, somehow, I had begun to care, though I could not remember when this had started. If she had rejected me, I would have despaired, and I cannot answer for how I would have responded to such despair.

  But she had not rejected me. She had studied me for a long moment and then she had walked over to me and greeted me with a smile and a curtsy. The sight of her had dazzled me, and I had almost found myself confessing to her just how lovely I thought her. Her beauty and her kindness had created a strange sensation within me. Oh, I knew that she found me rather repugnant, but she treated me as cordially as she would have treated someone of much greater character than I. Why did she do this? So that she would not wound me. It all seemed so odd to me for, had I been in her position, I would have taken delight in wounding.

  Not so for Mira; it was not in her nature to wound anyone if she could avoid it. I knew her well enough to know that. She was a good woman, the best I had ever met. I tried to tell myself that I had been so restrained with her because I was fascinated by this goodness. I told myself that I wanted to observe it, to learn all I could about it before I exploited it, but I knew this was not true and that made me angry as well.

  I did not know just how lost in thought I was until Mira looked up at me, her gaze questioning, and I realized just how long I had been staring at her.

  "Is something amiss?" she asked.

  My mind worked furiously as I strove to come up with a response to this question. "Nay… I was simply thinking of our discussion last night."

  "Our discussion?" She raised an eyebrow. "Our argument, more like."

  "Do you call it an argument?" I asked, smiling at her in amusement.

  "What would you call it?"

  "I have already told you--a discussion."

  "A discussion would require two parties equally willing to listen to the viewpoint of the other. Even you must admit that you are not much interested in anyone's viewpoint other than your own."

  "Why should I listen to another viewpoint when I know I have no interest in it? To be polite?"

  "To be polite indeed!" she cried, taking a step toward me and staring up at me incredulously. "Perhaps you should learn to listen to the viewpoints of others because you just might learn something, however unwilling to do so you may be. You may find that you are occasionally wrong about things."

  I smiled insolently at her, as always enjoying my ability to provoke her at will. "Oh, and I suppose that you think you are never wrong."

  She took another step toward me, her eyes flashing. "You only think me wrong when I disagree with you."

  Her nearness disconcerted me as did the directness of her gaze. She was even closer to me than she had been the previous night, and that closeness both thrilled me and filled me with a sense of dread. If I wanted to, I could reach out and brush away the errant curl that had tumbled over her left eye…

  Fool! I hope for far, far too much. If I were to reach out and touch her, I know she would recoil in disgust. Why do I torment myself so? Why do I not simply admit that I will never be able to win her?

  Abruptly, my confidence failed me. I had placed myself in a precarious position and one wrong move would destroy everything. I was at a loss, and so I did what I had done each time I had been faced with a situation with Mira in which I was uncertain what to do: I became boorish.

  "How you do like to think of yourself as a living example of perfection! The fact remains that you cannot bear to be wrong and you bear it even more ill when another points your faults out to you."

  Now both of her eyebrows were raised, but the rather sardonic expression she had worn a moment earlier had been replaced by one of indignation. "I cannot bear to be wrong! Of course, I suppose I should not be surprised to hear such words coming from one who has convinced himself that he is always right."

  "Oh, it is not about being right or wrong. Have you not learned that yet? It is about having the power to crush those who would oppose you, regardless of who is wrong and who is right. Surely, you have heard the saying 'might makes right'?"

  It was an appalling thing to say. Even I knew that. I suppose I said it in the hopes that she would grow fur
ious with me, that she would turn from me and walk away and refuse to ever speak with me again. I should have known she would not give up so easily.

  She was clearly incensed. She had stopped walking and stood as still as the ruined marble statues that had once adorned the corridor. Her fists were tightly clenched and her lovely mouth was pressed in a hard line that told me she was trying her best not to say something she might regret. I stood over her feeling smug and looking at her in an insolent manner. To my astonishment, the anger on her face cleared and was replaced by an expression of sudden understanding.

  "You do that deliberately," she said quietly.

  "I do what deliberately?" I asked. I could sense that the situation was spinning out of my control once again, and it made me uneasy.

  "The vile things you say. You have done it every time we have been having a pleasant or relatively civil discussion. You deliberately attempt to provoke me. Why is that?"

  I could not have been more stunned had she announced that she knew I was Edward, King of Organdy, and that I and all the inhabitants of the castle had been placed under a spell as punishment. Somehow, she had managed to see right through me, to correctly read my intentions. She was far more perceptive than I had given her credit for being, and I found myself staring at her almost in wonderment.

  "That is ridiculous," I finally said, when I regained the power of speech, but the words did not sound at all credible.

  "I am right!" she said triumphantly. Her small face was tilted back so that she could look into my eyes.

  Do not turn away, I told myself. Do not be the first to blink.

  It was useless advice. I turned my gaze from hers and pretended to take a sudden interest in the right cuff of my frock coat. "That is preposterous," I mumbled.

  "Then why can you not meet my eyes when you claim that it is? Why are you so eager to distract me whenever we are engaged in civil conversation?"