A Touch of Beast

A Touch of Beast

I know now I made a bad choice. The wrong choice. But sometimes we are asked the questions too soon and we're left with only hindsight and nothing that is changeable.

I dream of him at night: his dark coarse hair, his huge hands, his deep rumbling voice. The way he sweated. The way he looked at me.

I was a mere slip of a girl when I went to his castle. Away from my family for the first time and lonely, he frightened me. He gave me gifts, jewels, fancy clothing, books, anything I could ask for, but every night he’d ask, “Will you marry me?” His wet parted lips, the way he seemed to breathe in my scent; I could never decide if he wanted to ravish me or eat me. It just wasn’t decent.

So I left when I had the chance. I took his rose. I said I’d return. I sent him letters detailing life at home.

Everyone says that I lost track of time. I didn’t realize until too late.

I realized. I watched the rose fade every day. I knew the “too late” point as it happened. I dreamt of him every night, covered in sweat, like him. I’d say a part of me died with that rose, with that Beast, but it isn’t dead.

I’ve married. He’s a local merchant with soft hands, a soft voice, and the face of an angel. But even now, every night I toss and turn, cry out unspeakable sounds and sweat. The Beast haunts me.

My merchant says it’s completely understandable given the trauma of my past. How a father could let his daughter live with a beast to settle his debt! But I can tell he’s growing tired of it. I see him looking at me strangely when I awaken suddenly.

I couldn’t marry the Beast! One might as well marry a golden retriever or a bear!

But I wanted to.

It wasn’t decent.