Capter 1, first part
La rose célèbre had toiled diligently the day prior, yearning for death or even a chill severe enough to exacerbate her condition. Alas, her werewolf immunity thwarted her intention.
Thus, this morning, bereft of sneezes or fever, she stands outside her cell.
Rare is the occasion when the renowned Lenore is granted freedom from her confinement, for such instances, as is widely known, typically entail serious discussions regarding their impending alliances or even...
"No! No, I implore you, allow me to depart, for I am akin to you!" sobs the young Elodie repeatedly. Lenore's gaze causes her hands to tremble and her lips to be bitten. "She’s just like me. Do not force me to contemplate the possibility that one of us shall remain here." Outraged, she rises from the ground, allowing her chains to fall heavily.
Lenore remains unresponsive to her words. She is guided by the man to her right, towards the unknown.
Elodie follows her gaze and observes the detached demeanor Lenore exudes. Disturbed, she takes a slight step back, her stare lingering void of emotion.
"She appears... devoid of life within." Elodie tilts her head slightly. "If she possessed genuine power, she would commence by safeguarding her own well-being."
Elodie conveys her anguish through her tone. Swiftly, her gaze shifts to the hunter, Justin.
"Listen, newcomer. Meet your future leader!" He extends his hand towards the teenager, a smile adorning his face. "My charming renowned rose, radiating an aura so sunny and joyous."
With reluctance, he encircles Lenore's waist with his arm.
"Upon our imminent nuptials this week, she shall not only be the most revered rose but also the love of my life and the prospective mother of my progeny."
Ever proud, he places his hand on the blonde’s face and delicately caresses her neck with his thumb.
These words elicit a grimace of disgust from Elodie, causing her to shudder and bow her head.
"I was cognizant of the renowned
Her heart constricts, and her throat tightens as she regards Lenore, a fragile girl seemingly devoid of life within.
"In any case, I ponder why he is presenting me with this Lenore. What connection do I hold with this rose of such significance in the eyes of this savage and repulsive hunter?"
Elodie begins to sense a burgeoning peril...
"I am resolved to bestow upon my rose célèbre a life as splendid and effortless as hers. Hence, since our initial encounter, I have patiently awaited her maturity, biding my time elsewhere until her coming of age and, naturally, our union.”
Elodie furrows her brow and widens her eyes as he kneels before her.
"By the coming week, you shall be my rose. Release her." He commands, transitioning from an underhanded tone to one of delight.
Élodie can readily surmise what follows and screams with an instinctual sense of horror.
Lenore comprehends as well, yet she remains silent and composed. Though she recoils at the touch of a male hand upon her wrist. She feels a hood being draped over her head, then is led away by the prison guard.
The guard sighs as he regards her, casting his gaze to the ceiling in bewilderment.
"Honestly, I fail to comprehend Justin's adoration for you. Perhaps upon your arrival, you were a beautiful rose. However... Madam, you have clearly withered." Ernest utters in a disdainful tone.
A mischievous smile plays upon his lips as he gazes askance, then abruptly halts.
"Pray, you are incessantly mute and motionless as marble. I wager if I were to release you and depart... say, for a month? You would yet remain upon my return. It is no wonder you are the sole creature moved sans chains. Having borne so much afore, you are now incapable of flight, you are... lifeless within, a mere assemblage of bones."
He turns to face her, leaning in to scrutinize her jaded and unresponsive countenance.
"I am inclined to share my perspective with you, dear wilted rose. I hold a firm belief that you are naught but a figment... Once Justin attains what he has long awaited from you, you shall be consigned to the morgue. For that is where you belong."
Ernest exhales and swiftly straightens, pivoting on his heel. "You are quite insipid..."
Ernest and Desmond collide awkwardly, stumbling to the ground.
Desmond disentangles himself from the entanglement. "Honestly, depart from here." Desmond mumbles disdainfully.
Ernest chuckles as he recedes, still seated upon the ground. "Dismissed." he sneers. "Should you care to try again, this time, the marble doll shall collapse into your embrace." he jests.
He smiles, settling upon the floor to peruse his comrade’s closed notebook.
"Hey, newcomer, what art thou sketching?" He retrieves the notebook.
Desmond disregards him, engrossed in removing dust stains from his attire.
"Ernest, I doubt thy uncle would be pleased to learn thou art pestering his betrothed instead of attending to thy duties.” He extends his hand to Ernest.
Ernest acquiesces, reaching out to accept the aid.
"Nay, 'tis my sketchbook." Desmond corrects him, gently swatting his hand away.
Ernest groans as he rises from the ground, handing the notebook to Desmond with a flourish.
"Well done." Desmond formulates politely.
Three hunters descend the stairs and reach the cellar's bottom. They whistle, catching the attention of the two men.
"Ernest! Come hither, we require a sentry at the front. Cyrus has taken his reprieve." They announce in unison.
They hasten to their assigned posts, leaving one to ascend the stairs and depart the cellar with Ernest.
Desmond regards his comrades. "I am left without assignment, it appears."
He sighs and resumes his stride towards his intended destination. A small figure catches his eye, causing a twitch.
"What of her?" He nearly stumbles backward, retracing three steps. “And the rose?” he queries, his tone diminishing in audibility.
Silently, he approaches. She stands motionless, her head bowed and gaze fixed steadfastly upon a singular point, as always.
"It appears she has been entrusted to my care. Yet, I know not which chamber is hers. Alas! A mission indeed, though one fraught with misfortune!"
Desmond tilts his head back, gazing disinterestedly at the ceiling.
Confronted with limited options, Desmond tackles his charge. He lowers himself to her level, avoiding her gaze.
"Salutations..." He utters weakly, discomfort evident in his tone.
Receiving no response, he clears his throat softly and stands erect.
"How foolish of me to presume she would deign to acknowledge my greeting. Nonetheless, I cannot in good conscience escort a lady without her consent."
He clears his throat once more.
"...I am Desmond, Desmond is my name." He murmurs softly, averting his gaze from Lenore to her notebook. "Ah, the rose, is it not? I beg your pardon, I know not thy name. I hope thou shalt not abhor me for it." He pulls his hood down, obscuring his features.
"Given I know not where thy... chamber lies, and the grave risks should I heedlessly leave thee standing here." He coughs weakly. "This is my proposal! Thee and the rose shall spend the day with me. I am tasked with distributing weapons on the upper floor, and thou shalt accompany me."
Still as a statue and utterly silent, Desmond grins broadly, offering her silent assent with a brisk nod of the head.
Thus, as Desmond guides the renowned rose at his side, sans permission, to the armory, one guard savors his respite with a leisurely stroll away from their domain.
Meanwhile, Cyrus sighs and scans his surroundings, sliding his hands into his pockets with a petulant pout.
"Just because my rose favors Ernest does not mean I shall relinquish her to him. Unless I find a rose of my own and revere her as Justin does so adroitly with his saint."
Spying a figure in the distance, he slows his pace.
"Seems I have company." He slows further until he halts, spotting a tall blonde with brown eyes. "Not certain if she would make a suitable rose. Yet, she does appear to be my ilk." A mischievous smile graces his lips.
"Ugh! Odious." Annalee grimaces at the sensation of vomit staining her shoulder.
She finally takes notice of the man approaching from the opposite direction, eyeing his cub.
"It’s vomit." she explains as he draws level with her.
“Vomit.” he echoes. Instantly, the cub vomits onto his shoes. “Regurgitation. Your beast has besmirched me with vomit!"
Utterly vexed, he falls silent as she bends down to wipe her shoes with a tissue.
"Hmm... seemingly naïve and pleasant, she does. And rather susceptible, too."
Unwittingly, he allows a mischievous grin to grace his features as he appraises her.
Annalee rises from the ground, emitting a sigh.
"I apologize for Delight; she must be ailing or feverish, I cannot say for certain. Moreover, my jacket has been soiled as well. Rest assured, I sympathize with your plight. Furthermore, should you desire... I can procure your shoes and return them to you, good as new!" she offers politely.
Cyrus looks her up and down eagerly, nodding in approval and eliciting a relieved smile from Annalee.
"Hold." He interjects. “My abode lies much closer; wouldst thou care to accompany me thither?"
He indicates the opposite direction with his thumb, flashing a charming smile at the young girl.
“It lies but a few paces hence. Additionally, I have a neighbor who is a veterinarian; he may ascertain what afflicts... the creature, thy dog."
Charismatic and charming, Cyrus does little to conceal his admiration for his companion, who responds with a few small nods and a coy, tempting wink.
"Ah, a maiden of fifteen, with such an impish air about her. I could almost fancy myself in Justin's shoes!"
Cyrus rejoices inwardly as they retrace their steps, the lovely stranger at his side.
Their conversation revolves around the animal and their mutual love for creatures, with Annalee scarcely paying heed to their route, in stark contrast to Cyrus, whose enthusiasm proves difficult to contain.
"Thou art a werewolf, and I, a human."
Annalee affirms with a faint nod, allowing herself to be guided by him.
"Thou must be kind. Werewolves oft look down upon me and mistreat me. I surmise it is because they lack eyes as beautiful as thine with which to regard me."
Unconsciously, he admires her long, natural lashes and her large, almond-shaped eyes.
She giggles shyly, causing her cub to tumble to the ground for lack of attention.
"I beg thy pardon."
She laughs shyly, scanning their surroundings.
"It appears we have lost our way in the midst of the forest."
Turning towards him, she swallows hard in the face of the desire that so plainly emanates from Cyrus' gaze.