Chapter Three: Pretty Prison

When I finally stirred the morning after the fiasco that was my first meeting with the beastly Mr. Thorn, Foxy was curled up on the pillow beside my head. She rested her head on her bushy tale, her little feet tucked up around her. She looked very much like a fox when she slept. I had heard that Pomeranians, unlike other dogs, were descended from foxes. I had little doubt of that when I admired Foxy's gorgeous fur. Petting her as I sat up in bed, I looked around at my surroundings, at the still foreign room.

My room back home had been filled to the brink with books, clothes and the toys from childhood I'd never gotten rid of or put away. My new room was as empty as the rest of the household. It would have felt stark and cold were it not for the lovely flower arrangements on the vanity. The roses with their amusing variety of color and form were a welcomed sight first thing in the morning. Beside the closest vase, I saw a rose lying on the vanity all by itself. It was canary yellow, it's petals open wide like the arms of a dear loved one. Reaching over my sleeping friend, I lifted it from its resting place. Beneath it, I found a card which simply read:

Yellow roses are wonderful things. They have the power to make one smile no matter what dreadful thing comes along.

Christopher Thorn.

As I pondered the letter, I smelled the rose's perfume. Instantly, my lips spread into a wide grin. I had no idea why I was smiling, only that I didn't hate the feeling. It had been a very long time since a genuine smile had appeared on my face.

At the foot of my bed, over my blankets, was a dress of the same color. It wasn't nearly as grand as the sapphire one. It was fairly simple, with little fuss, aside from the ruffles around the hem at the bottom and collar. I was very tempted to put it on. Black is such a dreadful color and the dress, like the rose, made me smile. Still, it ended up in the wardrobe with the other neglected gown Mr. Thorn had given me. I wore another of the black dresses I'd brought along with me, but decided to tuck the yellow rose in my hair so that the happy feelings it brought with it would linger all day long and give me courage to face Mr. Thorn again.

As I was dressing, a terrifying thought passed through my mind. How had the dress and flower gotten into my room? Had Mr. Thorn or one of the servants snuck inside? I wasn't sure which was worse. Mr. Thorn was frightening to be sure, but he was at least somewhat human. I had the strangest feeling that the servants were anything but.

Setting aside my uneasiness, I put a leash on Foxy and the two of us started another day of wandering. When I first came out of my room and went to the stairs, I dared a glance up the remaining flight to the third floor's landing. Why had it been forbidden? Did Mr. Thorn simply want his privacy or was he hiding something from me? What dark secret was locked away up there? I silently wondered if I was the first to come here or if I was merely the last in a string of visitors that had met a grizzly end.

The servants were gone again, as were all the decorations for the dining room. It was empty and dull again. I found a door for the kitchen and slipped inside. There I found the food, most of it laying out on display in jars and bowls. As I reached for a pear, a chill ran over my skin. My eyes shifted to my left. Foxy growled and barked as though she could scare away the chilling thing conjuring itself in the corner. It started as black and silver mist, that slowly shifted and molded itself into the shape of a man. It's face remained blank, then the black holes of the eyes appeared, then the soft smile. The features were painted onto the mask by an unseen artist.

Forgetting my breakfast and screaming in fright, I snatched up Foxy and bolted from the house and across the lawn. I ran into the gate. I pulled at it, kicked it, and bowled into it with my shoulder. All to no avail. It didn't budge. "Open! You accursed thing!" I hissed, pulling at it again with all my strength.

"It's no use. It won't open for you, nor anyone else. Not even me." I heard Mr. Thorn's voice close behind me.

I turned around slowly, breathing heavily. Mr. Thorn looked even more horrifying in the daylight. There was no denying what I'd seen now, for it stood obviously before me. I couldn't even say that he was dressed well, for he'd discarded his finery. Instead, he wore a bedraggled shirt and a dull, brown vest. His trousers were much too short, coming only to the tops of his ankles. He wore no shoes. His feet, like his hands, were large and covered with golden fur. The appendages were long and ended with curved nails. He had, at least, pulled back some of his mane, so that it didn't stick out every which way around his head. "T-the servants…what are they?" I stuttered, fear making it hard to speak. Foxy whined and fidgeted in my arms. "I-I saw one of them…form itself out of midair. They're not human!" I cried.

"They're not human." He confirmed. "They're merely the shadows of people that have died." He replied, his eyes peering through the gate at the ground beyond it with a look of yearning.

"They're ghosts!" I cried in horror.

"No, they're shadows." He repeated. "Just shadows. When a person dies, their shadow wanders the earth, searching for a new owner to imitate. Some of those shadows find themselves in the hands of people who can bind them to their will. They're not very good people, either. That is what has become of the servants."

"You know how to bind shadows to you? You know black magic?" I asked, my horror only growing. I had heard stories and rumors of people who practiced the dark arts or witchcraft. Mind you, most of these stories involved an execution.

"Not at all. The person who…lived here before me knew black magic. The shadows were their servants. After I came here, they became both my servants and my jailers. You see, I am unable to leave the mansion grounds. They and their owner won't allow it."

"You're a prisoner?" I asked, looking at the tall gate. It seemed so pretty when I first arrived, but seeing it now, this estate was just a pretty prison. The gate, with its coat of flowers, was there to keep us in, not to keep people out.

He nodded quietly. "You, however, are not. The black magician knows nothing of you. I will let you go eventually. I promise you. You asked me to be your guardian and that is what I promised. The day you turn eighteen, the gate will open and you'll be free. Until then, you must stay."

"You just said that I am not a prisoner! You can't keep me here against my will!" I yelled, fury boiling in my blood.

"Do you realize how long I've been here? How long I've lived alone with the shadows?" He asked, his quiet calmness not faltering even under my heated glare. "Nearly half my life." He answered. "You are not a prisoner, but I need you to stay. I need someone to speak to, to see and hear what I have to say. Shadows do not speak, they merely repeat what you do like a parrot imitates speech. All I am demanding is this one year with you as my companion. Nothing else. You don't have to love me or even like me. You can even hate me if you like. It doesn't matter." He shook his mighty head bitterly.

"What was that letter about last night, then?" I demanded. "Why did you ask me to marry you?"

He paused for a long moment, his eyes drifting from rose to rose on the gate. He let out a weary sigh. An ungloved hand, reached up to brush back his mane from his forehead. "I don't know why I asked. I knew you'd say no, but I felt that I should…that I must. It's been such a long time since I've seen another living soul besides the black magician. Especially not one so lovely."

He glanced at me and I tried not to blush. I wasn't used to such compliments. Yes people had always told me I was pretty, that I had inherited my mother's looks and she was a beauty like no other, but I had never paid much attention to them, nor have I ever cared if I was pretty or not. It felt very different coming from Mr. Thorn.

"I was being selfish. I think. I am happy to have you here and would like nothing more than to be able to keep you with me forever, but I won't so long as it is against your wishes. I won't keep you a moment longer than I have promised. I'm afraid you may receive many notes such as that one while you're here. My resolve tends to falter at night, when the house is quiet. Feel free to shoot me down as often as you like." His lion's lips tweaked in the corner and I realized he was trying to smirk at me.

"I will." I muttered. I let Foxy down and she tugged at the leash, eager to trot away from the big beast by my side. "Patience." I pleaded with her, my hand reaching up to make sure the yellow rose was still in place in my hair.

"I see you like my gift." Mr. Thorn said, pleased with himself. "I thought you would. Whenever I'm feeling particularly miserable, I like to cut a few of the yellow ones from the bushes and vines. It always lifts my mood."

"I do like it. Very much." I said. I bit my lip nervously. "Umm…how did your gifts get in my room?"

"I brought them." He admitted, his eyes instantly falling to the ground to watch his toes wiggle in the grass. "I don't like to use the servants more than I have to. I figured it would only take a moment. I was quick, I assure you." He paused and rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. "If you prefer, I'll send the servants next time."

"I don't suppose it matters." I shrugged. "I think I actually prefer you to those faceless things." I shuttered, remembering how at dinner the servants had stared blankly at me and tilted their heads whenever I spoke. Foxy pulled at her leash, nearly yanking me face first into the dirt. "Foxy, stop that!" I scolded her. "I'd better go, before she pulls my arm off."

"Very well." He sighed. "I'll be in the garden, should you need me. I'm usually always in the garden." He turned away and strode off, kicking at the grass and pebbles with his big feet, looking like a dejected child.

"I don't understand him at all." I sighed when he was out of sight and earshot. "One minute he says I'm not a prisoner, the next he says I can't leave. I'm not sure if I should believe a word that he's telling me. If he's a prisoner himself, can he really free me to begin with?" I groaned and plopped down on the grass beside some shrubbery that had been clipped into the shape of a horse. I took the rose from my hair and held it in my hand. With the other, I traced its yellow petals with my fingertips, admiring its beauty and softness. "What sort of mess have I gotten us into, Foxy?" I asked her. She went on, sniffing about like I hadn't said anything.

After a while of mulling around the front yard, I decided to investigate the garden around the back. With Foxy leading the way, we circled around the enormous house. The garden was breathtaking. I gasped when I first saw it, unable to believe that such a garden could exist. Rose bushes were lined in short and tall walls, building an intricate labyrinth of shrubbery boxes, each placed inside of the other, the smallest radiating from the center to the largest at the boundaries of the property. As always, the iron gate, with its blanketing of red rose vines stood guard around it all. Here and there were statues of angels and demonic looking things that reminded me of the gargoyles that decorated the old churches back in London. Oddly, the devils were always close to an angel, as if one could not go without the other.

At the very center of the garden was the largest statue. It depicted the abduction of Persephone by Hades. Hades held young Persephone by the waist as he drove his chariot, driven by monstrous steeds. Persephone's body was contorted in the agony of being ripped away from all that she loved. She flung her head and arms back, reaching for the life she'd always known and the mother that she so loved.

I had heard the ancient myth countless times growing up, but I could never fully grasp what Persephone would have felt. I did now. Like her, I had been tricked into a probable lifetime of imprisonment by a man I did not know and who, for one reason or another wanted me as a companion. Like her, I longed for what had been taken away, but for me, there was no hope at all of being returned to that life, because the person I longed for most was dead. No amount of pomegranate seeds were going to change that.

My heart began to ache and I instinctively took the rose from my hair once more, seeking its magical spell of bravery and joy. I smelled its perfume as I took in my surroundings. Around the perimeter of the maze were large trees, some oak, some flowering varieties and even a weeping willow. I noticed a bit of movement beneath one of the ancient looking oaks. Mr. Thorn, in his peasant's garb, was making his way to a row of rose bushes from a tiny shed in the far corner of the property. I edged a bit closer, my curiosity about my guardian, goading me on. I walked along behind one of the taller rows of bushes, keeping myself hidden as I watched him clip and prune the bushes. He took some of the roses and left others.

While he worked, he sang to himself in a hushed, mumbled breath. "Rose, rose, rose red shall I ever see thee wed? Aye marry, that thou will, if thou but stay. Ah poor bird, take thy flight. Fly above the sorrows of this sad night." As soon as the song ended, he started over. Again and Again he sang the song, all the while snipping away roses from their beds of leaves, careful not to prick himself with their deadly thorns.

Each snip of the sheers seemed to be a resolute punctuation, each time the snapping sound of the sheers came in sync with the beating of my heart. He was singing to himself, something that a lot of people do. That in itself was not that strange. However, there was a tone to his sing-song voice, a secret hidden within, that sent a chill down my spine. I heard sorrow, hatred, and more than a little desperation. It was as if he sang directly to me, though I remained hidden, warning me in his indirect way of his secret intentions. If I stayed, if I didn't fight for my freedom, I'd never have it. I'd belong to him forever.

"Will you be making a habit of lurking about my garden like a thief?" He asked, still snipping away.

My heart fell in my chest. "Y-you knew I was here?" I stuttered, creeping out of my hiding spot behind the wall of rose bushes.

"Of course." He tapped at his snout with a clawed finger. "I have a very keen nose. I could smell you a mile away, Miss Craft. You wear a lilac perfume. There are no lilacs here, only roses, grass, and a few trees. It stands out like a sore thumb. Then there's the unmistakable stench of dog." He slipped his sheers into a loop on the belt of his trousers and gathered the clipped roses into a bouquet. "Would you like these, for your room?" He asked, presenting them to me. The bouquet was made of happy colored roses: yellow, a variety of pinks, even a few that looked orange. I'd never seen those before.

"Why not?" I shrugged, taking the bright bouquet from him. I tried to keep my fear hidden, to not let him know how uneasy I felt inside. I shoved my nose into the bouquet, letting the mingling scents drown out my unrest.

"I'm…so happy that you had the courage to face me today. I was afraid that you would lock yourself away and never speak to me again, after what happened last night. I wouldn't have blamed you." He said softly. His hand clenched and unclenched at his side. Then it started to rise. As it drew closer to me, I flinched, afraid of what he might do with that curved nailed hand. I remembered the strength in those meaty hands and the pain they had inflicted the night before. When I did so, he flinched as well, as though I'd slashed at him with a dagger. For a second he looked crushed, but his features shifted and changed into an expression of somber understanding. His hand fell back down to his side, but he smiled weakly at me. It was the same smile I'd given others after my father died. It was fake. It was weak and meant nothing. It was only a façade of all-rightness that I tried to present to the world. It was a lie that said that I was okay, when in fact I was devastated.

It was all so strange. Before me, stood a frightening beast. He had sharp teeth and claws that could cut through my skin like a hot knife through butter. He had strength enough to crush me flat if he tried. He had a talented tongue, one that could weave stories that could fool anyone, even the greatest of minds. I doubted I would ever know when he lied and when he did not. Yet, he smiled at me, in his own strange way. His eyes glinted with a sad loneliness. For a moment, just a moment, I saw a man looking back at me and not the beast. And in that moment, my heart filled with pity for that man.

"I hope that you will join me for dinner tonight." He said, clearing his throat and stepping away from me. He fidgeted with the sheers on his belt in nervousness.

"I'll be there." I answered absently.

He nodded once and gave Foxy a hard look. She was barking at him and wining as she hid behind my skirt. "Please leave your dog in your room while we dine." He added, glowering at the little dog.

He may have seen the displeasure in my eyes, for he hurried away after that. He went and hid in the tiny shed until I left him be and went back indoors.

When the clock chimed for the sixth time, marking the time for dinner, I made the perilous journey to the dining room. To my relief, there was not a blank faced servant to be seen.

"You needn't worry about the shadows." Said Mr. Thorn from his place at the head of the table. He was still wearing his ragged gardening clothes, but his hands-or should I say paws- were scrubbed clean. His sleeves were rolled over his thick forearms to his elbows. "I've sent them all on various errands so that they'll be out of the way. I know they…displease you." He added. "Take a seat here, at my right hand." He pulled out the chair for me.

I took it, wearily reminding myself of the tedious rules of etiquette I'd learned over the years. "Thank you." I muttered absently. I grabbed my wine glass and took a large swallow to ease my nerves. I'd never been one to drink. Truthfully I'd never drank more than a couple of sips of the stuff before, but I now understood why some people depended on it.

"If my presence displeases you, I'm sure I can find something for me to occupy myself with." He said, noticing the overzealous way I drank my wine. "I don't want you to drink yourself under the table just for courage." He rested his cheek on his knuckles, looking at me with a half smirk, his human eyes glinting with amusement.

"I'm sorry. I'm nervous." I explained, suddenly finding the stark white table cloth very interesting. I couldn't bare to look at him, afraid I'd see the sad man again and fall more and more for the beast's lie. He couldn't be kind or good, or even likable. He was a beast, a frightening and ferocious beast who I feared hid a secret agenda beneath the momentary kindness of his carefully chosen words. I had seen his true self last night, when he'd chased me and hurt me with his brute strength. I had to keep reminding myself of that. I couldn't afford to blind myself to his cruelty with the pity I felt for him. "I'm sure you can understand why…after what happened at our first dinner together." I added. I chanced a glance at the free hand lying on the table. It was mostly covered in his golden fur, but the palms were calloused and here and there scars crisscrossed over it. Some were quite deep. Those were not the hands of a man who'd spent his entire life in grandeur. They were laborer's hands.

"Again, I am sorry for that." He sighed, he straightened in his chair and his hands disappeared into his lap. His shoulders slightly hunched. " I hate that I hurt you. I panicked when you screamed and ran and I didn't keep my temper or strength in check. I've been this way for a very long time, yet I'm still not fully in control over this body. Most of the time I can still act with some humanity, but when I'm angry I really become a beast. It is no excuse, I realize. I will try to do better." Though his head remained bowed as if in deep prayer, his eyes shifted to examine me. " I had hoped that my gifts would act as sort of a peace offering, but it appears that the dresses I sent you were not to your liking. You haven't worn one of them. After you didn't wear the blue one, I figured it was too grand, so I sent a simple yellow one. This was still not to your liking?"

"Oh, no, I loved both of the dresses." I rushed to explain. "They're both beautiful and I appreciate the thought. However, I'm still in mourning over my father's death and I…I'm just not ready to wear happy colors."

He let out a deep rumble in his throat, as he lifted a goblet of wine to his mouth with his meaty clawed hand. I reasoned that he must need to drink from a solid silver goblet to keep from shattering the fragile glassware. "But you look awful in black." He muttered bemusedly.

"Awful?" I asked, feeling my face warm. "I look that bad?"

"No! Not you!" He scrambled to correct himself. "I-I only meant…" He stuttered and fumbled for words, horrified at saying the wrong thing that might upset me. "Curses, what did I mean? The color, it's…dreary." He took a long sip of the wine and set it back on the table with too much zest. Some of it sloshed out of the cup and stained the white table cloth. "It doesn't suit you. I think young girls should always wear happy colors, no matter the occasion. Black is for old widows. Besides, if you're sad wouldn't it help to wear clothes that make you feel cheerful?" He cocked his head to the side, his feline features twisting with confusion. "I'll never understand etiquette."

I laughed despite myself. "I don't understand any of it either. There's so many rules and restrictions, how can anyone possibly remember all of them, all of the time?"

"You? But you act so…poised. I'm sure you've had an etiquette teacher since you were in swaddling clothes."

"It's forced, I assure you. I did have a tutor, but I hardly listened to her." I chuckled. "I swear her lessons went through one ear and out the other. I remember going out to the garden and making mud pies not five minutes after she dismissed me."

Mr. Thorn laughed a merry laugh from deep in his belly as I continued to tell him about my many misadventures as a child and all the tribulations I put Mrs. Blackmoore through.

"When she came to work the next day I'd chopped off all my hair with the gardener's sheers. The woman fainted as soon as she laid eyes on me. I thought I'd killed her!" I said, finishing up my latest story of when Mrs. Blackmoore had scolded me for neglecting to comb my hair at night. To which I'd responded by cutting it all off.

"Well, at least it wouldn't tangle." He commented, laughing still. He was holding his side by this point, looking like he was about to roll straight out of his seat. "You're a girl after my own heart, Miss Craft." He said, wiping laughing tears from his eyes. "Odd to the point of charm." He caught himself and added a hasty, " I mean that as a compliment."

"I understand." I assured him, unable to wipe the smile from my face. I had thought that by reminiscing of my life before, I'd make the pain of my broken heart worse, but in fact it had a way of healing, mending the pieces back together. "We should probably eat now." I said, clearing my throat. "The food is getting cold."

"You're right." He said, but as I began to eat I noticed that he did not even lift his fork.

"Is there something wrong?" I asked. "Aren't you hungry?"

"With this beastly body of mine, eating is difficult. I don't want to horrify you with my poor manners."

"Mr. Thorn, I just confessed to you about my own poor manners. I don't mind if you're a little sloppy." I said, slouching in my chair and eating with both of my elbows on the table to prove my point.

"Oh, I'm more than a little sloppy." He smirked. "I tend to eat with just my face, no silverware in sight. You may not mind it, but I do. After I made a beast out of myself last night, I'd rather not risk a repeat performance."

"Suit yourself." I sighed and ate the remnants of my meal. It was very cold by the time I finished, but I left the table in good spirits. I'd made a connection with Mr. Thorn, one that gave me hope that I could actually come to like him, that we might even be friends some day.

However, when I came back to my room, I found another sealed note outside my door. It contained a message of only four words, but they again struck fear and mistrust in my heart towards the beast that kept me locked away in his pretty rose covered prison.

Will you marry me?