February 20th, 1767, Chastel

Catherine pulled the scarf around her neck.

A week had past since she'd left. Gilles was recovering slowly, but was getting better nonetheless. Through her time she'd returned, she never left the sanctum of her mill. She always tended to Gilles, stoked the fire, made the meals, anything to keep herself busy. If she were to leave the mill, she shuddered at the thought. She poured a small amount of water into the vase holding the rose. It had remained budded, thriving given it being away from home. But it hadn't changed. No petals were withered or dried. It was as if it had been cut that morning.

She couldn't hide much longer. Fire wood was running low, and they needed more food if Gilles were to recover. She fingered the bare space where her ring had been, remembering she had left it at the manor. There was no way she could go back now...as much as she wanted to. She didn't know if Matthieu was alive or dead. She was too afraid of what she might see in the vial of water. Besides, she was needed here, to care of Gilles.

She yanked a cloak around her shoulders, pulling up the hood and wrapping the scarf around her face. Hopefully, no one would recognize her. She turned back to the mill and called out "I'm going into town!"

"Be careful, cherie!"

She sighed. She hoped she would be.

She pulled open the door, wind gusting in her face. She held the scarf in place as she marched towards the village. Her head hung low, dreading being seen by the residents or seeing them stare. She swallowed her fear and approached a vegetable stand.

"Are you new to town, mademoiselle?" the attendant - a young boy - asked.

Catherine smiled. He reminded her so much of George, apart from his average stature and shoulder-length blond hair. She missed his silly antics, his constant ramblings to Melinoe, his knowledge of witchery. She chuckled and shook her head. "No, but, I have been rather new to this town for quite some time."

She thanked him, handed him some money, and went about her business.

She made sure not to overstay the small welcome she'd been given. Someone would recognize her eventually. Once she had collected everything she needed for now, she rushed back towards her mill. Every so often, she glanced over her shoulder to see if she was being followed. If she was so much as seen by Jean-Charles, she'd -

She ran into something soft.

She took a tentative step back and looked up at the man in front of her. Jean-Charles stood with one hand on his hip and the other resting on the holster on his belt. He smirked. "You're not fooling anyone with that disguise."

Catherine refused to answer, instead trying to walk around him. He hastily stepped in front of her.

"Don't ignore me, Catherine! Talk to me! Where have you been?"

"I don't see how it would matter to you," she responded, ducking around him to leave. "I'm alive and well and I will be leaving as soon as Gilles is fit to travel."

"Catherine!" he roughly seized her shoulder. Without thinking, she spun around, grabbed his wrist, and twisted it around before delivering a swift kick to his groin. He grunted at the blow, but he was still standing. "Woman, are you mad?!"

"I've told you before, Monsieur. I am not your wife. I will never be your wife, and any arrangement you've made to suggest otherwise can be canceled. You've been wasting your time."

She whirled back around and started back towards her mill. He called after her. "What's happened to you? Have you been hurt?! Who has done this to you?! Catherine! Catherine DeCiel, come back at once!"

February 23rd, 1767

Catherine tucked the blanket tighter over Gilles's body. Her father's bed hadn't been used in nearly a year, but she couldn't let Gilles sleep on the floor.

"Do you need anything else?" she asked.

"No, thank you." She stood up and started to leave. "You're in love."

She stopped in the doorway.

"Don't try to deny it. You've been sighing all week." She peered over her shoulder, him smiling knowingly. She slowly stepped back and returned to the bed. "Just as I thought, ma cherie."

"Have you ever been in love, Gilles?"

He nodded. "Of course. It's not something you tend to forget."

Catherine's head fell into her hands. "I know that..."

"Strapping young men are so difficult to tame, and even more so to understand. But once he gives you his heart, he'll never let you go."

She blinked slowly, knitting her brow. "Gilles...?"

He chuckled. "We're not perfect people, Catherine. Our Christ gave his life so we could sin, and so we have the right." He set his hand on her arm. She hung her head over her legs. "Why don't you ask for him?"

The question had lingered in the back of her mind, and she had tried to search every reason why she hadn't. She did want to see him. But, the full moon had passed and gone. He was so weak when she left. What if she looked and she saw him as La Bete? Not only at night and roaming the manor, but as an animal in the woods stalking for prey? To know she had left him and caused his descent into madness, when she could have saved him, her heart would shatter. She didn't think she could handle it.

She stood up and again tucked him in. "Bonne nuit, mon ami."

February 28th, 1767, La Maison du Loup

"See my face, wet with tears...
They're running down my cheeks.
Washing over my fears
Like rain upon the streets.

I am a monster but my heart
is passionate and profound
And I will sing like April showers
Singing til my final hour.

Up here, everything's clear
I'm looking at Paris
I know eventually you
will know the meaning of
This thing that we
call love..."

Cold, hard rain pounded on his back. Matthieu shivered, but at least it felt like something. He needed something other than the painful numbness in his chest. The roses - the ones not hanging black, dry, and lifeless from their stems - were closed tight. Hours had gone by with him trying to use them, but nothing happened. They wouldn't listen to him, and it infuriated him! It infuriated a hole into the ground, and yet he couldn't destroy them. He couldn't explain it, but he needed them.

He bit down on his lower lip, the metallic taste of blood spilling onto his tongue. He spun around and marched inside, ignoring Mrs. Townsend's worried looks. But, instead of heading for his chambers, he made his way upstairs in the opposite direction. Catherine's room had been left open.

He pushed the door open, half-expecting to see her by the window reading a book or staring out at the garden. The room would radiate with her presence, now it was stiff and cold. He moved over to the window and gazed down at the garden he'd stood in mere moments ago. He could see why she'd loved it so much. He couldn't get a view like this on the west side of the manor.

He sighed and turned back to the room. Her nightdress was laid out on the bed, the water on the washtable still and tepid, a book opened facedown ready to be picked up. It was as if she'd be returning any moment. He reached to pick up the book, but his foot hit something hard. He stooped down and picked up the object half-hidden beneath the bed. Slightly rusted and chipped on the blade, Catherine's axe.

He realized he'd only left her with what she had on her at the time. No belongings, no mementos or treasures she had of her own. Just that vial of water and a rose he'd planned on giving her.

Her ring!

He set the axe on the bed and frantically searched the room. A small jewelry box rested on the dresser. He flung open the box and rifled through the strands of pearls and gold bangles. His hand stung sharply, and he'd found it. With a piece of loose string, he looped the silver ring and held it aloft in front of his face. He leaned his weight against the dresser, muttering under his breath. He wasn't usually a man of prayer, but he might as well try to repent for all he'd done.

"God...God, please. I don't know if this was a punishment or a test, but whatever I have done, I deserve this. But, please! Please! If you are trying to test her, she doesn't need to be tested to destruction. I'll take whatever blame you see fit...let her live. Let her be safe."

His hands snapped and cracked.

March 1st, 1767

1:49 AM

Catherine laid in bed, wide awake. An icy storm was raging outside, thunder crashing through the thick night air. Everything was crumbling around her. Her aunt still pushed her further and further towards marriage. Jean-Charles was becoming more impatient, and she couldn't understand why he was so stubborn to have her. Gilles was recovering slowly, but it still seemed like too long. The manor felt like a dream or a distant memory. She only wished she could hold onto it.

She glanced over to the rose by the window. Still folded in, still healthy and thriving. She sighed and slipped out of bed. The vase was cold when she reached over and cupped it in her hands. Seeing as how she wouldn't be sleeping any time soon, she slipped on a pair of boots and her dressing gown and scooped up the vase. She crept past where Gilles slept and into the cellar. Feeling around the room, she struck a match and lit a nearby lantern for light.

The vase rested on the table while she fetched some fertilizer from a corner. She sighed once again, her mind wandering back to the manor. If Matthieu was dead...she couldn't bear to think of it. But if by some chance he was alive, could she leave now? Could she take Gilles with her now and go back? She felt her heart pang at the image of him suffering so terribly. Her eyes stung as she poured some fertilizer into the vase, along with some water, and stared at it. Perhaps she should ask to see him in the vial, just to give her some consolation. She simply wanted to see him.

A shrill scream rang out over the storm.

Without thinking, Catherine snatched up the lantern and ran out into the night towards the sound. The rain pounded against her face but she could see just fine. She pushed her way across the field, shoving the lantern ahead of her. The light fell down the hill as lightning struck over the valley. The screaming had ceased, replaced with sickening squelching sounds. She held her lantern out further, terrified of what might happen if she stepped closer.

Lightning flashed again. A large man covered in blood laid on the ground. A tall, slim creature stood over it, thick, wet juices pouring from its mouth. Something, maybe matted fur, hung from its body. The light of the lantern shone on it. The creature turned its attention to her, and she gasped. Instead of fur, torn cloth and a deep red scarf from its body. It eyed her hungrily and growled.

"Matthieu?"

The creature blinked, its face softening the slightest bit. She shook her head.

"I'm too late, aren't I?"

The beast stepped back a bit, grunting in reply. She lowered the lantern a bit.

A shot rang out over them. The creature sprang back on its heels and sprinted for the woods, disappearing into the darkness. Catherine ran as well, back to her mill and inside where she was safe. She set the lantern on the floor, locked the door, and sobbed.