The stench of death hovered in the air. It was the rubbery scent of sickness; the droopy feel of old, worn-out flesh; and the sound of someone spraying womanly perfumes, attempting to mask the inevitable.
Beast picked apart every minute scent that emitted from his mother's room—from the doctor's heavy cologne, to the musk on the old bed, to his mother's final rotten breaths. His wolf-like ears pricked, twisting back-and-forth at each whisper that took place between the doctor and his mother.
Servants shuffled in and out, their faces drawn and gaunt—long and hung like a wrung-out rag.
"How is she?" Beast asked.
The servants only shook their heads in response, carrying out bloodied towels to be washed.
He sighed, dropping his covered head into his gloves. A large piece of black fabric draped over his head, but he could still see through it.
The sad, shuffling footsteps of the doctor echoed out of the room. Beast lifted his head, and through the black fabric, he saw the outline of the doctor in white.
"She's not well, Your Lordship," the doctor said, not looking at the Beast, but instead keeping his eyes on the floor. "I would begin preparations for her funeral. Send immediate notice to friends and family."
"Is there anything that can be done?" Beast questioned, a desperation in his eyes that was concealed by the fabric.
"I'm afraid not. The illness spread too quickly, and her old body cannot handle it."
"But she was walking and talking last night… I do not understand," Beast said.
"As I said, the illness spread quickly. It's possible that she was also hiding how she truly felt from you so that you wouldn't be worried."
Beast's head dropped again, but he let out a small laugh. "That is highly probable."
The doctor backed up at the sound of the laugh—the almost-human sound. "M-may I be of any more assistance, Your Lordship?" He bowed, his legs shaking.
"No, thank you, doctor." The Beast rose from his desk chair, growing taller by the second. He cast a long shadow over the doctor.
The Beast reached out his gloved paw; the doctor inched his fingers forward, and hesitantly shook it. The small man practically sprinted out of the room, darting down the stairways of the castle.
Once the doctor was out of earshot, the Beast took in a deep breath and pulled the black fabric over his head. It got caught on his curved horns once, but he twisted it off of them. He blinked his big, round eyes, adjusting them to the candlelight. Everything was so much clearer, and a maroon hue fell over the room.
The Beast then pulled off his gloves and took the custom-made boots off of his hind legs. "Finally," he laughed, in a haughty, sarcastic tone. "Free from the constraints of humanity." He brushed his padded paws across his black suit. "Well, mostly."
Suddenly, the Beast's smile faded as he peered into the dark room. He pricked his ears forward, listening as his mother heaved to get a breath. It sounded like the dying engine of an old train, wheezing to turn the wheels even once.
"Mother?" he spoke as he pressed against the door with his paw.
"Vicky..." her crackly voice sounded. "Oh, my dear son, come in, come in."
Beast took a few steps forward, focusing on the window that led to the lively outside world—where he longed to be. Instead, he had to be in the room of death. Finally, his eyes landed on her canopy bed and her pale figure lying underneath the covers. He froze. She was the same white as the sheets.
"Oh, don't be frightened, Vicky. It's just your old, dying mother," she joked, letting out a cough. Her face sank into the pillow, practically becoming one with it. The old woman's eyelids drooped over her eyes like the fabric draping over the canopy. And her silvery hair was pulled around, flowing over her shoulders, straight as a board.
"Of course, mother," Beast said, hunching his shoulders, his bison-like back and chest protruding.
"Vicky, won't you come closer?" The woman reached out a shaky, veined hand. She patted a small chair beside her bed; the doctor's scent was still on it.
Beast gulped and then crept forward. He reached the chair and eased himself down into it; the piece of furniture croaked under his weight.
"There now, I can see you better." The old woman smiled, and although her face was dry and cracked, wetness formed in her eyes at the sight of her son.
Beast hunched over, his paws clasped together. He winced under the weight of her gaze. "I'm sorry, mother," he said.
"For what, dear?"
"For…" He choked, turning his face away from her, leaning over. "For not being what you want me to be."
The old woman sighed, staring up at the ceiling. She pressed her palms together. "Now, Victor, you know that there is still time for you to fix all that," she said matter-of-factly. "It is your choice as to whether or not you grant your mother her dying wish."
Beast cupped his face in his paws and his elbows rested on his knees. "I do not want to marry her…" he spoke, his shoulders shaking with indignance. "I do not want to marry, let alone be acquainted with, someone who speaks such dastardly things about me behind my back."
"You've never even met the girl face-to-face. You don't know what she's like," she said dismissively.
"When she visited the castle, I heard and saw enough from behind the shadows to know what she was like."
"I don't like that you are spying on houseguests, Victor."
"It's the only way to truly get to know people when I can't show myself to them."
The baroness's chest rose. She flared her nostrils before calming down again. Her eyes fell to the bedsheets. "Well, either way, you will not be marrying her."
Beast's head shot up. His eyes dilated as he focused on his mother's emotionless face. "What?"
"You'll not be marrying her. I called the engagement off."
"I… I don't understand." He ran his claws through his fur. "Why?"
"Because I knew you would both be unhappy," she said. "That engagement was decided long ago, years before I discovered her character. Although I think she's a fine lady, I do not think she could handle knowing that her fiancé is… well, in a state such as yours." The baroness scoffed. "She could hardly handle me telling her that you were… deformed. And then the next thing I know, everyone in town believes you're deformed. I won't have my son wedded to a gossip. I won't." She took in a deep breath, shutting her eyes. "I've found you a more suitable prospect in marriage anyway."
Beast's breaths ceased. His ears turned down, falling against his large head and sinking into his fur. Everything in him stopped. "To whom?" he asked, his bass voice echoing through the bed-chamber.
The baroness grinned, some color returning to her face. "You remember Mr. Bourne, don't you? The merchant who once sold textiles to the castle and now has fallen into immense debt?"
Beast nodded, his hazel eyes pleading with his mother's blue ones.
"Well," the old woman extended her veiny hand once more, taking her son's padded paw, "his youngest daughter, Miss Elizabeth Bourne, is of the marrying age now." She sighed, smiling and turning over. The woman cupped her son's furry cheeks with her other hand. Looking into his eyes, she said, "I had a private audience with Mr. Bourne yesterday, and he has agreed to give his daughter's hand to you."
A wildfire lit in Beast's chest. His eyes widened, and their usual forest greens and browns suddenly became consumed in red. He snarled, his nose wrinkling. A growl emitted from his throat.
"Now, now, Victor, don't act like that. You're behaving like a child," his mother snapped. Her jaws clenched together, and her worn-out teeth ground against one another. "Miss Bourne is a perfectly agreeable lady. I think it will be a good match. Not only is she the most beautiful girl in town, but she is also well-mannered and unlikely to make a scene once she discovers your state. I'm sure it will be a most happy union."
The baroness shut her eyes, withdrew her hands from her son, and crossed her arms.
The wildfire in Beast's chest subsided, and all that was left were little pockets of smoke. He thought to himself for a moment, pondering over the situation.
Miss Elizabeth Bourne. No doubt the most beautiful girl in town. Every eligible man with a respectable fortune had his eyes on her. At least, that is what Beast had heard from his mother. She had visited the castle once or twice with her father and other siblings, and Beast had sensed them from the shadows: up in the rafters, wrapped up in curtains, behind closed doors. He remembered only a few things about her though: her fiery red hair, like the dying flames of sunset, an explosion in the sky. It curled on top of her head, twirling into an updo. And then he remembered how small she was, compared to the rest of her family. No other scents or sounds came to mind.
The most beautiful, demure, agreeable girl in town… engaged to a beast. How tragic. How funny. Hopefully, she would react the same as his old fiancée had upon learning he was "deformed."
"Does she think I am deformed?" Beast grunted.
"I'm sure she's heard the tales, but I did not explicitly tell her father anything regarding your appearance."
Beast narrowed his eyes. "And he still agreed?"
The baroness shrugged. "Desperate men do not care if their daughter is married to a beast, as long as he is a wealthy beast." She sank back into her pillows and exhaled deeply, raising one of her palms to her forehead.
Beast's large brows furrowed together; his eyes flew across the room, and then back to his mother. He fumbled with his words for a moment before sputtering: "A merchant's daughter? H-how in the world do you think that will be perceived? A baron marrying the daughter of a penniless merchant?"
"I thought you did not care about what society thinks, Victor."
Beast snorted in response.
The baroness laughed, then coughed. "I'm afraid no excuses will be able to break this union, my son. The deal has already been made. Besides, I have decided to grant Mr. Bourne a hefty sum of money so that he will be penniless no longer. He will also receive the title of a gentleman so that it will be a more balanced union. So, there, you're not marrying the daughter of a penniless merchant, but the daughter of a gentleman with a respectable amount of money." She sighed. "I suppose the only thing now that could withhold this marriage would be that Miss Bourne turns down the offer, which I doubt she will."
The fire in Beast's eyes died. It was useless. He looked at his mother and everything in him stopped working.
The baroness shut her eyes, her chest rising and falling in short sputters. "I'm so tired, Vicky…"
"I know, mother," Beast said, suddenly focusing on her and wrapping his paw around her hand.
"I wish I could live to see you become a man. I so wanted to meet my grandchildren." The strength of her voice faded, like an orchestra playing in a ballroom far far away. "This is your last chance to become human, my son. Please take it before I pass."
Beast winced, his typical strength and aura failing. "Mother, you know I don't want to be a man."
Tears welled up in her eyes and her face distorted as she tried to withhold them. Wrinkles lined her cheeks. "But there are so many beautiful things in life, Victor," she cried. "You will miss them and I don't want that for you, my son." She caught a couple of breaths before continuing: "One day, long after I have passed, you will regret not taking this chance. You will want to be a human when it is far too late. Please, just listen to your mother."
Beast rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting about the room. He turned his head back-and-forth, from the small, dying frame of his mother, to the window which led to the outside world. Rain pelted against the window, and the lush, green forest called to him, pleaded for him, sang to him like sirens. The outside world was the ocean and this castle was his ship. But he was not a sailor. He was a sea monster. He belonged in the sea. With its rip-roaring currents and unpredictability and secrets that only sea creatures know.
"Vicky…" the voice of the old woman called to him.
He faced his mother once more. "Yes?"
"Please… for your dear old mother, marry the girl." She fought to keep her eyes open.
"Mother, I…"
"Victor, you must. I know you have been a beast your whole life… but there is something greater waiting for you. Some destiny which you do not yet understand." Her grip on his paw loosened ever so slightly. "It's what your father would have wanted…"
Beast's eyes widened and his breaths quickened at the mention of that man. He laid his head down on her bed, gripping her hand. "Mother, please, don't make me do this." His voice rose in pitch as he begged.
The wet warmness of his words fell over the baroness, but she remained dry underneath them, like a corpse. Her head tilted back.
"Miss Bourne is an agreeable woman. She will make a wonderful bride for my boy," she said, almost as if she were hallucinating or just waking from a dream. With all of her remaining strength, the old woman patted her son's paw.
"Mother… who are you speaking to? Mother?"
"Yes, she will make a lovely wife. And a wonderful mother." Her eyes remained closed as she drifted off somewhere else, somewhere beyond the room.
"Mother?" Beast leaned over, his heart racing as though he were chasing an animal in the forest. "Mother!"
"My boy… will finally be… human."
The last words were hardly a whisper, barely an echo. They seemed to be coming from another world, another life, another person. A slight smile formed at the edge of her lips, and the woman's wrinkles melted away as she drifted into a slumber. Her chest rose and fell, slowly, steadily. Pink apples blossomed in her cheeks for only a second, before falling away and returning to the color of a corpse.