I awoke to a gentle rapping on my door. I opened my eyes, shivering. The fire in my room was not lit and outside a storm of snow raged furiously against my window.

I'm trapped here for now, I thought. Until this magical summer snow lets up, I would not dare try to escape. It would be a suicide mission.

The knocking continued. "My dear, are you awake? Would you like something to eat?"

I recognized Martha's kind voice and opened the door. She was waiting for me with the familiar tray of food, this time covered in sandwiches and tea.

"Thank you," I said quietly as she made her way inside. I shut the door tightly behind her.

I watched as she sat the tray on my bed and began fussing over the items on the tray; business as usual.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Hmm?" She looked up from her task. "What did you say, my dear?"

"Why didn't you tell me the master is keeping me here? Am I his prisoner?"

Martha nearly dropped the tea cup she was holding, but caught hold of it just in time. "His prisoner? Dear me, no, I assure you it's not like that." She then moved over to my fireplace and began to fuss over that.

"I'm begging you," I said, "tell me then: what is it? Why won't he let me leave?!"

She sighed sadly, pausing her task. "I cannot speak for the master," she said carefully. "None of this has ever happened before."

"So you have no answers to give me," I said bitterly. "You, who have tended to me and cared for me. Why? So the master can have well cared-for prisoner?" My emotions were rising again. I knew they would soon get the best of me—but every part of my being wanted to scream out, to run away. First I was Lorna's prisoner, then I was going to be handed over to Lord Terrowin, and now I was a stranger's prisoner. I sat at the end of my bed, tears welling up into my eyes. "I can't do this anymore."

Martha sat down quietly beside me, the fire now flickering happily, filling the room with its warmth. "I know this is hard on you," she said gently. "I can see the pain you are in; it requires no explanation for me. The master is… well, let me just say I have known him for most of his life. He has a heart of gold. He is fiercely protective and fiercely—well, stubborn I suppose. I do know that he would never, ever harm you, Belle. There is more to this story than you can know."

I shook my head, hot tears falling shamefully down my face. I hated exposing myself this way, but the feeling of dread that had been building up, chasing me all of this time had reached its peak. "I don't care about his supposed heart of gold. I don't care that he's stubborn. He has no right to keep me here—he—he doesn't know what he's doing!"

Martha tutted empathetically, smoothing down my tangled hair with her hand like a mother would. "At least have something to eat," she said, "until we get this all figured out."

Hmm…

"The master wants me to eat?" I asked.

"Of course," said Martha. "He saved you, after all. I just know this is all a big misunderstanding."

"I won't eat anything until he lets me go," I immediately decided. "I'll wither down to a state worse than I was even when I arrived. I swear it."

"What?"

I looked her in the eye to show her my sincerity. "I mean what I say. I'll starve myself. He doesn't get to care for me anymore." And with that, I got up and threw the food off of my place and into the fire. Martha gasped in horror.

"You can't!" she exclaimed. "I won't let you do that to yourself."

I stood my ground, my hands shaking. "You can't force me to eat. And if everyone here is so concerned for my well-being, then I'd be free to go by now! Don't you understand?"

She stared at me mournfully for a long, silent moment. "My dear," she quietly spoke. "I know this is wrong. If I could open the door for you I would do it in a second—but, there's just one thing-There is one thing I can tell you."

I defiantly held my ground, waiting to hear her answer.

"The master," she said carefully, her tone dropping so low that even I could barely hear her words, "the master recognized you the night he saved you from the wolves. He told me he saw you in a dream."

I was frozen in shock. Certainly it was the last thing I ever expected to hear.

She looked at me hopefully. "Does that mean anything to you?"

"A dream?"

She nodded, her eyes full with apprehension, as if she told me something of great secrecy.

I have always dreamed—all my life, practically every night. But my dreams were constant, rarely changing, and they were meaningful in a way I knew deep in my soul. Dreams were the truth.

But I was speechless. What could it mean? What if it was a lie? A trick? A manipulation? A way of drawing me out into some kind of trap?

Martha wouldn't lie, I thought to myself. But I don't know this master.

"I need to speak with him," I said. "I'm going to give him one more chance."

Martha beamed, her face washed with relief. "Dinner," she said decidedly. "Cooky will prepare a formal dinner and the master will most certainly attend tonight."

"Good. But I mean it: he gets one more chance."

That evening the snow storm began to calm, and out of nowhere music began to echo through the castle and into my room. It was a soft, melodic piece on a piano—one I did not recognize. It was admittedly beautiful, and as I waited for Martha to announce dinner time I felt oddly comforted. When was the last time I even heard music?

The night of the prince's ball. A lifetime ago.

At last, she came to my room. Clarkson was with her, grim and tall as usual.

"Dinner is served, Mistress Belle."

They escorted me to the small dining room near the garden hall. The long table was set just like before; plates and dishes covered with a feast, candles lighting the silverware—two places set, each at opposite ends of the table. The master was nowhere to be seen.

"I knew he wouldn't come," I remarked.

Clarkson pulled out my chair and invited me to sit down.

"He'll be here," said Martha. She smiled warmly and followed Clarkson out of the room.

I sat down with a huff, staring at all the food I had vowed not to eat, my stomach empty and already aching. The piano music came to an abrupt end, just then, and the castle was once again shrouded in an eerie silence. A second later, the master entered the room from the opposite side. He was once again wearing the demon mask.

I sat up in the chair, my jaw setting in annoyance. "You can't eat while wearing a mask."

He sat down at the other end and folded his hands in his lap, saying nothing.

I folded my arms and sat back. The candles flickered silently between us.

"Ahem," said Clarkson from the doorway. Martha was standing beside him, her hands on her hips. They threw the master a knowing look and swiftly exited the room again.

"They said you're refusing to eat," said the master.

"I won't eat if you won't let me go," I said.

"Then tell me who you are."

I clutched the arm of the chair tightly, my knuckles white. "My name is Belle."

"Why are you lying?"

I breathed carefully through my nose as I stared down the table at the masked stranger.

"You truly are a demon," I said. "Even if you did take off the mask. I bet you're horrible—disgusting to look at!"

The master said nothing.

Only a demon would treat me this way, I thought with fury. This is just a game to him.

"I'm not what you think I am," said the master. "But I can't trust you, and apparently you can't trust me. So this is going to be a huge waste of time."

I stood up, my anger making me feel feverish. "Fine," I said. "I never asked for your trust anyway. I didn't ask for you to save me from the wolves!"

The master also stood, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "I know it wasn't really the wolves you were running from. Tell me who sent you here!"

"Take off your mask!" I shouted back.

As if it were an impulse, the master raised his hand to the mask but then stopped in the same moment.

From somewhere far in the castle, there was a knock.

We stood there in slice and disbelief, uncertain at what had just happened. Then there was another knock—a series of knocks, hurried and frantic.

"It's—it's the front door," said the master, as if he were unsure.

I could feel the blood drain from my face. My heart fell into the pit of my stomach as horror overcame my body. It's the necromancer.

I stared at the master, wide eyed and speechless. He lowered his hand away from his face, where the mask remained. Without a word he swiftly exited the room.

"Don't!" I pleaded, following him into the hall.

He was way ahead of me now, disappearing around the corner. I dared not go any further.

This is it, I thought, leaning against the wall as I put my head in my hands. It's all over now.

I could hear the heavy front door swing open. There was a strange pause.

Then Lord Terrowin spoke:

"I have walked for days now in the rain and snow. My precious daughter has been lost. I won't stop searching until I have found her. She's mentally ill, you see, and is in need of great care. Only the care her loving family can give to her. Please, sir, tell me you have seen or heard of my daughter?"

The master was silent for a long moment before replying. "How did you find this castle?"

"I have been lost in these words in storms, as I've said," the necromancer replied, his voice wrought with sorrow and disparity. "I will not stop until I find my beloved daughter. Have you seen her?"

"No one comes to these parts," the master replied with a hard edge to his voice. "I've seen nothing."

I sat against the wall, listening, my arms wrapped tightly around my knees, my heart racing so fast it could have burst out of my chest.

"I am cold and tired," the necromancer continued, "But I must continue on. She is in great danger, you see."

There was a long, silent pause.

"Will you invite me in?" Lord Terrowin asked. "I can smell food—ah, it's delicious. Do you already have a place set? Maybe two?"

"Whoever it is you're looking for, they're not here," the master declared, his voice tense. "So I think you should be on your way now."

"She's a beautiful girl," said the necromancer. "Beautiful and frightened. If you find her, there will be quite an award for returning her safely. Her name is Mary."

"There is no one named Mary here," said the master. "So goodbye."

"I found this at your gates," said Lord Terrowin. "It belongs to her."

Another pause, this time short.

"I have never seen that before," said the master. "And I'm telling you to leave."

"Here," the necromancer replied, "Keep it. So if she has the other one you will know it's her. And you can come find me."

The door shut tightly.

I exhaled, my mind swimming. Was he gone? Was he really gone?

The master reappeared. In his grasp was one of the glass slippers I had left behind in the woods that night. The necromancer found it and tracked me here, I realized.

I stared up as the master stood before me, his hand outstretched, offering the slipper. I took it.

"Okay then, Belle," he said at last. "My name's Adrian. It's nice to meet you."

He took off his mask, letting it clatter to the floor. The impasse was broken.

It's him, I realized, looking upon is face. The screaming boy from my dreams.

I was right. He is real.