6
The whole incident of the stolen magic wand came in extremely handy, or so he thought at the time. The situation was starting to get impossible – he was amazed how quickly it happened, how soon punishment came following the crime. The girl – Belle – had been in his castle for two days. Just two days, and already he felt his life completely destroyed. His settled existence in the castle was disrupted with her cleaning, the air was filled with her presence, and his peace of mind was unhinged by his constant awareness of her. She seemed completely oblivious of what was happening to him. She was moving around the place all businesslike, absorbed in work, looking unbearably sweet in her concentration. Sometimes she'd smile at him, in passing, or give him a fleeting look, and go on with her work. Yet even when she was not in the same room as he, he could hear her or smell her or simply feel her here, within the walls of his home, invading his life and changing it… forever.
He was scared – people are always afraid of change. He was madly exited, every nerve in his body tingling, his skin eager for her touch, his heart beating wildly, his body at once tense and alert at her closeness or just the thought of her, his head swimming with sweet and shameful visions: of her lips parted and wet and getting close to his face, of him tracing the length of her neck with his finger, of her eyes half-closing at his touch, eyelashes casting long shadows on her flushed cheeks, and of a sigh escaping her lips as he kissed the corner of her mouth. These sensations racked his body and these visions filled his brain despite the fact that he told himself, repeatedly, that he must control himself – he has to get a grip of himself. He was angry with himself – for having brought all this about, for reacting to her so strongly, for building up dreams and emotions that had no place in his life. He was filled with sorrow when he heard her crying, and with shame at having brought her suffering, and distraught at his inability to help her in any way. How could he help her if he was the very reason of her unhappiness? He was childishly happy, his head and heart buzzing with joy whenever he had a glimpse at her. He was uncomfortable; he has almost forgotten how it felt to be in somebody's power, he worked hard to push out of his mind the feeling of helpless despondency, which accompanied him most of his life, yet now it was coming back. Yes, he was powerful and could do all sorts of amazing things. Yet he could do nothing to disengage himself from the influence of this girl. He never felt anybody control him with the dagger – the cursed thing never left his possession, he was perhaps the only Dark One in history to be without a human master, to go completely uncontrolled, and he intended to keep it that way. Yet this girl felt more dangerous and more powerful that the dagger, for he realized, deep in his heart, that he would do anything – anything – just to please her. He felt so pitiful admitting this overwhelming desire to be liked by her. He resented his apparent weakness and he marveled at the light that seemed to fill him from the inside whenever he thought of the light of her eyes.
He thought, wildly, that it was fortunate that she seemed to have a kind heart – were she evil and were she aware of her power over him, she could have moved him towards truly horrible deeds.
He remembered the miller's daughter, uneasily – remembered what a fool he made of himself over her. The situation was somehow alike – she struck him deeply the moment he set eyes on her, and he felt drawn to her, and hopeful and eager. He was sure that she was meant to matter in his life, to influence it seriously. God forgive him, he even thought that she was the girl he was destined to love. The mistake was, perhaps, a natural one – the connection between them was so strong as to obscure its' true nature. Yet it was a mistake nevertheless, and an extremely painful one. And it cast dark shadow on what was happening now. For, though he was deeply and irrationally sure he got it right this time, the very exited blindness of his conviction made him apprehensive. If he were mistaken again, the consequences would be that much worse – that much more dangerous to him. Back then he stood in danger of becoming a very dark person, yet in this darkness he would have remained himself – that's how it felt.
Belle, he was sure, had the power to change him completely, to make him disappear in her and emerge a different person. And that was something he could never allow to happen.
He could never allow himself to be conquered by this girl – for so many reasons. His whole obsession with her could be a mistake. It was, obviously and glaringly, unrequited. And even if his feelings were reciprocated, what would he do with the girl? How can he lose himself for an illusion, for an ephemeral thing existing only in his foolishly hopeful heart?
So, when he was not stealing furtive glances at her or thinking of her or straining his ears to check if she were approaching, so as to have time to adapt a look of somebody engrossed in deepest thought, he busied himself with devising a plan of driving her away from him. Letting her go now was impossible – he would look ridiculous, and anyway he could not survive without her: despite all disturbance the girl caused him the very thought of not having her around was unbearable (how quickly one gets used to good things!).
She had to be here, near him. But she had to be distanced. His 'snarling and sneering' strategy wasn't working too well – Belle just more or less ignored his mood-swings, quietly leaving the room when he was especially obnoxious, and returning later with a cup of tea. Despite her nighttime tears, she didn't seem to really resent him, and she certainly didn't fear him. Now and then he noticed kindness and curiosity in those blindingly blue eyes of hers. So he needed something stronger to drive her away. He needed to remind her that he was not, after all, just an eccentric gentleman with peculiar appearance; he was a powerful and dangerous dark wizard. Unfortunately, there needs to be a reason to demonstrate power and to induce danger and to scare with darkness, and till the thief came to disrupt the peace of the castle, there were none.
This thief was a lifesaver for him. He did do something deeply offensive – stealing magic is very bad business. He behaved insolently. He tried to kill him. And he just didn't like the guy, whose large frame, bearded face and bullying self-assurance reminded him of the pirate that took away his wife, humiliated him and caused him to change, eventually. So, here was a perfect opportunity to show Belle just how horrible her master could be. He needed some outlet to his frustration and excitement – punishing the thief was a perfect chance to let some steam off.
He had the right, the power and the justifications to torture the man, to death if such happened to be the case. Yet he found no joy in doing it. There was no… spontaneity in the way he went about it. He was always mindful of the girl, there outside the dungeon, listening to the screams and being disgusted by him. Yes, he knew that to disgust and frighten her was the exact purpose of the whole exercise, but it felt deeply wrong. He knew he must blacken himself in Belle's eyes, he told himself he must. But he did not want it – his heart wasn't in it. And you can't torture anyone half-heartedly.
He really was not a very violent man. He had a temper, a quick one, he never denied it, and in blindness of fury he was capable of quite horrible things. But that was exactly the point. All his blackest crimes were committed in a fit of some extreme emotion. All his crimes were crimes of passion, impulsive – he acted on impulse to protect his child, to avenge broken love, to save his own life. He found it difficult, indeed nearly impossible, to cold-bloodedly inflict pain on a human being, however detestable. Eliminating offending elements quickly was one thing – dragging on with killing painfully, quite another. The former was almost nice – with every quick kill he felt he was cleaning the world of dirt, purifying it. With the latter he polluted it.
He tried to urge himself by mentally linking this thief with the pirate, yet it didn't help. He still didn't want to torture him. To kill him, may be, but not to torture.
He started thinking that may be it was a bad idea, after all. It would have been more effective, certainly more spectacular, if he just killed the thief in front of her. But now it was too late; if he dragged the fellow back to the living room to kill him, or invited her to witness the deed, it would all look forced and fidgety and unnatural. And anyway, there was no fury in him. He didn't feel really offended by the thief – he felt rather sorry for him, sorry for the big fool who bit off more than he could chew and was now paying a very painful price.
Suddenly he felt he couldn't endure this torture any more. He couldn't stay in this room, filled with stink of blood and sweat and urine and animalistic fear, he couldn't stay and look at this averted tear-stained face, at the big hairy body, hanging limply on chains, shuddering with weakness and pain. If he stayed here a moment longer, he'd be physically sick.
He needed to get away – to get a breath of fresh air and to clean his head.
So he abandoned his unwanted prey, emerged from the torture chamber and faced Belle.
She was glaring at him – disappointedly, sadly.
She still didn't look scared, but she was definitely downcast and apprehensive. 'Good', he thought. 'That's exactly how you should look at me, oh darling, darling girl, sweet and naïve and beautiful and so dangerous to me and to my heart'.
He should have felt satisfied – his plan was working, finally. Yet, uninvited and unwelcome, a memory came to him – a fleeting memory of a moment, just hours ago, when the thief shot him with an arrow and, as it pierced his chest, she gasped in alarm and moved as if to help him. She didn't know he can't be killed by such ordinary means, and she was scared for him.
Oh darling, darling, darling.
He left the castle, but he didn't go far: he just went to the nearby forest and sat on the trunk of a fallen tree, looking – and feeling – like some small creature of the woods, shivering in the gray wetness of the misty day. He felt utterly lost and miserable.
Quarter of an hour later, he saw the thief escape from the castle.
Despite his black mood, he gave a snort. So she let him go – the moment her dark master was out of door, she defied him. Challenged him, at her peril, letting his prisoner escape.
He was not surprised, not at all. He already knew that she was a kind and fearless creature – she proved that when she left her family for him.
Nevertheless he was extremely interested to know what she'd say for herself when her deed was discovered.
