A gentle glow snuck in through a slim window at the top of the wall opposite Cyrah’s cramped cell. Her eyes flickered open, surveyed her surroundings. Past night’s events recollected, she nodded off to sleep again.
A harsh clang of metal jolted her awake. Her breath came in short gasps, heart pounding rapidly. A group of disfigured servants crowded outside of her cell. One of them used a key to unlock the door, another stepped inside and offered a plate of cold meat and fruit for breakfast. Cyrah eagerly accepted the plate, balanced it on one leg crossed over the other, and began to eat.
At first, starvation made her eat quickly. Hesitating, she realized the little red monsters lurked, gawking at her. Their turquoise, green, and yellow eyes were transfixed upon her, as if they had never seen a woman. Cyrah ate the last few bites slowly, made uncomfortable by their intense staring. She set her empty plate on the floor with the fork on top, yet they remained. With an eyebrow raised, she wondered, “What are you waiting for?”
The creatures turned to one another, communicating in snorts, and then back to Cyrah. She squinted until all fell into an eerie silence. To fill this void, her mind drifted to a light tune from her childhood. The song flowed into her veins and filled her spirit, reminding her of the fields and valleys of the world. Tapping a hand to her thigh for a steady beat, she opened her mouth and sang the melody aloud.
The beady eyes of the crouched creatures widened in awe. They glanced at one another, expressing astonishment and shock. As the short rhyme closed, they applauded and excitedly danced around on their scrawny legs. Cyrah smiled. “Well, this is a first. Never have I had an audience before. I’m glad you enjoyed the song.”
Suddenly, they fell utterly still. Cyrah heard familiar heavy footsteps clacking on stone, and the servants of the castle that attended her scattered. She peered into the shadows as the footsteps grew louder, hoping to catch a glimpse of his face in the scarce light. An azure cloak covered his torso, its shadow bulky. Sunlight glimpsed olive green fur spilling out from the legs of cloth pants down to hooves. Cyrah skittered away from the bars in fright, gaze transfixed on this particular abnormality.
“They fed you,” he remarked gruffly, mildly surprised. “Odd. Normally, they would be the ones feasting on you.”
Cyrah swallowed a lump of fear at the horrific image his words conjured. Her head tilted, finding an outline of his face that painted images as monstrous as the rest of him. “Who are you? What are you?”
“You have a divine singing voice. This may come as a surprise, but I am highly skilled as a pianist,” he declared proudly.
Her ensuing lighthearted laughter was halted when he shot her with an icy glare. Calmly, she said, “You’re right, that is a surprise. I do not believe you.”
He snorted defensively and turned his head away, eyes narrowed in anger. His rage was cast aside with a toss of his hand. “And why should you? I’m nothing but a mindless monster,” he grumbled, sulking as he turned to leave.
“Is that all?” Cyrah smirked when the beast stopped, and crossed her arms. “You should want to prove me wrong. Or should I go on believing you only know how to play lullabies?”
“Just as feisty as I remember,” he noted indifferently, approaching the cell. “I accept your challenge. I will release you for now, only to prove my statement true.” He produced a ring of keys from an inner pocket of his cloak and chose just one that unlocked the door. “If you try to run, I’ll reconsider whether I allow my servants to eat you,” he advised.
Cyrah jolted as she hesitantly rose to exit the cell. Before she could walk a single step, a set of shackles were snapped shut around her slender wrists by a pair of large, clawed hands. Eyes widened, she asked, “What is this? You don’t trust me?”
“No. I do not,” he grumbled. A chain rattled attached to her restraints rattled as he secured it in his hand, and he led her along into the castle.
Escorted through the scullery, the dining room, and up a set of stairs that divided the great hall into the east and west wings, Cyrah commented her observation aloud. “You must not entertain much. The dust has settled in layers, none of the chandeliers are lit, and your decorations are grimy.”
He ignored her offensive remarks about his castle and continued to lumber forward with a permanent sulk. Cyrah followed along a first floor corridor, watching how his torso twisted with the effort of each step, as if he pulled a cart full of the world’s burdens by a yoke around his neck.
At last, he guided Cyrah into a room littered with musical instruments. Harps and cellos erected beside chairs, violins resting on shelves, horns and wind instruments nestled in cases Cyrah found as she surveyed the room from left to right. The walls were lined with blue wallpaper and painted with repeated gold swirls. Curtains over the windows were closed but a few candles lining the walls suddenly flickered to life, which sent her imagination wandering. “How did you do that?”
The beast closed the door, locked it and pocketed the key, effectively trapping Cyrah inside. The chain clattered on the floor, and he crossed the room while casting a victorious smirk at her. Farthest back in the room sat a grand piano, reflecting the candles in its polished, black sides. He lifted the lid to reveal the keys and propped open the top of the piano over the strings. When he sat on the bench, creaking ominously under his weight, he flicked back his cloak as if he wore a coat with long tails. His fingers glided fluidly across the ivory keys, dancing up and down musical scales to warm up. Simultaneously, he asked, “Any special requests?”
Cyrah, already impressed, responded simply. “Choose a ballad.”
The beast situated his fingers on the ivory keys, finding the correct notes only from memory, and pressed down with measured weight. A simple song designed for amateurs was brought alive by his mastery. Mesmerized, Cyrah moved toward the piano with slow and deliberate steps. He manipulated the keys, giving the song wings that helped her imagination soar away to a distant land. He played with such passion she invented stories of friends turned lovers, facing dragons, and aiding knights, scenes flowing seamlessly to the music. The tones of the piano, volume rising and falling, energy put forth in every note, empowered Cyrah, moving her soul and she parted her lips to sing in harmony.
His gaze darted from the piano to Cyrah, jaw slipping apart in astonishment. He continued to play but with less intensity, allowing her voice to enhance the song. Fearing her singing might end if the song faltered, he divided his concentration between continuing the song and the divine nature of her voice.
Inevitably, the song ended. Cyrah’s sapphire eyes locked on the beast sitting on the piano bench, shadows obscuring details of his features like a mask. Suddenly, there was more to him than could be perceived by the eye, hiding behind a monstrous physique. The king was silent as he stood, and walking toward her he picked up the end of her chain.
Worried, she quietly asked, “Are you taking me back to the dungeon?”
“Yes,” he answered, rumbling voice void of emotion.
“Why won’t you release me?” The beast led her to the door at the back of the room in silence. “I am guilty of nothing!”
He yanked the chain when he arrived at the door. Cyrah stumbled closer to him, nearly falling to the floor. As he shoved the key into the lock, he interrogated her. “How innocent can you be if someone burned down your house?”
Cyrah was jarred by shock. Quickly, she recovered and retorted, “How do you know whether or not I’m the victim?”
He guided her outside the room and turned on her with a smirk, satisfied that his suspicions proved accurate. “Then who better to plead your innocence to than the king of this land? I shall listen to your plight,” he said arrogantly. “Otherwise I’ll assume someone felt you deserved to lose your home. Again.”
“Again? How do you- King, man, or beast, I’ll never confide in you,” she uttered with defiance.
“Then I must assume your guilt until you’re prepared to explain why you are innocent,” he advised with conceited anger, and led his prisoner back through the corridor.
She steamed with anger at his callous treatment. “Just when I glimpsed a shred of humanity you prove just how much of a monster you are.”
“You cannot fathom the horrors that I’m capable of, Cyrah,” he responded darkly.
They descended to the dungeons where the nauseating smell choked her. The cell that belonged to her was farthest away from the soiled water, her only reprieve from the stench. “You claimed to know me but I have no recollection of you. What happened to the king? Who are you and how do you know who I am?”
The beast opened the cell’s door and shoved her inside. “You are obnoxiously curious,” he remarked, unlocking her shackles to remove them. “Do not expect answers if you are not prepared to provide the same.” He slammed the door shut with a deafening clang that made Cyrah grimace.
After turning the key for the lock to click in place, he turned to leave, but she spoke up for one last question. “Wait!” Cyrah was surprised when he stopped and peered over his hunched shoulder. “You know my name, tell me yours.”
A contemplative silence followed, during which she worried he would deny her that information. Finally, when the last flame of hope flickered out, he stalked away from the cell and gave an answer. “My name is Nikolis.”
Kilena Shrelack 