Chapter Seven || To Be Rid of a Beast

                                    

                                          


                          


                          
WHEN I HAD awoken that next day, the sun's setting colors shone through the window. Lazily, I turned over and stretched my limbs, admiring the smears of blood in the white sheets that had long turned red. Bits of the blood were from my shoulders and others a remnant of my lord husband's embrace, for I had been too tired to call for a bath.
                          
Carefully, I sat up and found that the maids had already drawn a bath. Gingerly, I undid the bandaging from my pale shoulder. I had tended to the wound well enough that I did not fear infection. Those beasts had been vicious and bloodthirsty. It occurred to me that I had left my husband to die in that hallway.
                          
A twinge of guilt struck me, recalling that he had come to fend the beasts from me...to save me. I pushed the unpleasant thought out of my mind and distracted myself with the bath. The warm water greeted my flesh, heating me from the skin throughout. I felt a soft moan leave my throat as the pleasurable sensations of the hot waters' caress overtook my mind.
                          
I tilted my head back, shutting my eyes as I eased a breath from within me. The water seeped through my skin, heating my muscles so thoroughly I felt it in the marrow of my bones. The maids returned then, with soaps and perfumes and oils. They scrubbed my body of the dried smudges of blood, rubbing my skin until it glowed a shade of rosé.
                          
Once I had eased from the bath, they dried my hair and patted my skin dry. My body was oiled and my nails trimmed, and I allowed myself to enjoy every moment of this final pampering. When they discover what had become of their lord, I was to be back in my little cottage, in the company of my family while I shared the tale of how I had befallen the Beast.
                          
Blissfully, I felt as the oil had made my skin smoother than the glistening shell of a pearl. The maids took great care with wrapping my shoulder back up, not daring to ask a single question. I did not offer to explain, for I wanted to make no attachments to any of my former husbands' servants.
                          
I was later dressed in the warmest of gowns, one that covered me from neck-to-toe, loosely enveloping me in fabrics thicker than any blankets that had ever swathed my body. My breasts were not on display as they had been on previous nights, instead, they were left hidden beneath the gown. After the maids had left me to head to my dinner, I chose to instead pick a cloak from the closet and spread it across the floor.
                          
I gathered all of my belongings and proceeded to place them atop the cloak. I had only brought a few things, of which included a couple of books that I had stolen when I was thirteen—from the shoemakers' scamp of a son. Within my things were a hairbrush and a decorated comb that featured fine needled barbs, identical to that of my many sisters. I had two green and gold ribbons gifted by my widowed caretakers on my fifteenth birthday. One especially dear gift was given to me by Joceline, my little sister who had given me her favorite findings in a leather pouch: chipped blue pebbles, dried yellow leaves, colorful threads, and braided locks of cut hair.
                          
However, the most prized possessions of mine were the knives that had found a path to my hands over the course of my life. The first, I had bought using the collective livre that I had stolen from the rich boys and girls that picked on me and my orphaned siblings. The second was gifted to me by Mother Margaret who taught me the arts of killing and seduction. And the third was from Emil who would be ever so delighted to see me when I returned. All three of the daggers were embedded into a ceiling somewhere in this palace. And despite all matters, I contemplated against searching for them.
                          
Eagerly, I knotted the cloak so that it easily carried my items. As I tied the fabric into an intricate jumbled tangle, I thought of how I would return to the village. Perhaps I would steal a horse.