Beyond the colorless, pitted stone of the castle walls, a scintillating sunrise had flourished and bathed the verdant countryside and the quiescent village in a dew-laden sheen. The shimmering early light ignited the swaying oak, embellishing deciduous hues of red, gold, and yellow to a vibrant splash of pastels amidst otherwise a mass of drab and brown. These flaky fragments were plucked from their seasoned limbs by an autumnal gust to flit and skirt across the vast, damp foliage.

For one with unseeing eyes, the colorful and picturesque morning would have no tactile sway on her senses, for it fell short of the stronghold and failed to percolate or penetrate the solid chambers in which Elle found herself committed to.

Comprised of dust and dark matter, the chilly air was consistent of a closed and shuttered room, where sunlight, among other things, was staved off by thick tapestries and unsympathetic stone. It held little vestiges of the outside world, emitting but marginal traces of its brooding keeper in small earthy and masculine whiffs whenever the counterpane was stirred.

Seated before the hearth, her legs tucked beneath her, Elle listened as the dying embers fought to sustain their final breaths of vitality. Rubbing her arms, she pressed deeper into the over-sized chair, seeking to ward off the advancing chill with its downy softness.

In the village, just before her sisters would arise to tend to the livestock, Elle would often take a measured stroll along the trees. There, a convergence of vegetation and wildlife could be revered on one's senses; the air redolent with the loss of leaves and replete with a saline mist whilst songbirds trilled a sweet warble in tandem with a gentle, lulling wind as it rustled through intertwined branches.

It was a welcoming reprieve from the myriad of harsh whispers that assailed her daily, an entity of tranquility that Elle relished with every dawn but found wanting desperately of in this gelid and ruined turret.

Just on the other side of the door, a soft shuffling could be heard.

Unfolding her legs from the chair, the muscles there cramped with minor discomfort as she slowly came to her feet. As the latch registered with a groan, like most of the uncared-for things that dwelled here, her hands coasted across the seated frame and came to rest on its high back.

"Good morning, Lucy." She called in warm greeting as the maid's heels scurried into the room.

"Oh!" Lucy exclaimed in an unpleasant tone, whipping past Elle in a fuss of rustling skirts and clattering porcelain. "'Tis dreadfully cold in here! You must be frozen to the bone."

"'Tis not all that bad." Elle remarked, suppressing a shiver with a shrug of her slender shoulders.

"Not all that bad?" Lucy mirrored in a shrill voice. "Do you favor your fingers and toes?" There was another rapid flutter of wool and nimble feet followed by some imperceptible mumbling about receiving a harsh lecture.

With a playful grin, Elle feigned a casual mien of indifference as she tapped her chin with her forefinger. "Well, should I have the misfortune of losing my extremities via the dreadful chill, there are always my elbows and heels to steer me about."

"This is no laughing matter!" Lucy cried partly in earnest, for her inflection had lightened a degree at Elle's jest. "Lord Rossetti will be most displeased were he to discover his guest half frozen being that I failed to stoke the fire when needed, and rightly so!"

Elle laughed as she angled an ear in an effort to track the maid's frenzied activity. "Come now, Lucy. I'm much too spirited to congeal to ice."

At last, the maid paused in her frantic ministrations and Elle suspected she had finally succeeded in assuaging some of her concerns. "Aye, miss, that you are."

"Could we part the tapestries to permit a bit of sun?" She suggested.

"Oh, nay, miss." Lucy admonished in a worrying modulation. "Lord Rossetti forbids it."

Shoulders slumping in disappointment, Elle needn't bother as to question why, for she already knew the answer to that. A man as disfigured and forlorn as Rossetti had no fondness for the sun and was disinclined to bring such pain and anguish to light, where that ruthless ridicule and those unapologetic views lurked. He presumed to think that this existence of loneliness and perpetual darkness was a befitting condemnation for all of his wrongdoings, that he deserved no better, so much so, that it extended as far as barring the sun from the intimacy of his own quarters. And as she had established upon first appraising his chambers, they were an exact disheartening reflection of that estimation.

It simply broke her heart to imagine him here, alone in this room, with no one to bear him company and devoid of sunlight that could breathe animation into its cob-webbed alcoves.

"Come, miss. I have brought your tea and a basin of water for you to freshen up. It is here on the table just before the hearth. Cook is preparing some fresh brown bread and a bit of porridge. I shall bring it up shortly."

"Will Lord Rossetti be joining me?" The sudden prospect of dining alone in a cold and capacious room held little appeal for her.

"Afraid not, miss. Lord Rossetti has been in the Great Hall all morn."

Apprehension seized at her insides as she recalled the odious men that had taken residence of the hall last night. "Are those men still here?" She gripped the chair tighter. "Has something happened?"

"Nay, miss." Lucy was quick to lessen her concerns. "From what I understand, Givens escorted them out the gates just before dawn. They merely wanted to whet their appetites and quench their thirst."

Lucy's response brought some relief but by half, for she couldn't shake the nagging sensation that something was amiss, and if they had truly departed, why then was Rossetti still in the Great Hall? "They left without quarrel or resistance?"

"Aye, it would appear so." The maid's soft tread carried her across the room. "I best fetch your breakfast lest it catches a chill. We can't have you frozen and famished, that just won't do! I will get another fire going as soon as I return. Have you further need of me, I shan't be very long."

Elle gave a brief nod and sought out the table ahead of her.

Through trial and error, she had acquired a keen awareness of Rossetti's massive quarters by way of touch and smell. With the pads of her fingers, the room had presented several sturdy pieces of furniture, each predominantly assembled from oak and fashioned particularly for a man of large and broad proportions. Where the dust lay heavier, she discerned that these items have been left undisturbed for a lengthy period of time – mayhap deliberately, in that the memories they engendered were too painful.

Thick, heavy tapestries covered a balcony that she dared not trespass upon, for fear of rousing Rossetti's temper on account of his aversion for the sun, and partly because she had never navigated an elevated structure high above ground, where a powerful gust and one misguided step could send her toppling in the wrong direction. It was uncharted territory that she was not confident in traversing. To the right of that layered drapery, she had uncovered a large paneled chest arranged against the wall. Her fingers had lingered in mounting curiosity over the strong box, tracing its elaborate engravings with a hazard wonder as to the secrets stowed inside. Had the red dress come from its hollowed interior?

Elle had hoped that by touching his things, learning them, that she would gain a further understanding of the enigmatic Rossetti, only to encounter heaps of more dust and dismissed objects that held no value anymore.

Having familiarized herself with the room and its remnants, Elle felt it unnecessary to wield her staff and left it resting against the arm of the chair. It was a small victory on her part to maneuver around without it, granting her a modicum of liberation that a small part of her secretly yearned for.

She was reflecting on this when a small almost inaudible sound seized her ear.

Her vitals slowed in rapid succession as alarm and confusion collided in the wake of an erroneous pitch that rent the air.

When it came again, her panic doubled, her heart answering with a frightening lurch.

A creaking door. A whisper of cloth. The thud of a boot.

What was so alarming, so wrong about it, was that it came from the inner parts of the room, projected in close proximity of where the bed stood, rather than the fore. Was there a hidden door that led to a secret passageway? Rossetti had made no mention of it, and why would he?

The deafening caveat sounded again, heralding danger, forewarning her with mounting terror that she was not alone.

Thud ... thud ... thud.

A cold shaft of fear slid down her spine as she gripped the table's edge, her ears reverberating with the heavy drag of a man's footing and his harsh, labored breaths. A strong pungent stench of ale and an unwashed body struck her with such intensity that she had to refrain from recoiling, even as her stomach heaved with nausea.

Rendered with trepidation and uncertainty, Elle fought to compose her wild heart as it raged with rapid-fire against her breast and assumed a visage of calm that belied the pandemonium within her chest.

"W-who's there?" She called softly.

A deep voice came low and menacing in the form of an ominous laugh, its chilling vibration echoing through her with resounding alarm as his weaving gait crawled to a halt just a few feet from her.

"She shows me things."

Elle stiffened, her dread solidifying into a tangible, unforgiving knot in her belly, impinging upon her already rattled senses. She knew that voice – had encountered it once before. Committed it to memory. Its wicked and sardonic note rang familiar, albeit thicker and somewhat drawn-out, as if his tongue hugged every syllable, and hazard a guess that it had much to do with a hefty consumption of drink.

The man is intoxicated.

Wary of his shuffling steps, Elle tried calling upon the voices exchanged at the front gate just as they had returned from the beach, confident that the man looming before her was but one of the ruffians who had requested use of Rossetti's hall.

There was a staggering of sort and the man grunted something unintelligible. "She's left her mark... it's burned into my brain."

There was an authoritative touch to his slur, advising her that this man took command of things, issuing demands whereas others would not.

Careful Solomon, the Beast is territorial.

Elle sucked in a sharp breath. Solomon. Could this be the man they had confronted outside of the gate? How had he slipped into the room, unbeknownst to Rossetti and the staff?

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she strove to appear undaunted by his presence and attempted a gentle inflection that would serve to not incite or court his anger; no easy feat when her upright position depended solely on her weakening knees.

"How did you get in here?" Elle requested gently, "You mustn't be here."

"I feel her," Solomon growled, "Beneath the skin, in my blood. She speaks to me. Shows me things."

Every part of her jolted collectively as he roared a sound of agitation that was best described as animalistic and when he stalked closer, a primitive prompting of self-preservation nearly drove her to flee.

In a mindless panic, and without her staff, it would prove a challenging feat, one that could very well land her in harmful hands.

Think, Elle. You can outsmart him.

"W-who speaks to you?"

Heart thudding, she gripped the table tighter to the point of pain, listening as the scuffing of his boots quickened. "That fucking bitch!" Solomon barked viciously, "There's no escaping her – her voice is always there! Whispering. Taunting. Commanding!" He hissed the latter as if with a baring of teeth and spittle. "She thinks she can conquer me, compel me ..." his pacing grew more aggressive and in similar fashion, his snarling. "I'll show her – argh!"

He thundered this last exclamation so loudly that Elle nearly lunged in the direction of the door, heedless of whatever lay in her path, but the sensible part of her stayed her quaking bones, convinced that by remaining level-headed, she would escape this nightmare unscathed.

Think. You know this room. Use it to your advantage.

"What do you want from me!" Solomon thundered.

"What are you hearing?" Elle feared the response, certain that something heinous was utilizing his inebriated mind.

His movements grew more fleet-footed despite his drunkenness and maniacal behavior, as if urged by that unseen entity wrestling with his sanity, and she worried at any given moment, he would set upon her with violence, compelled by whatever plagued him.

She had to do something and quick.

Her fingers brushed the edge of the cold basin and suddenly an idea began to take shape. It was a long shot – but one she was willing to chance.

"She's a fucking parasite!" Solomon hurled, "Latching onto my thoughts, my emotions, wielding them against me – arghhh!"

Dread rolled through her like an undulating wave as she grasped the basin, dragging it towards her, some of the water sloshing over the edges. "Who is she? What is this woman telling you?" Elle entreated in a tremulous breath, lifting the bowl and hugging it to her breast.

That threatening pounding of heels suddenly stopped, and with it her heart, for she felt all of that unhinged anger, fastened on her. "It will not abate, unless ..."

A breath stalled in her lungs as she angled towards the hearth, clutching the basin with trembling, clammy hands and bracing for what was to come.

You know the darkness. He is mad and drunk. Utilize this against him.

"Unless?" Elle whispered.

Boots edged closer and warning bells shrieked along her shaken nerves as the man replied with chilling ease. "I kill you."

Elle barely discerned those three words before he erupted in sound – a crashing of soiled and ungainly limbs as he dove for her.

Terror stretched her voice thin and she whimpered a cry as she spun to heft the basin, flinging the water in the direction of the hearth, a breath of anticipation lodged in her throat as it doused the last of the embers with a resounding hiss and in likeness, the room – to utter darkness.

Hope rippled through her as Solomon, taken aback by the sudden blanket of blackness, stumbled with a curse only to come thundering closer with the violent sweep of overturned furniture and shattering porcelain.

Elle seized upon her chance and was already moving, her mind summoning her recollections of the room and everything she had acquired through touch, to abet her in finding the door and eluding her would-be-assailant.

"Where are you, little bird?" Solomon crooned, contrary to the rancor and hostility he had exhibited before. "I shan't kill you quickly, for I wager you taste sweet."

The latter nearly propelled her into a mindless panic, but she grasped her calm and inched quietly towards the door, her hands splayed wide.

He was so close at her heels, this massive, unstable specter of terror that she felt his hot, rancid breath upon her nape.

You're almost there. Get to the door. Find the door.

Solid, ruined wood emerged beneath her fumbling hands and she nearly cried her relief but quelled the urge as she fumbled for the latch.

Solomon staggered nearer, the shattered china crunching beneath the press of his boots as he released another string of expletives. "Do not run from me!"

The latch suddenly materialized beneath her trembling fingers and as she gripped its steely coolness and pulled upon the barrier to Rossetti, she could not hold back her cries any further.

With a strangled plea, the door swung wide and with it, her escape.

As Elle released a blood-curdling scream – cruel, merciless fingers grabbed a fistful of her hair and wrenched with bruising force.