A bag of screaming nerves, Chrysanthyllis followed Elliot into the dining room, where the monster was already seated at the head of the table. Her plate was positioned on his diagonal right, about two places away from him. She took her seat tentatively, and from under lowered lashes, she hazarded a peep at him. He was still scary, and she foresaw indigestion for the remainder of the night. She could not be sure if the distance between them was some form of consideration for her, but it was far enough that she could make an escape if he went berserk. Her fear might be ridiculous, but it did not reduce her capacity to feel gratefulness.

Their dinner was fairly peaceful. Chrysanthyllis ate quietly, glancing at the monster from time to time, hoping to get used to his appearance. Without a sliver of a doubt, he was a terrifying sight, especially his eyes. From two holes as deep as an abyss of eternal darkness, there was a large orb in each with an eerie red glow reminiscent of a predator hunting prey. He did not have a nose; instead, there were two triangular holes in the middle of his face. A bit lower, he had a big, thick tongue that hung out of his mouth, and sharp, serrated teeth that protruded from ear to ear. His teeth seemed to be the boundary between his skin and mouth, because he had no discernible lips. 

He had no hair, but there were many projections off the top of his head a cross between human fingers and tree branches. The same spikes littered his shoulders and back, likely why he did not wear a shirt. He had a muscular chest, and as far as she could tell, the entirety of him was a light shade of lavender that would have looked beautiful on a flower, but was terrifying on a monster. He had three long, thick fingers, one of which appeared to take the place of a human thumb. They were seated, so she could not examine him below the table, but she recalled that he had a body that quite closely resembled a human male’s, albeit a much larger size. He also wore pants, so he did have legs.

“Elliot.”

“At your service, my lady.”

The beast was looking at her. He had been doing the same thing as her throughout dinner: toggling between the dinner plate and their companion; now, his attention was solely on her. She had been sipping from her water glass frequently, but her mouth was dry from nerves. She licked her chapped lips.

“Are you able to mediate communication between us?”

Elliot stiffened and his lips pressed into a thin line. The room was cool, but beads of sweat begun to appear at his hairline. His reaction was the answer in itself, and Chrysanthyllis knew better than to push. Yet, the beast took it upon himself to nod. She could not tell what came first, the grotesque crack of his bones or the blood-curdling roar that erupted from his throat. It all happened too quickly. She winced. His head snapped back with thunderous force, and his limbs were twisting at inconceivable angles. It was pain that she shuddered to even imagine.

He stumbled off his chair, knocking it backwards as his body continued to warp. The castle was shaking again, and Elliot pulled her away, shielding her with his body. Her instinct willed her to cower, because no touch ever came without pain, but it appeared that persecuting her was nowhere near to being a priority on his agenda. His eyes brimmed with worry as he looked back at the monster, but gave way to panic when he looked at her. This man was not afraid that the monster would hurt them. Instead, he was  trying to keep her from bearing witness to his master in this state, as if he was afraid she would descend into insanity from fright.

To her own surprise, Chrysanthyllis did not budge. Her mind and her body were in disconnect. While her brain screamed for survival, her limbs began to move on their own. Right now, there was a powerful thing within her that had her body in full control, pulling her strings like a puppet master.

She stepped away from Elliot. One foot in front of the other, every movement steady and confident, her gait was fluid, as if she was floating. Elliot’s anxious pleas faded from the back of her mind. Before she knew it, she was right in front of the monster. 

Her body bent slightly, leaning towards his head. She grabbed two of his twig-like horns. Her mind was screaming. He could easily obliterate her for disrespecting him, but the puppet master thudding inside her ribcage did not seem to care. Her heart was truly stronger than her mind and body combined. Or perhaps, it was just senselessly confident that the monster would not lay a hand on her. 

Her mind cleared as magic flowed out of her as natural as the passage of time. A soft white light emanated from the palms of her hands, enveloping him where she held him. He was looking at her, and even though his face was unfaltering, stuck in a creepy, smiling, toothy grin, she could sense that he was in awe. For what reason, she could not tell. 

Suddenly, her fingers turned black. The white light was gone, replaced with a far more insidious shroud of purple that did not limit itself to just her hands. From head to toe, her body was steaming in wisps of smoke. She did not need to look down to know that the seals all over her were the source of the glow and the mist.

Her vision flickered, and a spurt of red splattered across the beast’s face. Her throat burned, her eyes prickled. Warm liquid trickled down her chin from the sides of her mouth, and she sagged forward, falling down to one knee between his open legs.

This was all the confirmation she needed. There was a curse on this beast, this man, one that she could not undo in her current capacity. The thorny vines all over her body were glowing with a vengeance as pure, undiluted pain raced across every inch of her skin, a consequence of using magic beyond the seal placed on her. At least, the beast’s pain had waned swiftly with her intervention. For once, she was not useless. Even though it came at a cost, she felt a glimmer of hope for herself. If she could continue to prove herself useful, maybe there could be someone other than herself who wanted her alive.

Strength was seeping out of her body, a faucet that no longer worked. She strained her eyes, dug her fingernails into her palms and clenched her abdomen in a bid to stay awake, but her body was fast giving out on her. The monster was staring at her, the cords in his neck bulging, his large hands tenderly cupping her elbows. Even though he was dealing with someone like her, he was being surprisingly gentle, too gentle. She absently used the cuffs of her long-sleeved dress – or rather, his, since the clothes did not belong to her – to wipe her blood off his face, and that was it. Everything went black.