Sullenly seated, covered in a transparent red veil that masked her tears and puffy eyes, Marlowe's fists molded in a hard grip.
There was no way of letting out this deep-seething frustration bubbling inside of her.
She had cried and wailed, and whimpered. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to spare her this misery.
It wasn't enough to take her back home, it wasn't enough…to kill her in that damn forest!
From outside the shutters, the full moon glowed, brightly illuminating the darkness.
From how creepily quiet everywhere tended to be, it seemed like it was midnight.
Also from the drowsiness that had started to act up on her, but she wouldn't succumb.
No way!
What if she gets drained of her blood by morning?
Wait!...now that she was the evil King's bride, does that mean…she'll be able to see him?
Hell no!
Marlowe couldn't fight the minor shiver that the thought invited.
Even if it was a privilege, she refuses.
Why does her life keep getting ominous by the day?
Her swollen eyes slowly scanned through her surroundings. The room was large and spacious, equivalent to the size of their cottage. And a queen size bed she sat on was soft like nothing she had ever felt, way more comfortable than her palisse back at home.
Cool wind blustered in from the expansive window, and by the farthest corner stood a hearth with burning flames that supplied a sweet warmth to the room.
The chandeliers were lit and so we're the candelabras as well, yet the room still exhumed this dark and creepy aura that made her feel a placid sense of discomfort.
Before long, the drowsiness she so stubbornly refused to let overcome her, intensified greatly and she found herself dozing off unwillingly.
Marlowe jolted awake again, a familiar expression of terror on her face. Her eyes darted around in search for nothing before they calmed down. Reassured, and her clenched palms relieved themselves subconsciously.
The sleep was coming and she was aware she wouldn't be able to fight it to the end. Giving herself surety that she was alone in this humongous chamber—for now, that reeked of royalty, she let her heavy lids slowly shut to a close. Before her exhausted body gradually collapsed along on the smooth mattress—that at this moment—felt like clouds.
Not long after, her tensed body loosened with the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest in sync with her stable breathing.
Her face portraying serene calmness from exhaustion—apparent that she was pulled into a deep sleep.
Long into the midnight, when silence and darkness prevailed, a dark towering figure emerged from the shadows. Its form approaches stealthily towards the slumbering beauty spiraled on the bed.
With every predatory silent step it took, the lit torches and candelabras faltered to an off. Even the chandelier, hung on the high ceiling, swung as the fire in it danced with the wind.
Its dark shadow loomed over her, blocking the bright moonlight from reflecting on her serene face.
A sudden drop of temperature enveloped the room, filling it with a chilly aura as everything became unstable. The room was suddenly filled with harsh wind that shook everything it passed by—the shadow.
Its presence, so strong and greatly felt. So much so, that even the sleeping beauty shivered in her subconsciousness, her hands hustled to seek an object of warmth to rid the goosebumps crawling on her skin.
Under its stalky and sharp gaze, the heat of the hearth had no effect whatsoever to the chill he administered on her.
It loomed over her for a while, just quietly staring at the girl sleeping calmly in its storm.
The shadow tilted its head to the side, ever so slowly.
It spotted the frown on her face as her veil was long blown off.
It seemed to spot something that displeased it when its already tilted head inclined lower; dried tears traced all the way down to her chin, the tip of her nose was reddened and the rims of her eyes appeared swollen.
A low grunt erupted from its throat from the sight. A silent footfall forward, and another, and another, till it zoomed closer to her.
In the depths of her sleep, Marlowe felt the side of the mattress sink down as if a weight was pressed on it. Yet, she was too physically drained to respond to that little sign of danger she perceived.
Before she could think deeper about it, a sudden warmth enveloped her, causing her narrowed brows to straighten and her posture to become relaxed again.
But that wasn't the end. Her breath hitched when she felt an unfamiliar touch grazing her forearm, trailing down all the way to her wrist before her palm was clasped and she felt her fingers slowly being interlocked in a bizarre way she had never felt before.
Abruptly being turned, a soft moan fled her lips but she didn't awake. There were distorted lines on her forehead, but just as fast as it came, it left the same.
She felt hot breath hovering on her face, a heat so close and near. It provided comfort in the chilly night, but it was vivid, it wasn't from the burning hearth.
The heat she felt burnt hotter than that.
Slender, long fingers lifted her chin, trailing its warmth by the side of her face in a slow and dragging manner that made her toes curl even in deep slumber.
Marlowe writhed, she subconsciously squeezed on her palm that seemed to be connected with another, the action sending foreign tremors down her spine.
Then, a sudden gasp fled from her when she felt that same hot breath in the crook of her neck, accompanied by a low growl.
Marlowe flickered her hazy eyes open, it was blurry, but she saw him…a man.
He was staring back at her with a strange look in his eyes…his eyes…
Before she could think anything more, her eyes shut close as sleep took her away once again.