The Den of the Beast.

The Den of the Beast.

The castle looked abandoned from the outside but it was clear that this was someone's home as soon as the door closed behind him. The door had been open, which struck him as odd. Of course, he would never have entered if he had thought this place wasn’t the abandoned, mossy old relic it seemed to be from the exterior. Ivy snaked along the entire building, someone the stones were crumbling and there was an entire tower that was reduced to rubble. Why would someone live out here anyway? Perhaps an elderly man's home. One who once had enough money to keep up a place like this. One who chose to live away from all the near villages. The interior was lavishly decorated. He should have felt bad about tracking in the mud from outside but all he could think about was getting shelter from the pouring rain. 

It had been cloudless when he left but soon the dark forms had rolled in, blocking out the sun as it set. He shivered moving closer to the flickering fire in the hearth. It seemed to be the only thing lighting the room. In fact, as he surveyed the area it dawned upon him that the only light in this had to be from the fireplace or the lanterns. “No windows…” He wondered aloud. He often spoke his thoughts, maybe he liked the sound of his voice. Maybe it made him feel real. He could tell and wasn’t bothered to give it much thought. 

He collapsed in a plush red armchair. Whoever lived here must have been rich. Rich enough to have carpeting with exotic designs, tables, and furniture with dark rich wood. Artfully carved with images of humans. Images of humans… fighting? No, he looked closer at the detailing on the chair across from him. Humans, it seemed, were being attacked, their faces in agony as some demon curled itself around them. Biting their necks. He stumbled back when he finally put it all together. 

Were the stories his mother told him true? Was this really how his father had met his fate? It couldn’t be true, it was all fairytales. Storys made to frighten him and make him think of his father as noble. His feet were less rational than his mind, however. They moved him to the door quickly. His leather boots thudded upon the stone-carpeted floor. Loud, too loud. He had been loud opening the door, he had been loud when he had gasped at the carvings and he was loud now. Pounding on the thick wooden door which once had welcomed him into this web, now sealed his fate. 

He didn’t hear a sound but he soon became aware of a pair of eye burning into the back of his head. He had felt the sensation of being watched before but never like this. He was being observed, studied, inspected like a leg of lamb at the butcher. He turned slowly his eyes rising up the gilded staircase to rest on the woman of this manor. Only his eye couldn't rest, jumping from her skin, almost blue even in the firelight. To her hair, black as midnight and so long it would have dragged across the ground had she not been floating a foot above it. To her eyes, red. Red as the hot coles in a fireplace that has lost its flame. Red as the roses of his mother's garden he would never see again. Red as his blood. 

His knees failed him and sank to the floor. The woman floated towards him and her face came more into focus. Sharp angular features, beautiful but cold as ice. Not like any woman, any human, he had ever seen. There was a wrinkle between her brows and a snarl on her lips but the skin around the corners of her eyes was smooth as marble. She had felt sorrow, pain, anger, and perhaps even betrayal but never joy. She inspired fear and regret. He couldn’t remember why it had been so important to come in here. Why he had to enter this den of the beast. His feet tried in vain to push him up. Metal-toed boots scrape the smooth stone floor. The woman, creature, thing, no… demon. The demon was still nearing, floating closer, its eyes inspecting the trail of mud, the scuffed-up carpets, and the chair he had sat in. Her eyes landed on him. Not his face but slightly below. His throat, where he felt his heart pounding now. 

Finally, he had enough feeling in his legs again to stumble to his feet and run. To the left, though a hallway lined with portraits and into a dining room. A long table with enough chairs to host the boisterous party this castle would never host. He flung himself across the table, grabbing an ornate knife that was set for a guest who would never arrive. He clutched the handle turning now to face his foe. The thing that had killed his father. The ugly horrid creature. He stepped slowly to where he had run from. He gazed into the foyer to see the demon crouched. Its long talon-like nail scraped across the floor where his boots had left prints of mud. The moment his eyes fell on her she looked up. Her eyes flicked to the knife in his hand and back to his face. She rose, standing taller than any man he had seen. Tall as a gnarled tree unmoving in the wind. She flew at him, faster than he could have ever imagined. Her hands curled around his wrist, squeezing it so tight he dropped to the knife. His blood ran cold as the blade clattered to the ground. He couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze, staring in horror at the ground instead. One of her hands still clutched his wrist as the other one grasped him by the hair. Perhaps she would fling his head across the room and give him the mercy of a quick death. But he was not so lucky. 

Her fangs sunk into his neck as his mind raced with thoughts and memories. He wonder if his father truly had died his way. If he had how did he go? Did he fight? Did he run? Did beg for his life? As he felt the life drain from him he wondered if his father had screamed like he did. He wondered if anyone heard his father if anyone could hear him. His legs gave out but the demon held him up by his hair, suspended as his mind wandered from thought to thought. From memory to memory. His mother holding him as a child. Winning his first fight as a young soldier. Becoming a knight. Retiring to a life of drinking with friends and courting maidens. The sad memory of the day his mother told his father would never return. The day the woman he loved left him for another man. The moment now when he felt his small life slipping away.

His eyelids fluttered. He felt tired, fatigued. He was finally allowed to fall to the ground. His last sight was of the demon above him, licking its lip. Glossed in his blood.

(Not very cozy but I liked the idea of the fireplace and then just started writing. Hopefully the next prompt will be more my style.)