The Beast of Rose Castle

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He was no man. He was a beast. There was no other way to describe him, even that, he knew. He was a beast by all standards, a horrific sight to behold. 

Where some made up stories of the horrible man who lived within the walls of the isolated Rose Castle, none could be truer than those that called him a cantankerous young man who wished for no company, but that of himself. Yes, the Beast prowled the castle grounds, with his loyal servants at his beck and call. 

The gates, overgrown with twisting, thorn-ridden ivy, were always closed. Not a single person had entered in years. Infamously, roses were said to bloom in the dead of winter on the coldest of nights among the pricks and thorns on the gate. People would whisper of the man who lived there. The man who cultivated the monstrosities that were so unlike any other plant. 

Yes, Rose Castle was an apt name for such a looming building set in the middle of the Dark Forest. Despite the obviously unkempt gate, the castle itself was always in a state of beauty, remarkable for the lack of effort seen to be put into the exterior. 

On nights in which the moon was hidden behind heavy-hanging clouds it was said the Beast would come from his castle to walk the grounds. A terrifying man that stood over six feet tall and always wore a torn cape that would swirl in the wind behind him when he moved. A penetrating onyx gaze would meet the eyes of those daring enough to venture so close to the Beast's lair. 

Many remarked on the predatory way in which he carried himself. The way his teeth seemed to brush against his bottom lip. How his nails seemed like claws when they took a moment to look closer at the Beast. They would speak of his messy, short black hair and unshaven jaw that was always just lightly dusted in stubble. 

Some woman even talked of how if he was more agreeable and less of a monster that they would no doubt be swooning over such a catch. Of course, that was quickly followed by horrible comments on what they would do to, and do for such a man. 

Men would talk among themselves about how much better they were than such an animal. They were lost in seas of envy and desire for such attention. One man was at the very pinnacle of it all. His name was Cassius. 

He was the bachelor of the small, pathetic town of Vell. With a hulking figure and an indisputable muscular form, he was well sought out by females. Yet, he didn't want to settle down, rather liking the idea of staying a bachelor for a lot longer. 

Cassius was the type of rogue in which no one could condemn or else they would risk his wrath. He was also the same type to use his charming exterior to lure a woman to his bedchambers every night, year after year, without fail. 

Though there were many who despised the Beast for garnering so much attention there stood a single figure who did not scorn the man. The one figure was an old baker who would thoughtfully stare out at the night sky, ignoring the other pub-goers. He would hold a single tankard of ale in his hands, his only one that night. The man would sit in the seat closest to the window and he would watch the clouds move closer and closer to the moon.  His name was Merrick, an older gentleman who had lived a fulfilling life.

Merrick would disappear out the door of the pub with a light toss of coins to the wooden counter next to his empty tankard. A breath of relief would leave him as he would cross the abandoned town square in the middle of the night. Silence would calm his frayed nerves during his long walk. 

The forest should have scared him terribly so. Yet, he knew the worn path that led to Rose Castle as he knew the back of his own hand. He would make his way to the castle, where the Beast was said to reside. Old, yet lively, sparkling green eyes would watch for the Beast's inevitable appearance.