The Beast's Ward

Epilogue

A young woman with raven curls busily shoveled soil back into the hole she and her fiance had spent the last several hours digging. Little by little, she watched the dark dirt cover her father's vivid blue coat and pale, cold face alike, erasing him from existence. Tears streamed down her face. She made no attempt to hold them back but hurriedly wiped them away with the shoulder of her filthy shirt. As she worked, her eyes shifted every now and again to the man working next to her, to his furrowed brow and the tears in his own silver eyes. It troubled him greatly, knowing that his would-be father in law had given his life to bring him back from death. Knowing how Christopher was prone to think, how lowly he valued himself, she knew that he would forever carry with him the weight of her father's sacrifice. 

"It's not your fault." She reminded him again, filling her shovel with soil and tossing it over her father's body down at the bottom of the grave they had made for him. "It was his choice." She swallowed, willing the trembling in her voice to stop. "I think he knew he was already half-way gone." Though she wished with all of her heart that he was still with her, she was also grateful that her father had died before that demon in the mirror could twist him into whatever Rosalyn had become. At least, at the very least, he'd died a human-being. 

"He deserves better than this," Christopher muttered. Stabbing his shovel into the dirt, he sat down where he was and raked his dirty hands through his hair, watching the kittens they'd found under the shed play fight with each other in the tall grass. He heaved a weary sigh as Foxy ran up to him and licked his face, bouncing about on small feet. He pet her, stroking the small dog's plush fur gently. "He should be buried in a churchyard, not out in the middle of nowhere." 

"It can't be helped. Everyone believes he died at sea with his crew." Isabel stuck her shovel in the dirt and propped her chin up on top of the handle, taking a moment to look around at the spot they had chosen for him. They were about a mile from Rosalyn's mansion, up on a hill beneath a large oak. Off in the distance, she could still see the smoke billowing up off of the mansion, turning the sky dark. After gathering Foxy and a few personal things, the letters they had exchanged, the dresses Christopher had given her, she had set it aflame and they'd watched it burn together before carrying her father to what would be his final resting place. "I think he'd like it here." She smiled. "You needn't worry about him, Christopher. I have no doubt in my mind that he's at peace. He may have started down a dark path, but he made up for it in the end."

When they finally finished burying him, they took turns laying some roses Christopher had cut from the garden over the grave. Christopher tossed in a deep red rose and at last, Isabel took the yellow rose from behind her ear and laid it gently on the grave, whispering words of love and thanks. 

As she righted, Christopher wrapped his arm around her and held her close to his side. Foxy sat at her feet, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. "What should we do now?" Christopher asked. "Ashton's still out there. We shouldn't stay here very long."

Isabel leaned her head against his chest and sighed. Ashton was indeed, still lurking about, but she hadn't a clue where he lived, nor did she wish to risk Christopher's safety again after all they'd gone through to try and hunt him down. For now, she wished only to do as her father had asked of her. To live happily...with Christopher. If Ashton came after them...that was a worry for another day. "First we find somewhere to wash up," She began, she'd seen an inn not too far from the mansion on the way there. That would be a good place. She could sell the sapphire blue dress to pay for a room. She blushed as she glanced up at Christopher's face. "Then we'll find the nearest chapel and someone to marry us." He'd wear his dark green coat and she'd wear the yellow dress, a crown of roses around her head. 

He smirked at her, his silver eyes glinting like liquid metal as he took out his pocket watch to check the time. Isabel smiled at the engraving within. "We should hurry then before it grows too late. I don't want to go to sleep tonight without you as my wife beside me." He leaned down and kissed her until there was no more breath left in her chest.  She pulled her lips from his with a chuckle. "Do you know what day it is?" She asked. Their arms remained around each other, both unable to stop touching the other. "It's my eighteenth birthday." He'd kept his promise in a way. In one year, on her eighteenth birthday, she had indeed walked through the palace gates free. 

Christopher grinned. "Happy birthday, Mrs. Thorn." He kissed her again. To think that very soon that would be her name. Not Isabel Craft, but Isabel Thorn.

Isabel's chest swelled with bliss at the sound of the title. To finally be his wife, their lives joined forever. "After we're married, in a few days, once we're ready, we'll go collect my inheritance and use it buy our own ship." The Beatrix, after all, was somewhere adrift off the coast of Jamaica. "I mean to take over my father's business now that I'm of age and a married woman." She giggled. 

"You are dead set on that ship, aren't you?" Christopher chuckled, tucking her hair behind her ears and out of her dirt-smeared face. "Have you thought of what you'll name it? My vote's The Isabel."

Isabel's red lips stretched into a playful smile.  "I was thinking The Beast's Rose."

From far far away, someone watched the pair trot off into their happily ever after with pure disdain in his pitch black eyes. 

Ashton snarled as he raked his arm back over the table, sending a bottle of wine and several dishes crashing to the floor. He leaped out of his chair and prowled around the room, fisting his hands in his blue-black hair. 

The large mirror on the wall flickered blank, wiping away the image of Christopher and Isabel exchanging their vows in front of an old priest in an empty church. She wore a plain yellow dress with roses in her hair. The big oaf she married was grinning like an absolute fool.

Blank-faced servants stood nearby watching silently as Ashton snarled and roared, tossing the large heavy dining table onto its side. "Ruined! It's all ruined again!" He raged. His normally flawless appearance was shattered. His shirt was stained and rumpled. It hung open showing a key hanging on a chain from his neck, which he normally kept hidden beneath his clothing.

Where the image of Isabel's beautiful face had once been, the image of a servant's white mask, its placid expression warped into a sinister laughing smile appeared. "I do believe that's a new record for you." The mirror spirit cackled. "You didn't even make it to the wedding day with that one." 

"I'm so glad you find this amusing!" Ashton hissed. " Take me there now! I'll drag her back here, slit that baffoon's throat right there in the church! She will give me the son you promised me whether she's willing or not!" He grabbed the silver-framed of the mirror, peered straight into the spirit's smiling eyes. 

"Let her go." It said.

  "Was it not you that told me she was the one?" Ashton's fingers dug into the frame, shaking it until the mirror rattled.

"At the time, I thought she may be," It said, a hiss seeping into its voice. "Now I see more clearly. Not her, but of her." Its lips curled into a Cheshire cat's grin. "Keep watch, child, and the right bride will come your way...eventually." The room filled with the spirit's chilling laughter. "You will have the legacy you desire."

Ashton sank back down into his leather chair, clutching the key so tightly the metal bit into his skin drawing blood. Painting it red.