Now pray tell, little Rose, who presumes to substitute herself for her elder, how old are you?”
“I saw my eighteenth year two months hence,” Rose said, “Which is more than old enough to pay court to, if the boys in my town are any judge.”
“I do not for a second entertain the proposition that they are,” retorted The Beast, “But I suppose it makes no difference. But you’ll forgive me if I retire to my room for now”
“Let me help you up,” said The Beast, standing and offering a hand. The meal proved to be delicious; the meat was venison, tender and rich. Rose had only tasted wine once, and had found it acid and unappealing, but upon taking a polite sip from her glass she found the liquid within was something altogether different, an extraordinary melange of complex flavours that spread through her mouth like the warmth from a hearth. “There’s no-one else here to tend to it.”
She dabbed at her eyes with the back of her sleeve.
