Edward –
The evening wove its sable threads over the world as Edward's carriage crept along the desolate road. Twilight seeped into every hollow and bend, the last tendrils of daylight surrendering to a moon swollen with cold silver fire. The air tasted of frost and fading earth, and somewhere beyond the skeletal trees, shadows gathered like a living thing.
Edward's breath hitched, caught in a sudden stab of remorse. Catherine — his gentle, steadfast Catherine — had asked only for a single flower, a modest bloom for her beloved garden. The thought clung to him, a fragile tether in a night growing darker by the mile.
His eyes scanned the barren verge, searching for any hint of life. But the fields lay stripped and silent, their soil cracked and cold beneath the moon's pale gaze. No blossom stirred; only brittle stalks and the whisper of dried leaves shivering in the chill wind.
He tightened his grip on the carriage rail, knuckles whitening as the weight of failure pressed against his ribs. The flower was more than a gift — it was a promise, a sliver of hope in a world that had unraveled.
From the Northern Wood -
The forest hummed beneath his paws, alive with the pulse of earth and sky. The scent of man grew stronger—a blend of regret and determination that stirred the beast within.
His ears twitched at the fragile rhythm of approaching footsteps, the delicate scent of desperation woven with a thread of something else—innocence, perhaps, or courage. The pack's ancient call whispered in his blood, but so too did a burgeoning, inexplicable yearning.
The path narrowed, the boundary between hunter and kin blurring as the moon watched silently overhead.
Edward -
The forest swallowed Edward's footsteps as he pushed onward, the path finally spilling into a shadowed clearing bathed in the ghostly wash of moonlight. His breath caught in his throat at the sight before him — not the modest manor he had expected, but a sprawling fortress of black stone, its towers clawing at the sky like the jagged teeth of some ancient, slumbering beast.
Cold ivy strangled the castle's walls, and iron gates, cracked by rust yet defiant, stood sentinel to the domain within. Silence pressed heavy here—broken only by the mournful call of an owl and the far-off, haunting chorus of wolves echoing through the night.
Edward's heart thrummed, a wild rhythm stirring beneath the weight of exhaustion and awe. How had he never glimpsed this place before? No village gossip, no travelers' tales spoke of such a keep hidden in their midst. The castle seemed both out of time and place, an echo of forgotten grandeur swallowed by shadow and legend.
From the Northern Wood -
Hidden within the tangled embrace of the trees, the Beast watched. His senses drank in the scent of the man—fragile, burdened, yet laced with an unexpected thread of hope. The ancient stones before him were home, but his soul was torn—a prisoner chained by curse and blood, both protector and exile.
The moon bore witness to the silent meeting of fates: man and beast, innocence and wilderness, longing and dread. The forest held its breath, waiting.
Edward -
Despite the oppressive stillness that clung to the night, Edward felt an irresistible pull toward the castle's gardens—an ancient, tangled sanctuary that whispered of a forgotten opulence. The moonlight spilled silver across the iron gates, their rusted hinges protesting with a slow, mournful groan as he pushed them open.
Stepping inside, he became a silent trespasser in a labyrinth of wild greenery. The garden, though left to the mercy of time and neglect, was no ordinary wilderness. Rose bushes—untamed yet impossibly pristine—rose from the shadows like glowing sentinels. Their petals shimmered under the moon's gentle caress, vibrant as blood and soft as silk, releasing a scent so rich and heady it wrapped around him like a spell.
Each breath he drew was thick with the intoxicating perfume, stirring something deep within—a primal pulse that seemed to echo beneath his ribs. The roses were alive in a way that defied nature, their beauty both a balm and a warning.
From the Northern Wood -
Hidden in the twilight's embrace, the Beast's nostrils flared, catching the scent of the intruder—human and raw, fragile and fierce. His muscles tensed beneath thick fur, the forest's ancient magic thrumming in his veins.
The garden was his sanctum, his prison, and this breach sparked the old fire of possessiveness—territorial, fierce, protective. Yet beneath the beast's wrath, an unfamiliar ache stirred. Something delicate, like a fragile rosebud daring to bloom in the frost.
His amber eyes burned with silent warning as the man's fingers brushed the petals—unaware he was no longer alone.
Edward -
Edward's boots pressed softly into the damp earth as he approached the nearest rose bush, each step slow with reverence and a tremor of apprehension. The roses were like flames in the moonlight—deep blood-red petals, smooth as velvet yet edged with thorns sharp enough to draw a fine bead of crimson if handled carelessly. Their scent hung thick in the cool night air—a heady, intoxicating perfume layered with wildness, like the breath of the forest itself.
Despite the castle's brooding silence, the roses seemed almost alive—whispering secrets in the hush of the garden. It was clear this place was tended by unseen hands, cradled by a power older than any man's ambition.
Edward's fingers shook as he drew a small knife from his coat, the blade catching the moon's pale light. With a careful, almost tender motion, he severed a single rose from the bush, mindful of the thorns as if the bloom were a fragile thread connecting him to his distant daughter. Holding the flower close, the softness of its petals was a balm against the cold ache inside him—a reminder of Catherine's gentle heart and the promise he had so nearly forgotten.
A rustle in the shadows set his nerves alight—an animal's breath, low and measured, the scent of something vast and wild blending with the night's chill. The Beast watched unseen, muscles coiled beneath fur that shimmered like starlight, his amber eyes burning with the fierce protectiveness of a guardian and the haunted loneliness of a cursed soul.
Edward turned, rose in hand, and began the careful trek back to the carriage, unaware that with this simple act, the threads of fate were tightening around him—and his family's future.