Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Thorn Of Damnation ❯ Chapter 1

This story belongs to me and to me alone. It was formerly posted as a fanfiction under a different title and pen name, but it still belongs to me. You do not have permission what so ever to copy this story or the characters for any purpose.

 

Thorn Of Damnation

One

 

 

 

France: 1820

 

 

 

 

 

The wind swept through the trees, rustling the leaves gently in the early morning sky. The sun shone softly down upon the land, bathing it in a faint, golden light, the last traces of night fading away in the sunrise. The air was filled with the scent of sweet flowers, thick with clear beads of dew resting sleepily on the petals of lilies and ivy along with many other plants. Some may say that the garden was the most beautiful thing out to greet the new day

 

 

Others, however, would argue that it was the young maiden sitting under the great boughs of a large tree, just barely allowing the strengthening sunlight to pass through.

 

 

She was the object of desire for many men. Hair black as the darkest midnight and as thick as the rustling leaves above her head. Skin as white as the first snowfall and as soft as a rose's petal. Lips red, just as if she had recently bitten into a juicy plum. But her most stunning feature of all was her eyes. A dark slate blue so beautiful that they say the oceans cry out at their inferiority at the mere sight of her eyes. So stunning that God weep at their perfection.

 

 

Yes, this maiden, Mirabelle Beautmont, was what many would consider the most beautiful thing outside, watching the sunrise.

 

 

Mirabelle rose up from the ground where she had taken a break as she brushed off her brown-on-brown floral dress and her white apron, which was tied securely around her waist. She had awakened early on this day to prepare for her father's arrival from the seaport. He was a merchant there, and he had gone into town to see to the arrival of one of his ships. Mirabelle and her sisters Callia and Armelle had received word just a few days ago that he would return today. Callia was the oldest of the Beaumont sisters, followed by her fraternal twin Armelle. Both bore a striking resemblance to their mother, while Mirabelle was an elegant mixture of both of her parents, though she bore more similarities to her father.

 

 

Mirabelle walked towards their quaint little home, which resided on the outskirts of a forest a few miles from town. She and her family had moved here after their luck had taken a turn for the worse. Her mother died and quite a few of her father's ships had been lost at sea, thus making her once wealthy family rather destitute.

 

 

It was a nice house, considering their predicament. One could easily mistake it for a country cottage due to its architectural style. It had a faded whitewash exterior that desired repainting. The trim around the windows was a deep mahogany, and the roof-once a deep black-had faded into a color not too different from that of the windows' trim. Flower boxes embellished the windows, sporting small blossoms like pansies and geraniums.

 

The garden was not too far away from the house. Mirabelle and Armelle grew many types of flowers and vegetables there, which helped to make up for the family's lack of income, though the flowers that Mirabelle truly wanted to grow were roses. Their mother had forbidden the girls from going near these flowers, even though they had always called to Mirabelle. Their majestic and beautiful qualities made her long to sample the soft texture of the velvet-like petals. When Mirabelle had discussed with Armelle which plants they should grow in their new home, the idea of growing roses was immediately dismissed. They would not fare well in this climate, according to Armelle. As Mirabelle watched the leaves of the garden sway, she realized that she would have to tend to it soon. First, however, she would have to work on the morning meal. Callia could be short tempered if she did not have any food in her.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

The blasted darkness around the old man made it so difficult to travel at this time of night! How was he supposed to get home if he could not see his way through the forest? He was almost sure that he had taken a wrong turn by now and had lost his way completely, but he did not dare turn around now. He had to keep pressing forward, lest he become a tasty meal for a pack of wolves. He had left town that day so that he might return to his daughters as soon as possible, yet with this recent turn of events, he was not sure that this would happen.

 

He had gone into town hoping to receive pleasant news about his ship, but alas, this was not to be. Oh how he dreaded the looks of utter disappointment upon his beloved daughters faces, yet he had nothing to bring them. His eldest daughters, Callia and Armelle, had beseeched him to bring back fine gowns reminiscent of their former lifestyle, while his youngest daughter Mirabelle-oh his sweet and kind Mirabelle- had asked for the simplest of gifts, yet even that he could not deliver. She had only asked her father a white rose. She had asked him for this gift so that her sisters would not think themselves selfish and petty, yet even so, he feared that they did. They got along so well, his beloved children, or at least they did more now that his wife was gone.

EamonnBeaumont sighed as he squinted, trying to find the trail once more. Regardless of the empty hands that now awaited his daughters upon his arrival, he still wanted to be back in the arms of his beloved children, and the sooner, the better.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

A young man traveled down the familiar path to the Beaumont residence. His hair, black as the darkest depths of hell, was pulled back into a high ponytail, bouncing contentedly to the rhythm of the beast beneath him. His piercing, dark brown eyes scanned the midmorning sky, pleased with its clear blue, indicating that the weather would be pleasant. His hand tightened on the reins of his horse as he thought about the family of beautiful maidens whose house was in sight.

 

Armande had desired the youngest of the Beaumont daughters for quite some time. Everything about her called to him— beauty that rivaled that of any Goddess, kindness that made a saint look sinful, cunning that could be mistaken for that of a fox, and stubbornness that was every bit as strong as that of a farmer's mule. Yes, Mirabelle was the perfect woman for him.

 

“Armande! Good morning!”

 

  “Ah! Good morning to you too, Callia! And how might you be on this fair morning?”

 

Callia came running up to the side of the heavily breathing horse and smiled her brightest smile. She had been in love with the young man for a long time, but he only had eyes for her younger sister. It had pleased and yet infuriated her to no end that Mirabelle had refused all of Armande's advances toward her. Over the years, Armande had tried to court Mirabelle, but Mirabelle would have no part of it.

 

She secretly thought that deep down Mirabelle knew of Callia's feelings towards Armande. Pushing these thoughts aside, Callia flirtatiously giggled her answer to Armande's polite question in the hopes of turning his interests toward herself.

 

“I am absolutely wonderful, and yourself?”

 

“I am as well as I can be, my dear lady,” Armande tried to reply as politely as possible.

 

“Your steed looks parched! Why not allow me to fetch it some water?”

 

“That is kind of you, Callia. I am sure Ignace could use some water,” he thoughtfully replied.

 

“Think nothing of it! I simply want him to be hydrated.”

  

“I thank you, Callia. You are too kind. Do you know, by any chance, where Mirabelle would be at this moment?”

 

“I believe she is in the kitchen, arranging flowers.”

 

“My thanks, Callia. Would you excuse me for a moment?”

 

“Why, of course, Armande!” Callia exclaimed in a manner that suggested it would be the most absurd thing in the world for her not to excuse him.  

 

Not wanting to waste another second, Armande started towards the house, and Callia could not help but feel bile, bitter jealousy rise up within her. 

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 He had thought he had found the trail once more, but there was the strangest feeling in his gut telling him that all was not as it appeared. Everything had become darker, and even the good, silver light that he had relied on from the moon was failing him. He had followed the trail into a dark forest, a forest that appeared more and more ominous the further he ventured into it. He was a strong man, but the atmosphere around him made him believe that there were faces in the trees-spirits living in the forest, waiting for the most opportune moment to strike him down and devour his flesh.

 

A shiver ran through his body and up his spine at the thought. He could not allow such a thing to happen to himself. His daughters still needed him, though he was most concerned about their lack of suitors at the moment. Perhaps this also had to do with their lack of fortune. No…that was not completely true. Mirabelle had one man after her hand, Armande. He was a good man, and he would happily give him his Mirabelle's hand in marriage, but the darn girl was too stubborn to accept any of his advances. He would rather see her married than turned into an old maid just so that she could look after him.

 

He suddenly felt his steed slow down as they approached something large and black. He could just barely determine its outline in the murky night. It looked almost as if a castle had been placed here…but…why would a castle be here? That did not make any sense. They were the only ones in the area, so there certainly should not be a castle here, unless…

 

Eamonn shivered at the thought as his horse came to a stop in front of the large castle. He was being foolish, but he had no other choice. It was dark and late, and he had lost his way. It was in his best interest to climb up the shining, white marble steps and knock on that haunted wooden door. He slowly dismounted from his steed and tied him off to the side before he took in the strange hound-like statues atop the ends of the marble staircase. Slowly, tentatively, he climbed the steps and rested his hand upon the door knocker, only to jump away from it in fright when the door suddenly swung open, inviting him into the strange place. Eamonn took a deep breath before stepping into the darkness as the doors swung closed behind him once more, locking in his destiny and the destiny of two others forever.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“Armande! What a pleasant surprise! Would you like anything to drink after your long journey?”

 

Mirabelle had been diligently cutting stems of flowers before placing them in vases when she heard some commotion outside. She normally was not one to eavesdrop on a conversation, but she was hoping to hear of her father's return.

 

Armelle, who had just come in from collecting the laundry that had been hung upon a line to dry, quietly slipped out of the room and into the adjoining one when both she and Mirabelle heard a loud exclamation of “Armande!” from their older sister. Armelle knew that Mirabelle would not be happy with her for leaving her alone with Armande, but the two of them were such great entertainment.

 

It was always the same routine: Armande would come over, Callia would try to gain his interest, Armande would make attempts at gaining favor with Mirabelle, and Mirabelle would either ignore or flatly refuse them. That was how it went every time, and not once was it ever boring. Things became even more entertaining the last time that Armande came by when he proposed to Mirabelle. But, as usual, Mirabelle refused. Armelle thought that this was an unreasonable decision since Armande came from a very prestigious family. Though most women wish to marry for love, in this day and age it was much more practical to marry for financial security and high social status. Armelle had no doubt that the reason for Armande's visit today involved another proposal of sorts.

 

“I thank you, but I did not come here today to laugh and drink with you. I do believe that you know precisely what I would care for,” he said as he walked towards her.

 

“Are you sure?” Mirabelle asked as she abandoned the flowers and walked over to the teapot to take it off the stove. “I already have some water boiled.”

 

“I am quite sure,” Armande replied, now standing directly behind her. He gently and confidently placed his hands onto her shoulders as he said, “I came today to ask you if you would reconsider my proposal.”

 

Mirabelle gently put the pot down on the counter to the left and turned around to face her young suitor. She glanced at his hopeful face and looked away. It was hard enough to say it the first time, but now she was forced to repeat it.

 

“Armande,” she whispered softly, “I must admit that as flattered as I am by your proposal, I must decline. I am truly sorry, but I cannot let you believe that you have my interest. I only have feelings for you like those I might have had for a brother. You are a dear friend, but I can never accept your proposal.”

 

“Surely you jest! Mirabelle, do not be so selfish as to deny your family the things which they deserve. With you as my wife, they would all be looked after properly. In light of your family's recent misfortune, you would be foolish to decline such a note—worthy proposal.”

 

“Selfish?” she fumed. “It is not I who is selfish! You are the one being selfish by constantly proposing and not allowing me to choose my husband.”

 

“Mirabelle, do not look a gift horse in the mouth! You are an old maid now, as are your sisters! Do this for them and your family. Do this to save your name.”

 

“My family may be suffering from ill fortune,” Mirabelle replied icily, “but we are far from having to resort to such measures in order to save our name. If you are so intent upon courting a Beaumont, then why not try courting Callia? She would most certainly not turn you away.”

 

“Your sister?” Armande mumbled thoughtfully. “I must admit that she is quite unique, but…” Armande had just begun to protest when they heard the cry of “Armande, how wonderful of you to visit!” from Armelle as she emerged from the other room while feigning surprise at Armande's arrival.

 

“Our father returns today from the ports, you know. He is bringing many fine things for Callia and me. Perhaps we can tell you what we know of our father's journey and its purpose on a stroll?”

 

Sighing, Armande hesitantly replied, “Yes, what a splendid idea. Shall we?” as they left to find Callia, who was sure to be not too far from the front door.

 

Mirabelle could not help but pity the poor man, for he would never give up hope. It would be for the best, however, if he courted Callia. Mirabelle just wished that he could see that as well. She wished he could see how much her sister loved him.

 

Mirabelle shook her head and continued preparing for their father's arrival.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

 

Dusk That Night

 

 

 

“That noise from afar…Do you hear that, Callia? Does it not sound like a horse running?” Armelle asked as she looked up from petting the family cat, Douce.

 

“I believe so…” Armelle replied as she swiftly ran to the door to look outside.

 “Callia! Mirabelle! Father has returned!”

 

The three girls ran to greet their father whom they had missed so terribly. The closer they got, however, the more disheveled and haggard he appeared. There was dust all over his clothes, and the expression he wore was not the cheerful one that he normally sported when he returned to them. Instead, it was one of great distress and anguish. Then they saw his steed. It was not Cossette, nor was it any other horse that they had ever owned or even known of. At this revelation, the girls slowed their formerly rapid approach to a more hesitant one. What had happened to their father?

 

Mirabelle was the first to vocalize her thoughts and the thoughts of her sisters.

 

“Father? Father, what is wrong? What has happened, Father? Where is Cossette?”

 

Eamonn lovingly gazed down at his daughter and replied in little more than a whisper, “Come inside. I shall tell you of my fate there.”

 

Mirabelle and Callia helped their father dismount and got him into their house as Armelle took care of the strange horse.

 

“Father…” Callia called softly. “What happened?”

 

Eamonn looked at his worried daughters' faces and began his sorrowful tale.

 

“I was coming home last night in hopes of returning sooner when I lost my way… for it was too dark out, and it was hard for one to see the path which lay ahead. Not long after starting my journey home, I discovered myself to be lost in the dark depths of an unknown forest. All was silent and calm, but then…that is when I stumbled upon it.”

 

“It?” asked Armelle.

 

Eamonn nodded and replied in a frightened whisper, “His castle…”

 

Eamonn stood in front of a large, dark, stone-gray castle with a short, winding staircase about eight feet high leading to a balcony and the front door. The entire castle was maybe seventy feet high and eight hundred feet wide with many towers. The towers varied in shape and size. Some of the towers were round with a cone-like roof that came to a long, pointed tip with ornamentation adorning the long, sharp rod at the top. Others were round with a round roof that still had a long rod in the center to match the rods of the others. Some of them sported areas that were cut out of the towers to give the effect that they were windows, when in reality they bore no glass. Other towers were rectangular with a pointed, triangular roof. The exterior of the castle sported an even blend of traditional French medieval architecture and classical Italian structures. There was plenty of ivy growing on the stone walls, both alive and dead. As Eamonn started to climb the steps, he saw marble figures of wolves adorning the stone banister. There was something in their fierce expressions that was incredibly unnerving… but not as unnerving as the doors swinging open of their own accord. He pressed forward.

 

The inside was just as dark and ominous as the outside. There was almost no light to guide one's path… The corridor was almost completely pitch-black, save for the single candelabrum that illuminated the halls. Upon close examination, one would find that it had a golden, intricate shaft adorned with what almost appeared to be a dog paw holding onto it. When the light from the candelabrum was no longer visible—for it became lit as one walked by it—there would be another one and so on placed in equal intervals all the way down the long corridor.

 

When Eamonn finally came to the end of the corridor, he found a table filled with food and drink awaiting him.

 

“Hello? Is anyone there?” Eamonn called again as he slowly approached the table and found that there was a note placed there. Inscribed on it was a very short message. It simply said:

 

 

 

 

Eat. Drink.

 

 

 

 

Nothing more, nothing less. Eamonn had endured a hard journey and was not about to turn down this most generous offer. Sitting down, he raised his glass of wine and loudly proclaimed,

 “I drink to you, wherever you may be. Your hospitality is most appreciated. For that, I drink to you.”

 

He ate and drank to his heart's content until he could eat no more. He then left to find his host, but to no avail. Every door he took led him straight back to the corridor from which he had entered. Deciding that it was just not his fate to meet his host, Eamonn prepared to leave through the same dark corridor when it brought him to a different room—a bed chamber. Thinking his host most gracious once more, Eamonn lay down for the night in the soft bed presented to him, yet he was still determined to thank his host come dawn.

 

The next day when he awakened and had dressed, he opened the door to find himself greeted with the delightful smells and sights of the morning meal. He sat down to gorge himself on food again after he called out his thanks to his unknown host once more. He tried to find his mysterious friend, but much like the night before, he was delivered to the front door with every new corridor that he took. Finally, he heeded his host's wishes and left.

 

Upon returning to the outside world, he laid his eyes upon the most glorious rosebush that ever was. The heavenly flowers were all white and perfectly unmarred.

 

The single gift that he had thought to be the simplest to givewas right before his eyes, begging to be picked and taken to his daughter. Walking up to the rosebush to heed the flowers' demand, he selected and picked one of the roses that seemed to match Mirabelle's personality perfectly. This was the moment in which he sealed their fate forever and finally met his host.

 

“You!” a booming voice called from above. Whirling around to face the balcony he had been standing on just moments ago, Eamonn saw him. He had long, dark honey, waist-length hair. His eyes glowed a ferocious cobalt. His teeth could clearly be seen poking out from the snarl which adorned his terrifying face. Fangs from each corner of the creature's mouth gleamed menacingly out at him. Atop his head were things that Eamonn could only describe as monstrous. Two golden grain triangles rested there… looking eerily similar to the ears that rested on the far smaller crown of his family's beloved pet, Douce.

 

“You!” the strange man, if he was indeed a man, repeated as he descended the stairs and approached with a predatory grace. “I gave you food, and you ate. I gave you drink, and you drank! I gave you a shelter, and you accepted it. I have shown you hospitality like no other would have, yet how do you repay me for such deeds? You steal my rose! The rose I love, that I cherish more than anything else in this world. That is a crime that is unforgivable.”

 

By now he was standing only a foot away and Eamonn had no doubt in his mind that if the monster saw it fit, the beast could reach out right now and end his life.

 

“That,” the beast whispered with a tone so icy, venomous, and filled with hatred that it could make one's blood run cold, “is a crime worthy of death. Your death. A very fitting punishment since you ended the life of my beloved rose.”

 

At that, Eamonn dropped to the ground and started to plead for mercy.

 

“I beg of you, my lord…”

 

“Fenris. I am no lord.”

 

“I… I beg of you… Fenris. Spare my life. This rose was for my youngest daughter. I am nothing but a merchant, and when I went to town my other daughters asked for fine gowns in the hopes of upholding the façade that we still have a high standing in society. My youngest though… She only asked for a single white rose. She never asks for much… I was only trying to give my daughter a present that she would adore with all her heart. I beg of you, Fenris. Spare my life.

 

Fenris turned around and started walking towards the balcony. He looked as though he might be considering this heartfelt plea. It took only a moment before Fenris decided to make an exchange-one that would benefit him greatly. Abruptly turning around to face the man at his mercy, he spoke.

 

“I will let you go...”

 

“Oh thank you! Thank y—”

 

“But!” he sharply interrupted, “You have one week to return. When you do, your life is mine, and I will keep you as my prisoner until your death. If you do not return, then I can easily find you… Your death will follow immediately. However… if your daughter agrees to become my prisoner… I shall let you live and take her in your place.”

 

“My daughter!”

 

“The one who is so fond of my roses.”

 

“But… but I am lost! I will never find my way back!”

 

“You will take my horse, Darcio. He will know the way to and fro. Just whisper in his ear `Take me to my daughters,' and he will take you there. When you or your daughter returns to this place, whisper `Take me to Fenris.' Your horse will follow you in time. I will let you go back to the room that I provided for you. There you will find a chest. I want you to fill this chest with anything you see fit so that your daughters will not go poor in your absence, or so that you may support them with ease once more. You have one hour to fill it and leave. You will give me your word that you will return in a week or I will kill you here and now.”

 

“You—You have my word.”

 

“You have one week. Use it wisely.”

 

“And with that, he was gone,” finished Eamonn. “I went back in and filled and filled the trunk, but there is something wrong with it, for it never seemed to fill. He said that the trunk and Cossette will come to us in time. I am so sorry, my dearest daughters, but I have already made the decision. I have one more week with you.”

 

“But Father!” Armelle cried. “You cannot go!”

 

“We will not let him kill you!” yelled Callia, her voice trembling from holding back her tears. “We can go to the town and tell them all of the monster living in the forest. We can then go there and ki—”

 

“No. I gave my word. What is a man if he does not have his word? I will leave once the week is over.”

 

Mirabelle, who had been twirling the rose stem her father had given her during the story, looked up whispered, “I shall go.”

 

“What?” three voices cried at once, all heads turning to look at her.

 

“It is my fault, is it not? If it had not been for me, we would not be in such a predicament. I shall go in Father's place, for I fear not this beast who calls itself Fenris.”

 

“No. I will not allow it,” Eamonn said sternly. “ I am the one the one who picked the rose. Therefore, I am the one who will return to him.”

 

“I am the one who asked for a white rose. It will be me who goes. I… I fear that I would die from the grief of never seeing you again while you die by that monster's hand and from knowing that it was I who was responsible,” Mirabelle argued.

 

“You shall go nowhere near such a beast! I forbid it. This discussion is over. It is late, and we are all tired. We will start our last week together tomorrow when we are all rested. I am going to bed, as should you. Good night, my darlings.” And with that, it was agreed. Eamonn would be the one to return to Fenris in one week's time.

 

Or so he thought…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A/N: Sooo…what do people think? Do we like it? Do we hate it? FEED BACK WANTED :D.