Chapter 6 Dressed As His Doll

  Beatris 

  The walk back into the house felt longer than it should have.

  The noise from the garden faded behind me, replaced by a quiet that made every step sound too loud. I kept my eyes forward, but my thoughts wouldn't stay still.

  Why me? What did I do?

  My fingers brushed lightly against my sleeve without thinking. The faint sting underneath made me pull my hand away immediately.

  I turned the corner and my foot caught on the edge of the carpet.

  I stumbled forward, my hand shooting out to the wall to steady myself. My breath left me sharply, my heart jumping up into my throat.

  For a second, I stayed there, palm pressed flat against the wall, trying to slow my breathing.

  Get yourself together, my murmured under my breath.

  I straightened, smoothed my apron, and continued walking. I stopped in front of his door. My hand lifted then I knocked.

  "Come in."

  His voice came from inside, calm, as though he had been waiting.

  I pushed the door open slowly and stepped in.

  The room was dim again, the curtains drawn just enough to keep the light out. It felt quiet in a way that made me more aware of myself, my breathing, my steps, the way my fingers kept tightening at my sides.

  Then I saw a dress.

  It was laid out on the bed like it had been placed there carefully, not carelessly forgotten. Deep red lace, layered and detailed, the kind of fabric that didn't belong anywhere near someone like me. The shape alone made it clear it was meant to be worn properly, fitted at the waist, falling in soft folds.

  I moved closer before I realized I was doing it.

  Why does he have something like this?

  My gaze stayed on it, taking in the details, the way the lace caught what little light there was, the way it looked too... delicate for this room.

  It is beautiful, there was no denying that.

  "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

  The voice came from behind me. I froze, I hadn't heard him move.

  My breath caught as I slowly turned my head.

  He was standing just behind me, close enough that I could feel his presence without him touching me.

  "Yes... sir," I said, my voice quieter than I intended.

  He didn't move away. His gaze shifted from the dress to me, steady, unreadable.

  "You'll wear it."

  The words were calm.

  But they didn't sound like a suggestion.

  My fingers curled slightly at my sides.

  "I...I don't think I should," I said carefully. "I was only told to come here. If there's something else I need to do..."

  "You misunderstand."

  His tone didn't change, but something about it made me stop.

  "I'm not asking."

  The silence that followed pressed against me.

  I swallowed.

  "I didn't mean to..."

  "Pick it up."

  Still calm, still controlled, but final.

  My chest tightened.

  I remembered the whispers.

  The way the maids said He doesn't like to be provoked.

  My gaze dropped back to the dress.

  Then slowly, my hand lifted.

  What kind of strange man asks a maid to wear something like this?

  My fingers hesitated just above the fabric before I finally touched it, gathering the lace carefully in my hands.

  "I understand," I said quietly.

  I didn't wait for a response.

  I turned, holding the dress closer than I needed to, and walked toward the adjoining room.

  Just before I stepped inside, I paused for a second.

  Then pushed the door open and went in.

  The room felt smaller the moment I stepped inside.

  I closed the door behind me and stood there for a second, the dress still gathered in my hands, my fingers tightening slightly in the lace.

  It didn't feel real. Nothing about this felt real.

  I moved toward the mirror slowly, almost unsure of what I was about to see. The dress unfolded as I lifted it, the fabric slipping through my fingers like it had been made for careful hands, not mine.

  Why would he want me to wear something like this?

  I slipped out of my uniform quickly, my movements a little rushed, like time was already running out. The thought of him waiting on the other side made it worse. I pulled the dress over my head, adjusting it as 

  it settled against my body. The fabric hugged me in a way that made me pause. It fit too well.

  My brows pulled together slightly as I turned in front of the mirror.

  How is this even possible?

  I reached back, searching for the lace at the back. My fingers found it, but the moment I tried to tie it, I knew, I couldn't, not properly.

  I tried again, twisting slightly, stretching my arm further, but the angle was wrong. The lace slipped from my fingers. My breath left me slowly.

  There has to be a way.

  I tried once more, my fingers fumbling slightly this time, Nothing.

  If I stay too long... the thought didn't finish itself. He doesn't like to be provoked, I swallowed. My hands dropped slowly to my sides.

  There was only one option.

  I opened the door.

  The room felt colder when I stepped back into it. He hadn't moved much, still near the window, composed.

  But the moment I stepped out something changed, it was quick, so quick I almost missed it. Recognition.

  It flickered across his face before it disappeared, replaced by that same calm, controlled expression.

  My fingers curled slightly at my sides.

  "Sir..." My voice came out softer than I intended. "I couldn't reach the lace at the back."

  For a second, he said nothing.

  Then he stepped forward.

  "Turn around."

  I hesitated only for a moment before I did.

  My back faced him now. The air shifted behind me. Then his hands came careful and measured behind my back.

  His fingers brushed lightly against my back as he took hold of the lace.

  The contact sent a sudden jolt through me.

  I stilled, my breath catching without warning, it wasn't rough, it wasn't intentional, but it stayed. The feeling lingering longer than it should have. I tightened my fingers slightly, trying to ignore it.

  The lace pulled gently, tightening against my back as he worked. Then his voice came.

  Quieter this time.

  "It belonged to my late wife."

  My breath faltered.

  I didn't move.

  "You look..." he paused slightly, like choosing his words carefully, "...remarkably like her."

  Something in my chest shifted.

  "I'm sorry," he added, still working with the lace, "for putting you through this."

  The apology didn't sound like regret.

  It sounded like necessity.

  "I just need one dance."

  The lace tightened.

  "Dance with me, Beatris."

  My fingers curled slightly.

  "I... I can't dance, sir," I said, my voice almost hesitant. "I was never taught."

  There was a pause behind me.

  Then a faint change, not quite a smile but  close.

  "You only need to follow," he said.

  His hands dropped away from my back.

  I turned slowly. He was already looking at me.

  "Beatris," he added, softer now, "call me Alexander."

  The name settled in my mind before I could stop it. Alexander.

  "Wait here."

  He turned and walked toward a cabinet at the side of the room. I stayed where I was, my fingers brushing lightly against the fabric of the dress, it didn't feel like mine.

  He returned moments later, a necklace rested in his hand, it caught the light immediately.

  Delicate, beautiful, too beautiful.

  My breath slowed slightly as he stepped closer.

  "May I?"

  I didn't answer, didn't trust my voice, I just nodded. He stepped behind me again.

  The necklace settled against my neck, cool at first before warming against my skin.

  Then his hand moved again.

  The ring, the red stone I had seen earlier.

  My fingers tensed slightly as he took my hand and slid it onto my finger, It fit perfectly.

  A soft sound filled the room. I turned slightly.

  It was Old and unfamiliar.

  Where is this man from? Still living in another century 

  He stepped back toward me and held out his hand.

  "May I have this dance?"

  My fingers hesitated for a second then slowly, I placed my hand in his. His grip was firm, his other hand settled at my waist, pulling me slightly closer.

  My breath caught.

  "Relax," he murmured.

  "I can't," I whispered before I could stop myself.

  A faint breath of something like amusement left him.

  "Just follow me."

  He moved first, slow and controlled.

  I stumbled slightly at the first step, my foot missing the rhythm completely.

  His hand tightened just enough to steady me.

  "Careful."

  I tried again. This time slower, watching, following. My body adjusted little by little, matching his movements, finding the rhythm I didn't understand.

  And then something shifted, the tension in my shoulders eased slightly. My steps didn't feel as wrong, my breathing slowed, I wasn't thinking as much, just moving and following.

  His hand at my waist, his fingers holding mine.

  The music wrapping around us.

  For a moment I forgot where I was, why I was here. Forgot that I should be afraid.

  The music kept playing, soft and steady, but I wasn't following it anymore.

  A strange warmth, spreading too quickly, too suddenly. My steps slowed, then stopped without me realizing. My fingers tightened in his, my breath catching halfway like something inside me had been pulled too tight.

  Why does it feel like this? His hand left my waist.

  My breath stilled as his fingers tilted my jaw upward.

  My lips parted slightly.

  "Sir...Alexander..."

  His lips touched mine without a warning.

  The world went silent, for a second, I didn't move, didn't think, didn't breathe.

  Then my fingers tightened against him instead of pushing him away.

  My body leaned into it before my mind could catch up.

  I kissed him back, I didn't know why, I just did.

  His grip changed, pulling me closer, deepening it, like he had been waiting for that moment.

  Then I felt a sharp pain, it was sudden.

  A gasp broke from me against his lips as his teeth caught mine, harder than they should have. My body tensed instantly.

  I tried to pull back but his hand held me there.

  Firm, unyieldingly 

  A strange heat rushed through me, my heart racing too fast, my breath breaking unevenly.

  Then I tasted something metallic, warm. Blood.

  Everything snapped. The room disappeared.

  One second I was there and the next I wasn't.

  I saw him, not like this, not calm.

  He was bleeding.

  His clothes torn, his body already bruised, but he still stood in front of me like something unbreakable. People surrounded us, too many of them closing in with weapons raised.

  They weren't looking at him, they were looking at me.

  "Run!"

  The voice cut through everything. The old woman from my dream, she was there.

  Her eyes locked on mine.

  "RUN!"

  I tried to move but I couldn't. My body wouldn't listen, he was still in front of me, taking every hit meant for me.  Then everything blurred, everything felt normal for a second. I shoved him, Hard.

  My chest heaved as the room slammed back into place around me, the music still playing like nothing had happened.

  My hand flew to my lips, wet. My fingers shook as I touched it, blood.

  My vision swam as I looked at him, my thoughts struggling to catch up, to understand what had just happened.

  "You... bit me..."

  The words barely left my mouth. My knees weakened, the  room tilted.

  And everything went black.