Withering Rose (Once Upon A Curse Book 2) by Kaitlyn Davis

notice the ache. I'm not using
very much magic so the price is not high, and it's easily
endured.
    When the metal crunches, warping, I pull
back on the vine. Listening to me as though alive, it recoils,
withdrawing from the lock and attaching to the wall with the rest
of the ivy I've just grown. In one quick motion, I halt the flow of
magic, controlling it easily, and reach for the knob.
    It turns.
    I push the door open, allowing a smile to
widen my lips, proud when I realize the curve of my lips holds a
confident edge. Glowing with life in a way I haven't for years, I
make my way down the hall, eager to explore.
    I don't run into anyone as I wander. Indeed,
the enormous castle is silent. I meander from room to room, running
my hands over dusty tapestries, taking note of how many beds look
like they haven't been disturbed in years. Fireplaces are cold.
Windows are coated in a thin layer of grime. Even in the bright
light of day, the castle is dark. I open curtains as I walk,
breathing life back into the stale space, coughing as clouds of
dust steal my breath away.
    Where is the beast?
    Where are his servants?
    Why does this place look barren and
forgotten?
    Why would a king full of magic live in
ruin?
    The answers don't come as I continue to
walk, just more questions.
    Every so often, I pause as the ghost of a
sound makes its way to my ear, raising the hairs on the back of my
neck. The whisper of panting breath. The scuff of paws on stone.
The swish of a tail accidently rubbing against the side of a door.
Someone is watching me. But when I turn around, no one is there. No
animal. No man. Nothing.
    The squeak of my sneakers on marble echoes
loudly as I make my way down the grand staircase leading to an
expansive ballroom. Cobwebs wrap around the chandelier hanging
overhead, leaving beautiful metalwork shrouded behind a network of
white. The candles look as though they haven't been lit in years.
But still, when I see them, another scene comes to mind—a dazzling
ballroom sparkling with the light from a hundred quivering candles
leaping from mirror to mirror, catching on diamond gowns as they
swirled in dance, and sinking into the golden molding decorating
every ounce of the room.
    I was too young to attend the balls my
mother and father used to throw, but my nursemaid usually let me
sneak onto the balcony overlooking the ballroom. I would sit there
for as long as she would allow, watching the beautiful women in
their glittering gowns, wondering when I would get to join them.
But my favorite part, the part that now makes my heart ache with
longing, was watching my mother and father dance. The world outside
of them ceased to exist as the music swelled, and they moved in
perfect sync with one another. Their love was tangible, creating a
glow just as obvious as the candlelight. I remember smiling as I
looked down from my secret spot on the balcony, sitting with my
head pressed firmly against the banister, leaning as close as I
could, wanting so much to be a part of it.
    Before I realize what I'm doing, my eyes are
closed, and the world is no longer silent. In my mind, I hear an
orchestra playing a hauntingly beautiful melody, a song from
somewhere deep inside my soul. My feet move. My body sways. My arms
curve. I spin on my toes, dancing, completely carried away by the
music and the memories playing on and on in my head.
    Laughter shatters the illusion.
    I stop abruptly, dropping my arms as my eyes
widen, and I turn toward the noise. Breath skipping, I spot a man
at the top of the stairs. A scream bubbles up my throat, but I
catch it, swallowing it back down as I fight the urge to run.
    He is the definition of darkness.
    A black cloak drapes over his shoulders,
sinking all the way to the floor, blanketing him in ebony. A hood
hangs low over his face, covering it in shadows. I can't see any of
his features. All I notice is the breadth of his wide shoulders,
the sheer size of him.
    The beast.
    And he is laughing.
    At me.
    I step back