The Sunken Garden

She found it deep in the heart of the fortress.

The rest of the Citadel was gray and dead, but down a spiraling staircase of glass, she discovered the Sunken Garden.

It was a conservatory protected by a massive crystal dome. Inside, the air was warm and humid. It didn't smell of rot; it smelled of jasmine, night-blooming phlox, and deep, rich soil.

The plants here were wild, overgrown, and glowing with faint bioluminescence. Vines of silver and blue draped from the ceiling. Ferns the size of carriage wheels crowded the paths.

And in the center, sitting on the edge of a mossy fountain, was the Beast.

He didn't hear her approach over the sound of the falling water. Elara stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat.

He was monstrous.

He was huge, his shoulders broadened and hunched by muscles that seemed made of twisted roots. He wore the tattered remains of fine velvet breeches, but his chest was bare.

His skin was not skin. It was cracked, dry mud, like a riverbed in drought. Running through the cracks were veins of vibrant green moss, pulsing with a slow, sickly rhythm. His hands were massive, the fingers ending in blunt, wooden claws. His hair was a tangle of vines and leaves.

He looked like the earth had risen up and tried to form a man, but stopped halfway.

He was dipping his hand into the fountain, letting the water run over the cracked mud of his arm. It was a gesture of such profound weariness that Elara’s heart broke.

"Kaelen," she whispered.

He spun around. The movement was fast, predatory.

He saw her. His eyes—the only thing that remained of the boy, bright, piercing blue—widened in horror.

"No!" he rasped, scrambling backward, knocking over a stone urn. "Don't look at me!"

He tried to cover his face with his wooden hands. "Get out! I told you to get out!"

Elara didn't move. She forced her legs to steady. She forced her face to remain calm.

"I see you," she said.

"You see a monster!" Kaelen shouted. "Look at me! I am mud! I am dirt! I am the thing you scrape off your boots!"

"You look like the oak tree," Elara said, stepping forward.

Kaelen froze. "What?"

"The old oak," Elara said, walking toward him. "The one we used to climb. The one you fell out of. I always loved that tree, Kaelen. It was strong. It held up the sky."

She reached him. He was trembling, vibrating with the urge to flee, to hide, to kill. He towered over her, a creature that could crush her skull with one hand.

Elara reached out. She placed her hand on his cheek.

The skin was rough, like bark, and cool. But beneath it, she felt the heat of blood. She felt the pulse of the moss.

"It's just you," she whispered. "It's just Kaelen."

Kaelen let out a sound that was half-sob, half-growl. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes. For a moment, the silence was perfect. The acceptance was absolute.

Then, the curse twisted.

Elara gasped. A sharp, freezing pain shot through her hand, up her arm, and into her heart.

She stumbled back, clutching her chest. Her skin, where she had touched him, turned gray.

Kaelen’s eyes snapped open. The moss on his cheek, where she had touched him, turned brown and fell away, revealing smooth, golden skin underneath.

He looked at his reflection in the water. He looked at Elara, who was swaying, her face draining of color.

"No," Kaelen whispered. "No, no, no."

He understood the trap. The Sorceress had been cruel.

* Beauty for Life.*

He could only be restored if someone loved him enough to touch him. But the curse didn't break; it transferred. It leeched the vitality from the lover to restore the beauty of the beloved.

"I'm killing you," Kaelen breathed, horror dawning on his face. "By letting you love me... I am eating your life."