Page 16 of The Beast Between Us
“I’ve asked you to just call me Ella,” she says, smiling in return.
“I think not,” I grumble before Oswin can respond.
“Well, why on earth not?” she asks, genuinely confused. “Itismy name, and I’m not a lady of any home.”
“Would you like milk?” Oswin cuts in smoothly.
“Oh…sure.” She smiles at him when I don't answer.
“Oh dear,” Oswin says, examining her cup. “It appears this teacup is chipped.”
“Toss it and get her a better one,” I bark.
“Absolutely not,” she gasps, snatching the cup before he can take it. “The chip’s at the top. It’ll still hold tea just fine.”
She runs a thumb gently over the flaw, almost reverently.
“I like it,” she murmurs. “There’s something comforting about it. It’s been used. It has history. It’s survived.”
She lifts her gaze, not to Oswin, but to me.
“Broken doesn’t mean worthless. It doesn’t mean you throw it away. It just means… It’s been through something. And it’s still here.”
The Beast quiets.
So do I.
She pauses, fingers curling protectively around the cup as she examines the small chip.
“So many people throw things away the moment they stop being perfect. Like they’ve stopped being useful. Like flaws are something to be ashamed of.”
Her voice is soft, but steady.
“But I’ve always thought… broken things still have worth. Sometimesmoreworth. Because they’re still standing after whatever tried to break them.”
She lifts her gaze back to mine, not defiant…but sincere.
“I don’t need everything around me to be pristine. I just need it to be real. And if something carries a crack or a scar and still holds on?” She smiles faintly. “That’s the kind of thing I trust.”
The Beast stills.
And for the first time in a long while… I don’t know what to say.
Chapter Six
Ella
“Does it always feel so heavy here?” I ask Oswin.
I’d woken this morning more rested than I’ve felt in years. But beneath that calm, there’s a weight…like someone’s pressing a hand to my chest and won’t let go.
“I’m afraid so, my Lady,” he replies as he dusts a nearby shelf. “The house isn’t too happy today.”
“The house?” I blink. “Is it… alive?”
“Not alive like you or I,” he says gently. “But the magic that anchors Sire’s shift…it’s bled into the bones of this manor over time. When Sire… or the Beast… feels something, the house does too.”
“So the stories are true,” I say with quiet wonder. “He’s frozen… with his Beast in control.”
