I can see why it must have seemed a petty thing, but the fact is, my garden means a lot to me. “Err… What should I call you?”
The Beast shrugged. In her panic, conflicting instincts made her try to stand and cringe at the same time. In a lot of ways it feels like the only real thing I have.”
“The garden is your work?” asked Rose. His ears were a wolf’s and his short mane a hyena’s. “They are lovely of course s—” Rose caught herself before she called The Beast ‘sir’. The air was alive with the humming of bees and the sweet fug of lavender and honeysuckle, undercut by the insistent sharpness of rosemary and pine. She arrived at the front door of the house, an implacable slab of black wood, and reached up to lift the heavy iron knocker and bring it down three times. In her panic, conflicting instincts made her try to stand and cringe at the same time. Any lady of good breeding would have been quick to mock her rustic appearance, the better to conceal their gall at the impossible perfection of her face. She complied, reaching down to pull the chair under her, but The Beast deftly pushed it in behind her so that she found herself seated at the same moment that her
