The Music Box: Chapter Fourteen

Months went by and the worst of winter seemed to be through. Isabelle was surprised that she was so rarely sick, given how poorly she so often had felt at home. In fact, she had never felt better, never stronger. It had been relatively mild as winters go and she had grown quite adept at finding the driest, warmest parts of the woods. She had also managed to procure some warmer clothing and a blanket by means she was not proud of, but necessity had sent her one night to the back line of one of the more imposing houses in the nearest village, Lower Hetheringwood. They seemed to hang an ostentatious number of items out on any given day and would surely not miss a couple of the less fancy things. Isabelle had tapped into a well of resourcefulness that came from profound neglect, a steely resolve to “show them”, whoever they were.

Her presence in the forest had been slowly accepted by all the creatures who lived there – even the wolves had slowly come around when she showed absolutely no fear when they approached her. It was one of the wolves in fact who led her to the Golden Grove, a place that only their closest allies had ever been allowed to visit. It was generally acknowledged that the wolves were the unofficial leaders of the forest’s inhabitants, sitting alone at the top of the pecking order. Their power had never been truly tested, but nor was it likely ever to be. And while the majority appeared initially ill at ease at Isabelle’s presence on their turf – the presence of humans generally regarded as most undesirable - she was slowly able to earn their respect.

The leader of their tight-knit group was Jericho, a beautiful beast with a shimmering silver stripe the length of his back, like moonlight itself had been threaded into his fur. His coal-black eyes were crystal clear and ever alert, wise and cunning in one. Isaiah was next, the largest of the wolves and loyal to a fault – he would jump off a mountain’s peak without a second thought if Jericho so demanded.

But it was Aloysius she had first met, Aloysius who befriended her and after much initial resistance convinced the other wolves to meet her and to realise that she meant them no harm. Aloysius, she saw, had quite a deal of influence within the group, yet in a way always seemed outside it. His lustrously sleek, dark coat and his long, sinewy body made him stand out from the others, and though he was a little smaller in stature he seemed somehow more dangerous. While not showing any outward fear, Isabelle had been quite terrified the first time he had revealed himself. She thought she was done for, but was not going to give him the satisfaction of holding any greater power over her than that which stemmed from the fact he could eat her in a wink.

Isabelle had been feeling for some time that she was being watched, that her presence in the forest had aroused a certain curiosity or apprehension, so when Aloysius finally appeared it was almost a relief. She didn’t ask if it was he who had been watching her, feeling that it was something that was not to be discussed. His menacing countenance belied his gentle demeanour, such that he soon came to be a soothing presence.

Lower Hetheringwood and other villages near the forest soon began to fill with whispers regarding a girl who lived in the woods; a striking young woman with long, jet black hair, flawless alabaster skin and wide eyes that changed colour as you watched, who could talk with the animals and even the trees. Children were afraid to go into the forest alone and while the men were not so afraid (though petite she was rumoured to be of such profound beauty that witchcraft was suspected), they knew their wives were keeping a closer eye on them than ever.

One young man who had heard the whispering would lay awake at night with the stories of this creature torturing his mind, long after the rest of the village had passed into fitful slumber. A painfully shy lad of 19, Percy Button, whose parents were the village innkeepers in Lower Hetheringwood, was bewitched by the tales. He spent night after night with his mind drifting through the woods, floating through the boughs on a carpet of mist, trying in vain to forget about her. But he simply could not.

Quite out of character, Percy took to venturing into the woods of an evening, delving deeper and deeper with each visit. A month passed with not even a hint that this rumoured creature even existed – there was no trace of her in the flesh, no sound of her, no sign that she had been staying there. One night, he heard his father calling from the edge of the woods.

“Percy. Percy? Percival Button you come out of there right now. Your mother’s had a fall and we need you at the inn.”

Perched high in a nearby tree, Isabelle didn’t know whether to believe her own ears. So long had it been since she had heard a real human voice, perhaps she had misheard. But what if it were true? What if this boy she had watched come into the forest, wandering in vain night after night, really was Percival – her beloved?

She fretted and worried until the eastern horizon began to lighten, the outlines of the trees solidifying from the stark shadow of its own thought to a touchable, loveable being, wondering what she should do. Her life here was so much more complete than any she had ever known, ever even dared dream of, but the shock of hearing Percival’s name brought with it a flood of emotions that she knew better than to resist. In her heart of hearts, she knew and had always known she could not stay there forever. She had never had a reason to think of leaving, but now she did and now her heart knew where it must be.

The next night, she waited where she had last seen her Percy. She wasn’t at all sure what she should do, but thought the sight of him would help form the answer. The moon had waned to all but a sliver, but the stars were brilliantly bright, lighting the night sky like an old cloak with a million moth-eaten holes held up to a fire. She waited without moving a muscle, with barely a breath or a pulse, practicing all she had learned from the wisest of trees. He never came.

The next night was the same, and the next. Each passing night, Isabelle felt fainter. She would hold her hand up and night by night could see more of the canopy behind it, more of the stars shone through. Any day now, she would fade away to... to what? A memory? But who would remember her? A dream? But who would dream about her? No, if Isabelle was to remain, to exist, she was the only person who could make sure of it. She had to find Percival.