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The gown laid out for her that night seemed deceptively demure. No more screaming crimson clothing. Layers of white formed tonight's outfit. Reminding her of her virginal state, she supposed. The corset did not leave her breasts completely bare as last night's had. The satin cupped the undersides and covered her nipples with soothing smoothness. Wide shoulder straps indicated that perhaps her bodice would stay in place.
    The corset came down over her hips as well, with stays that attached to opaque white stockings that rose nearly to her crotch. The nest of her nether hair looked startlingly black in contrast. White leather, lace-up boots awaited her. By the time Amarantha had finished with all the hooks and ties necessary, they rose to knee height and undoubtedly would take some time to remove.

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    Why this made her uneasy, she didn't know.
    Except that she felt precariously off balance. Her body seemed no longer her own. As if the Beast somehow commanded how it felt and she lived in it only as a helpless occupant. Simmering in her own juices indeed. She felt like a stew, slowing heating over the fire.
    “ I shall be quite hungry ,” he'd said.
    Would he kill and eat her after all? If she refused him again, would that be her fate? The place between her legs had begun to ache. Amarantha had heard her sisters' coy remarks about a man quenching a woman's fire there. If she agreed, would the Beast assuage that longing? Moisture pulsed from her sex, as if it wept in answer.
    Amarantha hadn't before, but now she slipped one finger into her sex to feel it.
    Hot and slick. She quivered at the sensation, rubbed a little, and caught her breath.
    Too much. And not at all natural. Quickly she washed her hands and took up her hairbrush. The invisible hands slipped it from her grasp, however. With a sigh, Amarantha sat at the vanity again. Though mostly covered, her breasts plumped high over the white satin, the red scratches in symmetrical stark relief.
    His mark on her.
    Tonight the ghosts braided her hair in elaborate coils, piling it well off her shoulders. The sleeveless gown and the square neckline framed her branded bosom.
    The belled skirt of the gown swept full to the ground, though her heels added height. White satin ribbons fell from the waist in long sweeps. To tie her hands with? But no, white kid gloves that rose over her elbows and tied with ribbons also.
    Amarantha would be hard-pressed to remove them herself. The wrists had little silver rings sewn in. Though she'd known to look for them tonight, the sight still flustered her.
    One by one, the candles began winking out. Her cue to move along.
    She wondered what would happen when she simply couldn't bear any more of what the Beast did to her. Last night she'd thought she might break apart. Perhaps

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    the Beast wanted just that, to scratch and torment her until she came apart and he could feast on her remains.
    He had set her in place of his dinner plate.
    “ I shall be quite hungry .”
    When the fairy light bobbed in front of her, Amarantha took a deep breath, her still-tender breasts pressing against the dress's restraint. She turned her back on the light and sipped her wine.
    The light whipped around in front of her, bouncing like a mad thing.
    “Just give me a minute!” she snapped at it. “Besides, I can find my own way.”
    Mercifully, the light went away. Amarantha refused to look at the clock. Then she couldn't, because only a few candles lit the room. On impulse, she stepped to the washroom doors, closed them, and turned the ornate brass key in the lock. The last of the candles went out, leaving her in the dark room, lit only by the silver moonlight pouring in the window.
    “Amarantha? Are you well?” The Beast's deep voice echoed through the doors.
    “No,” she answered, making her voice weak and pitiful. “I'm afraid I'm most unwell, Lord Beast. I must beg off the evening with you. Please forgive me.”
    She held her breath and listened to the