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By <a href="http://www.andreablythe.com">Andrea Blythe</a>
A young woman is offered in marriage to a wealthy man who harbors deadly secrets.
Story contains five different endings.
Content Warning: violence and gore.
##''[[Begin story.]]''
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Notes:
//Bluebeard// is an adaptation of the short story "<a href="https://corvidqueen.com/stories/how-bluebeard-ends-andrea-blythe" target="blank">How Bluebeard Ends</a>," by Andrea Blythe — which was first published in //Corvid Queen//.
The short story itself was a retelling of the French folk tale, <a href="https://surlalunefairytales.com/a-g/bluebeard/bluebeard-tale.html" target="blank">"Bluebeard</a>". Some of the phrases and dialog in the game and story are taken from the original tale. **Chapter One**
A man has come to court your hand in marriage. Your parents are pleased, assured it is well past time you were wed.
He is not handsome — his figure gruff and large, and his beard strangely blue. He would seem like a strange creature, an orger perhaps, if not for his fine clothes.
But you are not bothered by this — for he has other [[attributes]]. His wealth is immense. It is well known that he owns an abundance of properties, each outfitted with the finest furniture and housing chests of gold and silver.
He has welcomed you to one of his country estates, intent on impressing you and your family.
Each day grants new pleasures — idle picnics for the ladies, hunting and fishing for the men, dancing and feasting for all.
You are full and contented, reclining upon a bench in the gardens — when he comes to [[greet you]]. His smile is cold, revealing nothing of himself. He says, "Of all the flowers in my garden, you are the most beautiful."
You smile politely, and —
[[meet his gaze with a blush.]]
[[turn away, observing the opulence of his garden.]]**Chapter Two**
You marry him, standing in your glittering dress at the alter. Beside you, he is a mountain dressed in a silk suit.
The small, bright church is brimming with family. The room resounds with liturgy and happy whispers, speculation on the future ahead of you.
Hymns are spoken, promises made.
Lifting your veil, he leans down to kiss you. His lips brush against yours, the hairs of his blue beard tickling your chin.
The ceremony completed, he loops your arm through his and you allow him to lead you down the aisle.
(Story to be continued...)Assured by the warmth of your smile, he takes it as an invitation, settling himself down beside you on the bench. "I hope you are pleased with the festivities I've arranged."
"It's been lovely," you reply. "I'm grateful for the generosity you've offered my family."
"I hope you know," he says. "All of this — all of it has been for you."
He leans close and you find yourself in his shadow. The intimacy is —
[[too much.]]
[[welcome.]]He frowns at the coolness of your response. “Are you not pleased with the festivities I've arranged for you?”
You return your attention to him, surprised by the edge underlying his question. “Of course,” you reply. “We are all grateful for your generosity.”
“I see,” he says. “Though it was you in particular I was hoping to please.”
You don’t know how to read him. Is there warmth? A sense of compassion? Or possession?
[[You lift your chin and directly meet his gaze.]]
[[You lower your eyes, feelings uncertain.]] You shift away from him.
Although you tried to keep the movement subtle, he notices. His eyes bore into you.
“I hope my attentions this past week have been clear,” he says, his voice stern. “If they have not, then allow me to speak in no uncertain terms. I wish to form a union with you.”
[[You consider his words.->consider1]]You allow the intimacy of his presence, close enough to smell a hint of cedar smoke on his clothes. His eyes have an intensity that draws you in.
The hint of a smile appears within the blue of his thick beard. “I hope my attentions this past week have been clear,” his says, voice almost a whisper. “I hope you know I wish to welcome you into my home as my wife.”
[[You consider his words.->consider2]]You know there are men who are [[foxes->foxes2]], [[wolves->wolves2]], and [[tigers->tigers2]]. Men who are hereoes, hunters, ogres, princes, and thieves — all with their indistinguishable smiling faces, so nice, so kind.
You do not know this man or what furtive hungers lie behind his smile. You cannot know whether his charm carries with it sanctuary or destruction.
How does one judge another heart in such a sparse time? Since you have known him, he has shown you and your family generocity. His good manners — and let's not forget his wealth — have in the end [[charmed you->proposal]].You know there are men who are [[foxes]], [[wolves]], and [[tigers]]. Men who are hereoes, hunters, ogres, princes, and thieves — all with their indistinguishable smiling faces. So nice, so kind.
You do not know this man or what furtive hungers lie behind his smile. You cannot know whether his charm carries with it sanctuary or destruction.
How does one judge another heart in such a sparse time? His manners express an intensity that [[unsettles you->proposal]]. You stand and turn away. Your steps lead you deeper into garden, away from him.
In the distance you can hear the festivities still going, the delights of rich food and fine wine. Your parents will be disappointed that you have let all this go. All the wealth that could have been granted to them with a single "I do."
But you don't worry about that for now. You weave through the garden, following the paths, the way they twist and turn. You choose one after another. You choose any one you like — as if the possibiltiies were infinite.
In some ways, they are.
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**Ending 1: The Many Roads Ahead**
There are men who are foxes, their red hearts sleek with cunning. They whisper through the world, slip through dappled days, and carry secrets in their crimson pelts. Their smiles bright with needle teeth. Their witty words a lure into dank dens. So welcoming, so considerate, so greedy.
[[Return.->consider1]] There are men who are wolves, with their too big ears, too large eyes, and too sharp teeth. They lurk along paths in anticipation of wandering red hoods. They huff and puff over their aching ravenous bellies. They snap and snatch at any lost soul, ready at a moment to swallow them whole.
[[Return.->consider1]]There are men who are tigers, golden eyes calmly watchful from the tall grass of their desire, their gaze avid upon some pair of shapely thighs as upon a gazelle. Every stripe ripples as they slink through shadows, always waiting, always ready to embrace with their bloody paws, to rake soft flesh with shining claws.
[[Return.->consider1]]There are men who are foxes, their red hearts sleek with cunning. They whisper through the world, slip through dappled days, and carry secrets in their crimson pelts. Their smiles bright with needle teeth. Their witty words a lure into dank dens. So welcoming, so considerate, so greedy.
[[Return.->consider2]] There are men who are wolves, with their too big ears, too large eyes, and too sharp teeth. They lurk along paths in anticipation of wandering red hoods. They huff and puff over their aching ravenous bellies. They snap and snatch at any lost soul, ready at a moment to swallow them whole.
[[Return.->consider2]]There are men who are tigers, golden eyes calmly watchful from the tall grass of their desire, their gaze avid upon some pair of shapely thighs as upon a gazelle. Every stripe ripples as they slink through shadows, always waiting, always ready to embrace with their bloody paws, to rake soft flesh with shining claws.
[[Return.->consider2]]He holds out his hand, open and empty. A question is implicit in this gesture, the same question to which all the merriment of the past week has been building.
His fingers curve in the anticipation of your hand joining his. He is waiting for you to choose him.
He cannot see any other [[choice]]. His icy eyes bore into you — but you will not be the first to back down. The moment stretches, growing taught.
He breaks first, eyes snapping away to some other point.
“Have I been mistaken in my intentions?” he asks. “I invited your family here for the sole purpose of forming a union between us, a union built on mutual trust, if not love.”
[[You consider his words.->consider1]]Your fingers twist together in your lap. You don’t know why you are being so aloof. Afterall, he has been kind and polite — if not warm — over the past week of festivities.
You know what your parents would say. Marriage is the duty of all young women, particularly if that marriage be blessed with wealth.
“Please allow me to be clear in my intentions,” he says, his voice softened. “All my attentions to you in this past week have been to one purpose — to welcome you into my home and make you my wife.
[[You consider his words.->consider2]]Two hands are just two hands — just the flesh and bone and skin of strangers touching.
Two hands joined together are a choice, a story shifting — shutting off one set of possibilities, opening others.
[[You place your palm in his, accepting his proposal.->marriage]]
[[You draw away, fingers empty.->Ending 1]]