As requested...
Eloise, suddenly feeling sad, returned to her room. It was not that he would be gone; she did not mind his absence for it gave her the opportunity to eagerly await his return and knew that when he did return she would be even happier than before he had left. It was the strangeness of this request he had mind, and the fierce look in those sharp blue eyes that made her shiver, and wonder. He had said so many times that she was his beloved wife and that he loved her more than life itself. Was that but a lie? Does love, she thought, not imply complete trust?
She occupied her time in the library and by walking through the great extent of his land, for the first day or two. But as she waited her curiosity grew. What could be in that room that he did not wish her to know? And he seemed so certain he would find out were she to open the door.
On the third day, after two sleepless nights spent wondering and worrying as curiosity grew, she determined she had to know his secret. It would betray his trust, sure, but there was no way she could go on not knowing. It felt almost like a test to Eloise, and she desperately wished to reassure herself that it was merely some test of her loyalty and not some dreadful secret. She imagined an empty room, holding nothing, final proof of his very perfection, in hope of banishing the thoughts of some undefined, unspecified horror.
But there was the matter of the key, and his certainty that he would know. Waiting until night, when the servants were asleep, she stole down to the hallway and its forbidden door. First she put the key away, on some thought that perhaps he could tell if it had been used, and set to work on the door with a hair pin, working from memory of her younger, more adventurous days. It took her some time, but eventually she heard things sliding into place, and the lock clicked open. The heavy door swung in, and she had to catch herself, holding a sleeve over her nose as a terrible stench filled her nostrils. Barely swallowing a cry of fear and disgust, she looked into the room and tried to keep control of herself. The pin slipped from her hand and onto the blood-covered floor of the room.
Beyond the door was a floor covered in blood, a large basin in the center, also filled with blood. In carefully arranged piles all around the room were limbs and bodies, arranged carefully. Hands in one corner, arms in another, legs against the far wall. Six heads were arranged on the edge of the basin, six women's heads in various degrees of rot and decay.
At a point past horrified, Eloise reached inside, grabbed the hairpin and pulled the door shut as fast as she could.
After washing the sticky blood from her hands and discovering the pin could not be cleaned despite her diligence to this task, she went to her room and cried the night through.
The next day Reynard returned home, unexpectedly soon. She swallowed her fear and disgust and greeted him with enthusiasm and whatever love she could muster. When he asked for the ring of keys she presented them without fear and looked carefully as he accepted them, her face free of fear. He looked at the small key with surprise and then his face softened and he looked upon her with a newer, even more genuine love in his eyes. “You did not enter the room at the end of the hall?” he asked, to which she replied confidently, shoving her fear and shame at this deceit farther away, that she had not.
The next month passed in a horrified blur for Eloise. Her husband spent possibly more time with her, watching her closely, and while doting on her rarely letting her from his sight. Every time he left it felt like some sort of test, that there was something he did not trust in her and yet he gave every other indication that he did. One time she walked into the room and found him examining the key closely, apparently looking for some mark that it was used. Meanwhile, she feared that he would find out and felt torn between shame at her deceit of him and horror that she was married to a murderer, that she lived and dined and shared her bed with a man who kept his six murdered and mutilated wives in a room in the house. She had little trouble, given the initial shock, at hiding that she knew this, but all the same the knowledge ate at her until she felt she might go mad.
Soon after his return she asked him where he went on his trips, hoping to spark some conversation that she would be comfortable with. He turned cold and told her it was not her place to ask such things, to leave it be. She became quiet and brought up the issue no more. Soon he returned to his loving, doting self.
She occupied her time in the library and by walking through the great extent of his land, for the first day or two. But as she waited her curiosity grew. What could be in that room that he did not wish her to know? And he seemed so certain he would find out were she to open the door.
On the third day, after two sleepless nights spent wondering and worrying as curiosity grew, she determined she had to know his secret. It would betray his trust, sure, but there was no way she could go on not knowing. It felt almost like a test to Eloise, and she desperately wished to reassure herself that it was merely some test of her loyalty and not some dreadful secret. She imagined an empty room, holding nothing, final proof of his very perfection, in hope of banishing the thoughts of some undefined, unspecified horror.
But there was the matter of the key, and his certainty that he would know. Waiting until night, when the servants were asleep, she stole down to the hallway and its forbidden door. First she put the key away, on some thought that perhaps he could tell if it had been used, and set to work on the door with a hair pin, working from memory of her younger, more adventurous days. It took her some time, but eventually she heard things sliding into place, and the lock clicked open. The heavy door swung in, and she had to catch herself, holding a sleeve over her nose as a terrible stench filled her nostrils. Barely swallowing a cry of fear and disgust, she looked into the room and tried to keep control of herself. The pin slipped from her hand and onto the blood-covered floor of the room.
Beyond the door was a floor covered in blood, a large basin in the center, also filled with blood. In carefully arranged piles all around the room were limbs and bodies, arranged carefully. Hands in one corner, arms in another, legs against the far wall. Six heads were arranged on the edge of the basin, six women's heads in various degrees of rot and decay.
At a point past horrified, Eloise reached inside, grabbed the hairpin and pulled the door shut as fast as she could.
After washing the sticky blood from her hands and discovering the pin could not be cleaned despite her diligence to this task, she went to her room and cried the night through.
The next day Reynard returned home, unexpectedly soon. She swallowed her fear and disgust and greeted him with enthusiasm and whatever love she could muster. When he asked for the ring of keys she presented them without fear and looked carefully as he accepted them, her face free of fear. He looked at the small key with surprise and then his face softened and he looked upon her with a newer, even more genuine love in his eyes. “You did not enter the room at the end of the hall?” he asked, to which she replied confidently, shoving her fear and shame at this deceit farther away, that she had not.
The next month passed in a horrified blur for Eloise. Her husband spent possibly more time with her, watching her closely, and while doting on her rarely letting her from his sight. Every time he left it felt like some sort of test, that there was something he did not trust in her and yet he gave every other indication that he did. One time she walked into the room and found him examining the key closely, apparently looking for some mark that it was used. Meanwhile, she feared that he would find out and felt torn between shame at her deceit of him and horror that she was married to a murderer, that she lived and dined and shared her bed with a man who kept his six murdered and mutilated wives in a room in the house. She had little trouble, given the initial shock, at hiding that she knew this, but all the same the knowledge ate at her until she felt she might go mad.
Soon after his return she asked him where he went on his trips, hoping to spark some conversation that she would be comfortable with. He turned cold and told her it was not her place to ask such things, to leave it be. She became quiet and brought up the issue no more. Soon he returned to his loving, doting self.