Chapter 10 - Snow White's Son

Translator's Note:

Hello, I hope you've all been doing well.

Here you go, and I wish you a good read.

And as I said before, if you wish to read ahead, you can head over to my Patreon to get early access to all the translated chapters.

"Beast... No, I'm sorry. I gave you that name without asking," Crow said, trying to soothe him. "But it's okay now. If you promise never to do something like that again, that's enough for me. I've also hurt you terribly, and I think we both made mistakes. Let's forgive each other."

 

"Snow White... you had every right to resist. I am the one who—"

 

"It's alright. We're even. And about the name... let's call it fair," Crow replied with a gentle smile. He intentionally used the power of his enchanted hair this time, wrapping it around the Beast's arms to pull him gently away from the wall and stop him from further harming himself.

 

With a delicate touch, Crow used his hair to prepare a towel, wet it in a nearby bucket, and squeeze out the excess water. He took the towel in his hand and began to wipe the blood from the Beast's face, who stared at him in shock.

 

"Your hair... Snow White... what magic is this?" the Beast murmured, still trembling.

 

"Is it because of my pale skin that you call me Snow White?" Crow teased gently. "My hair is enchanted by the magic of the elves. I've been..."

 

Crow paused, remembering Ernst's final words. He had been about to say, "I've been drinking the elves' milk for so long," but stopped himself. Instead, he corrected softly, "I've been raised by the elves for as long as I can remember."

 

After all, in the world of humans, such acts were only meant for the one you loved most. Crow realized it was not something he should speak of lightly, not if he wanted to avoid further misunderstanding. While he hated to hide the truth, he felt it would be far worse to reveal too much.

 

"I see... that's why your hair is so long," the Beast said, his voice growing calmer as Crow's cool towel wiped away the blood. Slowly, he began to regain his composure, though tears still streamed down his face. His deep blue eyes, as clear as gemstones, shimmered with tears that, no matter how many times he blinked them away, continued to spill over.

 

The Beast could not seem to hold Crow's gaze for long, constantly glancing away, only to look back again moments later. Each time he did, his eyes shone with fresh tears, and when he turned away, the droplets would finally fall, disappearing into the black beard that covered his sorrowful face.

 

His eyes, so sorrowful and full of regret, made Crow feel guilty for ever calling him Beast. And yet, behind the sadness, there was a flicker of something softer—small glimpses of joy. Occasionally, his lips or cheeks would twitch, almost forming the beginnings of a smile, but a true smile never fully bloomed.

 

Instead, he covered his face with both hands and cried out from the depths of his soul, "Do not look at me with those pure and beautiful eyes! I am wretched... too foul to be seen by someone like you!"

 

"Please don't cry... You're not ugly at all. You're strong, and a fine man, truly. I'm sorry for giving you such a strange name like Beast. What should I call you instead?"

 

"Beast... is fine," he replied in a low, sorrowful voice. "For that is what I am—ugly, sinful, a wretched beast."

 

As he turned his face away in despair, Crow could not help but notice the striking contrast—the deep set of his features, the noble line of his nose, the graceful shape of his lips. His teeth, glimpsed beneath that sorrowful face, were as white as pearls, no longer stained with blood. But most of all, his voice was gentle, carrying the refined air of someone noble despite his lament.

 

"Beast... it's alright. What happened before... it's forgiven. You still had the heart of a beast, and look—I'm unharmed. You sucked my milk out of me, but that's all."

 

The Beast's brows furrowed at Crow's words, his lips twisting in discomfort. Then, with a troubled voice, he repeated, "...Milk?"

 

It was as if a bolt of lightning had struck him. Until now, he had kept his distance, avoiding Crow's eyes, but suddenly, he leaned forward, his gaze intense.

 

"You must not use such vulgar words as 'milk' for... that," he said, his tone stern.

 

"Vulgar? But... I didn't mean anything improper," Crow stammered, confused by the sudden rebuke. All his life, he had known only the elvish way, where such things were called "milk," and he knew no other term.

 

"The proper word is 'semen,' though it's not something to be spoken of lightly. To call it milk... only rogues and harlots speak so crudely. It's not fitting for you. The milk you should speak of is what mothers give to their children or what is served at the table from cows, nothing else. Using such a word in the wrong way could cast doubt upon your character."

 

"Y-yes..." Crow nodded quickly, startled by the gravity of the correction. He had seen pictures of rough men in storybooks, yet here before him stood one who seemed far rougher and stronger than those, and yet, he hated crudeness and took pride in teaching the young to be proper and upright. Crow found his noble demeanor to be almost radiant, a striking contrast to the brute strength he possessed.

 

"I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable," Crow said, his voice soft with remorse. "I didn't know it was a vulgar term. I didn't mean to offend you. Please don't think poorly of me."

 

"No... it's I who should apologize," the Beast replied with a sigh. "I spoke harshly. Living in isolation as you do, it's no surprise there might be misunderstandings. Forgive me."

 

"No, it's alright. I... I truly don't know much about the human world. Please, teach me," Crow said, his eyes shining with admiration as he gazed into the Beast's deep blue eyes.

 

The more they spoke, the more Crow was drawn to the Beast's voice, its melodic cadence, and the graceful way he spoke. Though he knew it would be impolite, Crow longed to close his eyes and simply listen to that voice, as if it might transport him to some grand ballroom, where he would be conversing with a true gentleman.

 

"Snow White... please forgive me for what I did to you. I swear, it will never happen again. But no matter how much I vow, the beast within me may once again rise and harm you. If ever I return as that dark and fearsome creature, climbing to you in the tower... please, do not look at me, do not listen to my cries. And never let me near you."

 

The Beast averted his gaze entirely now, ashamed of his own appearance, and his voice was filled with despair. Crow could feel the earnestness in his plea, but he didn't understand. He shook his head in response.

 

"Even tomorrow night, and the night after... if you come to the tower, I will still use my magic hair to pull you up."

 

"No! When I am a beast, I have no reason, no control. I could tear your throat out with my fangs!" the Beast cried in anguish.

 

"It's alright. You can only climb partway up by yourself, and once you're inside, you'll be bound by my hair. As long as you're tied up, you won't be able to harm me. Tomorrow night, I'll wrap you up tightly, and bring this bracelet close to your face. That should bring you back to yourself, just like now, right?"

 

"It's too dangerous. And even that might not be enough..." the Beast murmured, deep in thought. His profile, though wrought with worry, made Crow smile softly.

 

Despite his protests, Crow could tell the Beast wanted to return to the tower. Not because he liked the place, but for him. He was being careful, considerate of Crow's safety, but the longing in his heart was unmistakable. He wanted to see Crow again—desperately, if there were a way to do it safely.

 

Suddenly, Crow realized what had caused the Beast's transformation—what had brought him back from the wildness of a beast to the rational, gentle man before him now. It felt like discovering a hidden treasure.

Last Chapter | TOC | Next Chapter