My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are,
At random from the truth vainly express’d;
For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.
- Sonnet 147

The Lady Viola was as beautiful as any in the whole rest of the world. Her eyes glittered like a million stars, her skin soft with the glow of youth and vigor. Men came from miles and miles, crossing stormy seas and vast deserts with the distant hope of gaining her hand. To have possession of such a jewel as the fair Lady Viola was to be a king among men.

For years and years men came to visit this vision of loveliness, of beauty incarnate. They offered her jewels and property, houses and horses, but she took none of them for husband. Her father left his only child a large dowry, only adding to the lady’s attractiveness, and with it she supported herself comfortably in a large home in the country.

“When the right man comes along, I shall know.” was all she would give as explanation to her solicitor during their monthly tea. He worried that his charge would never find a suitable mate and her father’s inheritance would one day fall out of his control.

“Do not worry, my lord, you shall be well compensated for the aid you give me in managing my father’s estate.” Lady Viola told him, for she knew well the minds of such men.

The solicitor nodded and drank his tea, smiling as he admired the painting over the mantelpiece.
“So very much like your mother you look, my dear.”

Lady Viola’s brow pinched for the briefest moment before the easy going smile of her formal countenance returned. “Yes, my father always told me so. She passed away when I was born.”

“I would have like to meet them both.” said the solicitor.

“They were good, kind people, and would have been well respected in the community.” she replied, finishing the last cooling sips of tea from her cup.

When she placed the empty cup back on its saucer and returned it to the tray, the solicitor knew his time with the fair lady was up. He departed, leaving behind the same envelope filled with her monthly allowance as always.

And so the days passed for Lady Viola. Gentlemen came to call from all corners of the world, the daily burden of her life filled with taking care of their needs and ushering them from the house when she grew tired of their attentions.

One fine morning in early May, a young man approached the house. His shoes were shoddy, worn thin with walking. His coat was patched at the elbows, his trousers at the knees. Despite his shabby clothes, his eyes were bright, full of life and vigor.

The servants protested when Lady Viola instructed them to escort the young man into the house, into the morning room itself, where she sat having her breakfast.

“It is such a clean and tidy space!” they argued. “Such a man as he should be required to bathe first at the least.”

Lady Viola would have none of it and, as she was the lady of the house, the butler showed the young man into the morning room. Immediately falling on one knee before her, the young man declared his love.

“Lady Viola, I have loved you since I first heard of you. Many days I have traveled, with not a penny to my name and only the clothes on my back. I have nothing to give you but my love, my heart, and my soul. They are yours if you will have me for husband.”

Lady Viola smiled. “What is your name, bold as brass?”

“William, my dear sweet lady.” he told her.

She smiled again. “William, I shall marry you this very day.”

The household staff was put into a whirlwind of a tizzy with preparations, but come twilight all was ready. Lady Viola had prepared her wedding dress long before, in anticipation of such a day, along with written instructions for the cake and feast, the guests and flowers, and even the grooms suit. It was her father’s morning suit that William would wear as they took their vows.

A quiet ceremony as the sun set pleased both bride and groom and before anyone caught their breath, the young couple was off for their honeymoon. William was gentle and kind to his new bride, treating her as a piece of fine porcelain as he carried her over the threshold of the little house borrowed for the occasion. The full moon’s light slipped across the windowsill, sliding over Viola’s feet and William noticed her shy away from it, but said nothing. So caught up in the driving force of a young man just wed, he dismissed Viola’s wrinkled brow as nerves and began to kiss her neck.

Hours later, with moonlight streaming in fully through the window, William rose from his wedding bed to stare out across the field surrounding the house. He smiled the satisfied smile of a cat with cream as he watched a small bat flit past the window, chasing an insect.

“We are bound now, you and I.” Viola’s voice whispered to him from the bed. “You are mine, heart and soul.”

Turning to look at her, William could not make out her figure in the dark corner. “You sound different, my love. Are you well?”

“Indeed I am, love.” Viola’s voice was now tinged with the creaking, croaking sound of the aged, not her youthful bubbly tone from earlier in the day.

“Come stand with me in the moonlight, I wish to see your fair face.” William felt a tickle at the back of his neck, the night air cold around him, though it was nearer summer than winter.

“If you wish, my love.” Viola replied, and William heard the rustle of fabric as she moved the covers and began padding towards him on bare feet.

Straining his eyes to see his bride, she did not come into focus until the moonlight hit her full. Shocked into paralysis, William was unable to move when the creature that once was Viola wrapped its arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth.
Fear breaking through at last, the new groom struggled to free himself, but the creature’s beastly strength held him fast to her. His own strength failing as she continued to kiss him, William’s knees buckled from under him and he fell to the floor, slipping into a black sleep filled with nightmare visions.

The housekeeper found him late the next morning when she brought in the breakfast. His face was ghostly pale, his hair turned white. When she tried to rouse him, he jolted from his sleep and ran screaming from the house.

Once a month, he still stumbles into town, ranting and raving about dark creatures of the night and the evil of young women who eat their husbands’ souls. The men of the village went on a hunt for Lady Viola’s kidnappers, but when there was no sign of her weeks later, they all assumed the worst.

Years later, a young woman road into town, the very image of the Lady Viola, though few were still there that remembered her. She was the Lady’s cousin, she told them, and the money of her uncle had been left in her name, that she might support herself until a suitable husband might be found for her.

Having inherited the business from his father, the young solicitor took charge of her finances and set her a monthly allowance, doling it out when he visited for tea as was proper for a young lady living alone in such a big house.

“Many men have come to you with promises of comfort and stability, my Lady.” he told her each time he visited. “When will you choose one who will have a care for your finances?”

The young lady smiled, blushing modestly. “When the right man comes along, I shall know.”