The Broken Rose
Once upon a time, as all stories begin, there was a girl who became a princess, and a prince who became a beast.
As the story goes, the prince was cursed for his selfishness by an enchantress, that unless he feel True Love’s Kiss before the final petal fell from an enchanted rose, he would remain a beast forever. Then the one who became a princess found him in his ruined castle, and he took her heart, as she took his: or perhaps they each kept their own, but saw something of the other in themselves. Such areas remain ever unclear.
The final petal fell from the rose, but he was human, and all was done. The curse was lifted from the castle: the prince returned to humanity, as did all the servants also cursed.
Belle bid a farewell to her home village. With her impending marriage, her residence was now the prince’s castle.
Her hometown had never been her favourite place. A non-conformist, and one of those not won by Gaston’s ‘charms’ (nor willing to act as though she was), the years had not been easy.
Many fond memories were within those castle walls, however. She walked the halls, exploring the West Wing properly for the first time since she’d arrived.
It was still there. The rose within the bell jar: now no more than a green stem fallen atop crimson and wilted petals. It was almost amusing, to see it as it was now, when she thought of the magic it was responsible for.
The prince (Adam, as people would have to get used to calling him now) lay in bed, weak and weary. The transformation, though complete, was a magic it would take him time to get used to. It had been a while since he’d lived in a human form.
Belle kept him company: sat by his bedside, drank in the sight of him. No clothes fit him, now: there was enough gold in the castle to buy all the clothing and furniture they’d need, now, but they had none yet.
She hadn’t seen him like this. Human. He was attractive, certainly: there was very little of the beast to him, now. His hair was a long, dark red, his eyes (when open) a piercing blue. His features were soft: gentle, kind.
She took his hand. The prince shifted.
“My mother told me a story,” Belle said. “Years ago now, when I was just a child.”
“Did she?” the prince Adam said. His voice was hoarse.
“A selfish prince in a castle,” Belle said. “One who turned away a beggar, and was cursed for his apathy toward the needy. He was cruel, she said, a monster in human form.”
“Sounds familiar,” Adam said.
“I don’t know,” Belle said. “I can see a few differences,” she leant closer: kissed his cheek.
That night, a fiend came to the village that had once been Belle’s home. Those that glimpsed it could not describe it. Some said it was a bear, some said boar, some said wolf. It charged, shattered, devoured.
When morning came, a delegation (one on crutches) journeyed through the forest to the castle that was Adam’s, and would soon be Belle’s. The servant Cogsworth guided them up.
They told the story, and Belle’s expression turned cold.
“Why are you here?” Belle said.
“We fear…” one of the delegation said: and cleared his throat. A pause.
“You fear it is him,” Belle said.
“To be blunt,” another said, “Yes. He is a Beast, is he not?”
“He was,” Belle said. She stood from her chair; “Come with me.”
She walked out of her room, through the hall, and knocked on another door.
“Come in!” a low voice said: it was hoarse, could maybe have been mistaken for bestial. The delegation jumped.
Within, Prince Adam sat up, his features very human. The room was pristine. His bedsheets were scruffy, but all else was intact.
“My fiancée is no monster,” Belle said. “You may see for yourself.”
Chastened, the delegation left. When the next night came, the monster returned, as ferocious as ever. Belle slept soundly.
Many of those who had come to the castle before proved unable to return, the next day. More were chosen, more visited, and saw for themselves that Prince Adam was now as human as they.
“May we ask sanctuary?” one said. “The beast is clearly unable to break the castle walls.”
“We can’t,” Belle said. “There aren’t resources enough for an entire village. Truthfully, there are barely enough for just us and he servants, not yet. If we were in better shape, then perhaps,” Belle paused. “I suspect it is just a wild animal. It probably won’t come again. If it does, inform me tomorrow. I’ll ask the servants to prepare.”
“Milady,” the village bowed.
“You will need to bring your own food and possessions,” Belle said. “It has been ten years since any other than the Prince and, more recently, myself, ate or lived in any real fashion here.”
Night came, and the beast returned. None could say just how many of the village had died, after those nightly attacks. There was no respite.
The best fighters of the village had gone with Gaston, to target the Prince when he had been a Beast. Only a fraction of those who had gone out, had returned.
As promised, some messengers went out to petition Belle’s aid. Sympathetically, she received them.
“We are not yet ready,” she said. “Tomorrow, though, tell all who survive to come to the castle gates. We will offer what shelter we can.”
Night and the monster came.
As dawn approached, Belle awoke. She yawned: stretched, and walked out to the castle grounds. The first rays of the morning shone over the courtyard: and in the corner, there was a shadow: a shapeless mass, wet, soaked, and splashed with mud. Brown fur, tusks, and a fearsome jaw. It exhaled: a low, rattling sound.
Belle turned: faced it, perfectly still. The monster stalked closer, on all-fours. It neared, muscular frame shifting, preparing. When it was a step away, Belle extended a hand: stroked the side of its face, unperturbed by its salivating maw.
“Morning dear,” she said, and leant forward, planting one soft kiss on a spot of mud-free fur.
Where once there had been a beast, there now was a prince. He stood, exhaled: Belle embraced him.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Anything, dear,” he said. She leant up: kissed him.
“Clean up,” she said. “They’ll be seeking sanctuary in the castle, soon. We’ll have to be presentable.”
“Of course,” Prince Adam said.
Reluctantly, he departed. Belle left also, to change her dress. She chose yellow: one of her favourites of those in the castle’s collection. Respectable.
She found it amusing, in a way. She remembered how all the village had seen her: some bookworm, some oddball, unworthy of, well, anything. Now look at her.
Unfortunately, there were now no mirrors in the castle. She enlisted a servant’s aid, to ensure she looked presentable.
Some hours later, the people of her old home arrived. Belle and Prince Adam went out to greet them, and opened the castle gates for them all: invited them all to the largest chamber in the castle: the ballroom. Over the past few days, the servants had done what they could to make it a suitable sleeping area, as well as one for possessions to be left.
The West Wing was off-limits, belonging to Prince Adam and Belle. The irony appealed to her.
When night came, the village slept, content in the security of the castle walls. Belle exhaled, and smiled.
“My mother taught me many things,” Belle said. She ran her fingertips along the length of her husband’s broken rose. “Your story, for one. I never thought I’d meet you, or that you’d be less of a beast than…”
Her voice trailed off. Belle smiled, and lifted the green stem. She regarded her soon-to-be husband.
“Visit our subjects, dear,” Belle said. “I’ll lock the doors.”
“Of course, dear,” the Prince said, his voice gravelly.
Belle stood. A radiant smile remained on her face, as beautiful as she’d always been.
It was not ugliness that made a beast. It was people. They received what they put into the world: that was what had happened to Adam. A brief cruelty had made a monster of him. When Belle thought of the cruelties of her village, however, such a curse was not punishment enough.
Prince Adam walked to the ballroom: opened the door quietly, and stepped inside. Behind him, Belle locked it, and lifted the green stem of an enchanted rose.
She lifted her other hand, and ran her fingertips along it once more, focusing. She was not as adept as her mother had been, but she knew enough to work the latent magic already within the faded bloom.
Satisfied, Belle lifted her head, and pressed her ear to the door to the ballroom. She waited, and she listened.
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I realize now that the “submitted by” portion will not show up in reblogs so, to be clear, this story was written by the lovely and talented @bijane
