Pulchritude

by Ana Mardoll

  Surprise was not a sensation that came frequently to the fata; Rosella stared at the hedge with increasing astonishment as she tried to work out the odd sight before her eyes. She'd seen her hedges destroyed by fire and lightning, but this one carried none of the blackened marks of fire. She'd similarly seen her creations stripped bare by swarms of insects and animals, but this hedge lacked the thoroughness of a feeding frenzy: here and there, clusters of ripped leaves poked pitifully through.

  She heard a thick rustling noise that aroused her curiosity. She followed the bend of the hedge until the source of the noise came into view: a monstrous beast, tall and bony, stooped by the hedge. He clutched in the palm of his paw a single bright red rose, and as Rosella watched, he meticulously shredded the rose into a dozen tiny pieces that he flung contemptuously on to the ground.

  "What are you doing?" Her voice was high and tight, and Rosella swallowed and cleared her throat. "I remember you," she said, recognizing the shape she had given the man. "You're not due yet."

  The creature's head swiveled up in response to her voice; his black eyes locked with hers and burned with a hatred that she ignored. None of her creations could hurt her, and few bothered even to try. She was far more disturbed by his singularly strange attack on her roses, an attack that must have caused him a tremendous amount of pain as he felt each individual rose being shredded. Even now, she could see in the dim light small piles of rose shreddings heaped on the ground and trampled under his hooves.

  "What are you doing here?" he snarled at her, a low growl that barely reached her ears.

  "I sense when the last of the roses die," she said absently, still staring at him in astonishment. The beast wasn't wearing any clothes, and his fur was studded with hundreds of thorns. "He must have got them while he was digging my roses out of their hedge," she realized, frowning at the black, matted blood that stained his body. "What are you doing?" she repeated her earlier question. "Don't you know that when the last rose dies, you'll remain a beast forever?" In all her centuries, this would be the first time a target had misunderstood the symbol of his time limit.

  The creature spat at her, his vitriol falling short of the mark and landing at her feet. "I was already a beast forever," he growled. "Nothing you can do will ever make me less of one." His voice was trembling with emotion, building to a howling pitch. "At least I resemble what I am!" he yelled. "What's your excuse?"

  Rosella blinked at him in bemusement. "What, you think I am a beast?"

  "You're a monster." His voice had flattened out, but was still thick with conviction.

  "For cursing you?" she asked, laughing at the accusation.

  He snarled and snapped his teeth in a sudden fit of rage. Even knowing that he could not hurt her, Rosella recoiled a step back from the hatred that was packed into his movement. Usually her targets were cowed and defeated when she met them at this stage; never before had she seen one so enraged. "You sent Bella to me," he howled angrily. "She was the sweetest, most innocent girl -- and she loved me!" His ears twitched spasmodically. "She loved me, and you made her sacrifice her life for me!"

  Rosella stared at him blankly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "You said she had to sacrifice everything," he spat the words at her. "You said it, it was a lie, we tested it to the final limit, and now she's dead."

  Her eyes narrowed. "No, prince," she said, relieved to be on familiar footing again. "I said that you had to find that love which is willing to sacrifice everything. If you weren't able to make sacrifices for others as a human, you were to learn to do so as a beast," she finished triumphantly.

  He stared at her, shocked and angry. Rosella met his gaze smugly. Now that she had popped his bubble of indignation, he would beg to be given a second chance. She smiled to herself and mused, "I might just give it to him." It could be interesting to watch: could he be truly selfless while absolutely knowing that he had to be selfless to get what he wanted?

  "What was I supposed to do?" he asked her hoarsely. "I loved her," he insisted.

  "Obviously not enough," Rosella retorted. "Not if you let her die." She smirked at him, suddenly amused by his little prank with her roses. "You're not even sacrificing for her now. You're doing this because you're angry, you're sad, you're upset -- even now, you're completely focused on yourself."

  She laughed again and was delighted to see the dull flash of pain in his black eyes. "You have no idea what I've sacrificed," he growled quietly, but the words lacked his earlier conviction and his shoulders slumped forward in despair.

  "Not willingly. You're still lashing out in anger at the mess left on your doorstep." Rosella said with a grin. Sensing his defeat, she forced herself to smile more warmly at him. "Oh, don't look so sad. Everyone makes mistakes," she crooned, trying to sound sympathetic. "You just didn't understand. That's not your fault."

  "Everything is my fault," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Tears welled in his black eyes and spilled over his matted cheeks.

  "It will be all right," she said reassuringly. "I can give you a second try, another chance to redeem yourself." She held out her hand coaxingly to him, and she used just enough fairy magic to direct the last rays of sunset to play over her face and form. She wished she could see herself from his vantage point, but she could imagine how she must look: beautiful fata Rosella, the last bright spot of warmth and safety in a cold, dark world.

  "I haven't had so much excitement in decades," she realized joyfully. What an unexpected treasure this man was turning out to be, and such fun that she might even stick around to watch the curse play out this time. "I could even hand-pick the girl myself," she thought, almost trembling with the anticipation of her fun.

  The beast stared at her for a long time, as the sunlight dipped below the horizon and the darkness slowly shrouded them. His face was devoid of emotion, and Rosella shifted uncomfortably, wondering what he was thinking. When finally she could stand the silence no more, she smiled again and prompted him: "Well, my prince?"

  He didn't answer. Instead, he dropped to all fours and padded like an animal silently around her, through the gap in the hedge and into the dark of the woods. "Prince!" she called after him, but with the setting of the sun on the last dying rose, her curse was finished and she could not restrain him. "Prince, come back!" she called, feeling her disappointment building. The only answer was a desolate howl from deep within the shadows.

  Rosella stood rooted to the ground, shaken with surprise. No one, not a single human, had ever before completely refused to play her game. Glimpsing a trampled rose at her feet, she bent to scoop it up from the ground. An unfamiliar emptiness washed over her as she plucked the abused flower from the wet earth. "I don't understand," she thought.

  With a final glance back at the castle behind her, she turned and walked down the dark road out of the valley, cradling the dead rose gently in her palm.

  Acknowledgments

  I never realized just how many people it can take to write a book. There are so many people to whom I owe so much, and without whom this book simply would not exist.

  I owe deep gratitude to my family. My dear Husband read each chapter as it was written, and then again several times over as I reworked the material. Throughout the entire process he was kind and encouraging and was frequently heard to say, "I don't like fairy tales, but I like this!" My Mother, too, devoted a great deal of her time to reading my book, providing invaluable corrections, and gratifying me deeply with her praise and support. I received a wealth of support from my Husband, my parents, and a number of blood- and marriage-relatives as I struggled through an exceedingly difficult year. While my writing supported me psychologically, it was my family who supported me physically and emotionally. Thank you.

  I owe a tremendous debt to my friend and writing partner, J.D. Montague. She was my "shoulder cricket" for every step in my journey, and was always ready and willing to read another chapter, listen to another idea, and critique another proposed turn of phras
e. J.D. had the skill to know when my writing was bad, the bravery to point it out to me, and the diplomacy and wit to do so in ways that invariably made me laugh. She helped me through my writing slumps and encouraged me no matter how much or how little I had written that day. J.D. has made me a better writer and a better person, and has been an invaluable friend.

  I owe a chorus of thanks to all my beta readers, each of whom selflessly volunteered their time and effort to read my draft and provide invaluable feedback. I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people who volunteered, and I was deeply touched by all the responses. The readers who loved my draft gave me the strength to keep going; the readers who didn't and yet bravely slogged through it anyway to provide crucial feedback gave me the vital tools I needed to improve. I owe my deepest gratitude to Angela D, Cassandra, Charleen M, Danielle C, Elfwreck, Ian Pérez Zayas, Janell B, Jeanine Wood, Jeremy Janik, Jill Heather Flegg, Layne R, Marie L, mmy of mmycomments, Rachel Pumroy, and Sarah W. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

  I owe a very special 'thank you' also to my blog readers, whose witty comments and thoughtful insights motivate me to get out of bed every morning in the hopes that I will write something worthy of their time and attention. I am daily overwhelmed with humility and gratitude at the knowledge that there are people interested in what I have to say, and kind enough to give me the gifts of their time and attention. Thank you all, so very much. A very special mention must also go to readers Dav and Rowen for providing me with valuable links to historically appropriate cookbooks and gardening materials as part of my research.

  I owe a final thank you to the artists and professionals who made this book possible. Emily Vreeland labored tirelessly over several months and a grueling scholastic period to provide the lovely portraits in this book. Clarissa Filice worked magic in her creation of the front and back covers, and turned my vague ideas into beautiful artwork. Thank you.

  Each one of these wonderful people has touched my life and made it richer and fuller, just as they have touched this work and helped to shape and mold it. I thank you all, as deeply as I possibly can.

  ~ Ana Mardoll

  About the Artists

  Ana Mardoll

  Ana Mardoll is an avid reader and writer. She loves cats, fairy tales, and intense navel gazing. She blogs on a near daily basis from an undisclosed location in the wild, untamed, and astonishingly dusty Texas wilderness. Her photo-realistic avatars are a gift from best friend and invaluable writing buddy, J.D. Montague.

  Pulchritude is her first novel in a planned series of fairy tale retellings.

  To read more of Ana's writings, including her snarktastic literary deconstructions, visit her website at www.AnaMardoll.com.

  Clarissa Filice

  Clarissa Filice is an widely talented multi-medium artist living in Portland, Oregon. She loves art, reading, chai lattes, and rainbow fried rice. However, oftentimes her brother has to remind her that to live you actually have to consume the latter two items.

  Clarissa created the beautiful front and back covers for Pulchritude.

  To view more of Clarissa's art, visit her gallery at FallingSarah.DeviantArt.com.

  Emily Vreeland

  Emily Vreeland is a student of Anthropology and Cross-cultural Leadership, working as an artist-for-hire so she can eat quasi-regularly and have her fancy teas. Besides keeping up with her art, and trying not to expire under the pressures of graduating, she relaxes with yoga, tree hugging, and volunteering. Her artistic style varies from realism to cartoony, and drives her to constantly cover everything she owns in a layer of paint.

  Emily created the lovely character portraits for Pulchritude.

  To view more of Emily's art, visit her gallery on Loving-Em.DeviantArt.com.

  Character Portraits

  Character Portrait: Rosella

  When I started Pulchritude, the "Beauty and the Beast" story most firmly fixed in my mind was the Disney version, which starts with a curse. A beautiful fairy disguises herself as a beggar and then curses a prince for his selfishness when he refuses to give her lodging for the night.

  The question that stuck in my mind, and the question that ultimately caused me to write the novel was, "How could this go any way but wrong?" And once I'd decided that a curse given in anger to a selfish prince not previously inclined to examine his actions for internalized privilege simply could not go right, it was a quick and easy slide to my interpretation of the fairy as something less modern-and-moralistic and more ancient-and-capricious. After all, the very word "fairy" is derived from the same root as "fate", and the fates are cruel as often as they are kind.

  I gave my fairy the name "Rosella" because I had already decided on an Italian setting for the story and because the Disney version of the fairy gives the beast an enchanted rose to mark the time limit of the curse. I wanted to continue that idea of roses ticking down to an inexorable time limit, so I made roses a sort of signature for my fairy: she wears roses in her hair, has 'sleeves' of thorny vines covering her bare arms, creates a hedge of dazzling roses as part of her curse, and has a name derived from the Latin form of 'rose'. p

  As much as I loved Rosella, her very existence seeks to create plot holes. I wanted a world where magic was possible, but not so common that skeptics couldn't still exist. As a result I had to do some heavy hand-waving to keep Rosella and the rest of her kind dormant for large chunks of the year and largely hidden during their active times. When Rosella proudly notes that she is the most active and most 'successful' of her kind, I'd hoped that would plant the idea that other fata act in invisible ways since they cannot emulate humankind and walk among them in the same way Rosella does. I'm far from certain that I succeeded, but I hope that my readers enjoyed the ride.

  This portrait of Rosella was drawn by artist Emily Vreeland.

  Character Portrait: Ezio

  Every "Beauty and the Beast" story has a beast who traditionally starts out as a prince. What very few of the stories manage to agree on is his personality.

  The original La Belle et la Bête features a kind and honorable prince who has been turned into a slow-witted lout by a vengeful fairy whose advances were spurned. Later retellings oscillated between an innately good prince who needed to be appreciated by a loving woman and an originally bad prince who needed to be redeemed by a loving woman. I knew starting out that neither of these approaches were ones I wanted to take, yet I didn't immediately have a clear picture of my own prince-beast.

  I envisioned my prince-beast as a classic son of privilege: spoiled, entitled, selfish. I knew he had to lord over a very small pond since I couldn't keep the transformation quiet in-text if he was the crown prince of an entire country, but still I knew he would be a big fish in his small pond. He would have lived his life taking what he wanted and never thinking twice about satiating his needs at the expense of others.

  And yet, I didn't want him to be a villainous person. I wanted to write a story about how patriarchal systems can ruin a person's ability for selflessness and empathy, and in order to do that, I needed my prince-beast to be a relatively decent person who -- as a consequence of his birth, his parents, and his society -- acted in ways that most of us would recognize as casually cruel and self-serving. And thus I ended up walking a fine line between a prince who thinks nothing of 'borrowing' his younger brother's wife and yet still has flashes of insight that perhaps his pretty prisoner may not always have had the easiest life, and I hope that his character will seem consistent throughout.

  I chose the name "Ezio" for my prince-beast because the name derives from the same root as "eagle" and I felt that the name would be appropriate for the son of a royal family. q Later, one of my Beta Readers was kind enough to point out that my prince-beast shares a name with a popular video game assassin. r Ultimately, I decided to keep the name but I apologize to any readers who found the association distracting.

  This portrait of Ezio was drawn by artist Emily Vreeland.

  Character Portrait: Guerr
ino

  The need for Guerrino impressed itself upon me very early in the planning process for Pulchritude: I simply could not imagine how the beast would otherwise survive without aid.

  This isn't a new problem; the original La Belle et la Bête provides the beast with a fairy benefactress (separate and distinct from the vengeful fairy who cursed him) and she keeps him alive and well-fed. Later retellings sustain him through the efforts of his cheerful-and-resigned servants, who are variously turned into animals, invisible spirits, or sentient furniture until the curse is broken. I had initially wanted to dispense with the cheerful servants altogether, but I could not do so without creating an insurmountable hurdle: how does a previously pampered and now drastically cursed prince survive long enough for the beauty to turn up on his doorstep?

  Thus was Guerrino born, named for the Italian derivative of "guard". s And if I couldn't dispense with the cheerful servants, I could at least dispense with the 'cheerful' part. To bridge the gap caused by the reduction of dozens of servants to a single old man, Guerrino was given an impressive array of magic (for a mere human), that he might help feed the beast, aid in the capture of the beauty, and facilitate her tragic death. Yet that talent for magic set him apart from the other humans and left him vulnerable without the sponsorship of a powerful royal family. As a result, he stays with Ezio not out of love or loyalty or laziness, but largely because he calculates that it's in his best interests to do so. I admired him for that, and I hope that my readers will feel the same.