“How could it be your fault?”
“Porsha was frustrating, but I should have been more patient. And I should have more easily let go of...the past.”
Her questions became too numerous to ask, so she tried for lightheartedness. “I’m told Seraphina was ‘particularly awful’.”
There was a huff that turned into a rumble, as Helen realized it was his way of laughing. “She walked about measuring drapes and counting the silver and ordering the servants to do the most…” He paused, remembering. “She ordered Stella to wash her feet each time she returned to her room, and then when I spoke from the shadows, she had the audacity to order silks from the Orient.”
“What happened to her?”
“She screamed the first time she saw me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was in the shadows, much as you are seeing me now.”
Helen swallowed. “But you are almost entirely in the dark.”
“I am sure her imagination had no problem filling in the most gruesome of details.”
“It’s true you are disconcerting, but if I don’t think on it, you resemble only a very large shelf of books.”
He huffed his laugh once more, and she gave a small smile.
“You are looking much better than when you arrived.”
Helen’s smile turned down. “I feel better. Both in body and in spirit.”
“That is good.” She heard him move and begin to walk away. “Good night, Helen.”
“Good night.” She turned back to look at the moon, baffled by this budding friendship, her curiosity growing as her fears continued to diminish.
The miller’s
daughter
A sound awakened Helen and as she opened her eyes, she realized she had not dreamed at all. She sighed with relief as she looked out the window where beautiful gardens waited below. A small huff sounded behind her and she turned her head.
“Breakfast is getting cold.” She sat up recognizing the monster’s voice, too afraid to turn around and see him as reality rather than the shadowed friend he had become.
“Do you need help walking?”
The reminder of his humanity pushed her to her feet; too many night time conversations had passed for her to play the coward.
“I feel a little better, I think. If you don’t mind that I’m slow, I’ll make it there in a few minutes.”
Determined to literally face her fears, she walked haltingly forward, her legs aching with each step, but feeling a stiffness rather than the bruising pain of the past few weeks. She stumbled, but grabbed a chair as she accidentally looked up.
Only a few feet away was the familiar breakfast table laden with food. Sitting on the floor was the beast, and in the daylight there was no need for imagination. He sat on his haunches, a cat-like pose that belied his height. His fur was black with streaks of grey near his paws, which were monstrous. If there were claws, she thought, they must be retractable, for despite her unmannered stare, she couldn’t see any.
Shaking her head, she looked finally to his face, which resembled the illustrations of lions from a book of fairy tales. Her gaze was distracted by a twitching tail that settled into a curl around his paws. His torso bulked out like a bear’s, however his snout looked more wolfish, and it was these vagarities that allowed her to wonder rather than run. He cocked his head, a disconcertingly human gesture.
“Will I need to remind you to breathe again?”
“I…beg your pardon.” But she began to breathe once more.
He looked at her for a moment, then gestured with his nose. “Come and sit. You need breakfast.”
She took the required steps, then sat gingerly in the chair. She looked up at him, noticing once more how his eyes were easier to look at, and said the first thing that came to her mind. “At least we do not have to eat in the dark anymore.”
His chest rumbled. “Yes.” He watched her contemplate the food. “You may have as much as you like. I ate earlier.”
She looked up. “How…?”
He smiled, his teeth showing, and her eyes widened in response. “My manners are not for respectable company.”
“I see. I suppose it’s hard to eat when your paws are,” she gulped, “big.”
“I have not the ability to hold a fork, no.”
She took a scoop of cereal and a piece of toast, pausing to look him deliberately in the eyes. “Would…that is, do you have a name?”
His tail twitched. “Most people call me the beast or the monster or whatever they scream while running away.”
She took a bite, closing her eyes for a moment, then opening them again to respond. “But I have known you for some time now, and I would prefer to call you by a name. That is, if you have one?”
He was silent for a while. “Luke.”
Truth. His consistent honesty surprised her. “And do you mind if I call you Luke, or would you prefer something else?”
“Luke will be fine.”
She took another bite of cereal and a small bit fell on her night dress. She looked down at the mess, then back up at the beast – Luke – and started laughing. It was a quiet laugh where her shoulders shook on the cusp of hysteria.
He was at her side in a moment. “Are you alright?”
She looked up at him and stopped, her eyes wide, and he immediately retreated to his side of the table.
She took a breath, “I’m…sorry. I find it humorous that here I am in a castle eating breakfast in a library in my night dress with an enchanted beast that has told me to call him Luke.” She looked down, then up again, and although his very large teeth did seem to take her breath away, she couldn’t help it – she smiled.
Luke sat straight, studying her. “Your smile is the most beautiful thing I have seen in a very long time.”
Helen blanched, turning to study her toast.
“You are also the first person in a very long time to find anything about this place humorous.”
“I’m sorry, I hope I did not offend you.” She tentatively put forward her hand in supplication, her face quiet once again, her mouth small.
He shook his mane, his eyes on her hand which she quickly withdrew. “There was no offense. I was merely surprised. And pleased you still know how to laugh.”
Her face stilled as she spent the next few minutes banishing memories with bites of food while he watched. She finally washed it all down with a tall glass of water, and setting down her napkin, looked at him. “You look very much the cat in that attitude.”
He sat straighter and gave a sniff. “I am mostly lion.”
“I beg your pardon, I did not mean to offend.”
His tail stopped twitching as he said, “I am still not offended, Helen.”
She hid yet another smile.
“What were you reading last night?”
“I found a book of fairy tales.” She shrugged. “It seemed appropriate.”
His voice rumbled. “Appropriate?”
“You have told me of your curse.”
He paused before answering. “And have you answered any questions with your book, or do you still have some?”
“I did assume the curse could be broken. That you could become a man once more.” She waited, but he remained motionless. “Your servants would also be free from the curse then too, is that right?”
“Yes.”
Curiosity beat out fear, but after a moment she tempered that curiosity to ask, “What is your favorite story?”
He huffed, his breath rushing across her face. “I do not remember.”
She looked at his paws. “And I assume you cannot remind yourself.”
“No.”
“I would be happy to read aloud if you wish.”
He did not respond at first. Then, his voice quieter, requested, “Perhaps you could tell me one instead.”
Surprised, she stumbled, “I’m not sure I could.”
He rose up, his height making her catch her breath as he turned towards the door. “T
hen I will leave you for now. You may explore anywhere you wish, and if you have need of me, I am in my den.”
“Wait!” He stopped, and she did not understand this inexplicable need to grant his wish for a story, but found herself saying, “I have a story I remember if you would like to hear it.”
His tail began to whap against the ground. “I would be happy to hear it if you do not mind telling it.”
“Of course not.” They sat together in the window seat which was massive enough to allow even the beast’s great bulk. He curled around himself, his tail doing little flips.
She looked out the window, the only block to her view the expanse of trees at the borders of his estate. The sun was rising higher with each moment, and she turned to begin.
“I suppose I should start with ‘Once upon a time’.”
“Is it that kind of story?”
“In a way, yes.” She took a breath. “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful woman named Rose.”
Luke raised his head and snorted.
Helen tensed. “What is it?”
“Well, it is very trite. Not all women can be beautiful, and yet the fairy tales are all supposedly of beautiful women.”
A hint of a smile passed her face. “I…well, you are right, I suppose. Perhaps it is because people prefer their heroines to be beautiful.” His hazel eyes met her own, and she felt her courage rise. “What would you prefer this heroine to be like?”
“Instead of a beautiful face, a beautiful soul. A woman with a kind heart, and compassion in her voice.”
“That is all very well, you know, but I would bet you would not marry such a woman if her face was that of a toad.” She held her breath, wondering at the folly of her remark.
He merely grinned, his teeth showing once more, and this time Helen didn’t flinch. “Perhaps if she’s a toad I have merely to kiss her to turn her into a beautiful princess.”
She laughed, the sunlight covering her face, a peace settling in her. “Now you’re not making any sense.”
He cocked his head as he studied her. “I will admit I have been swayed by a beautiful face before. I have a weakness for light hair.”
She flushed, confused at the possible compliment, and from a very large cat. Her face rosy, she continued. “You’re in luck, for the heroine in my tale has very light hair. But if you keep interrupting me, I will never finish the story.”
“Tell your story; I will not interrupt again.” He laid his head in his paws, his ears pricked forward, with his nose just shy of her folded hands.
Leaning her head against the window as if to call the sun to her, she began:
“Once upon a time there was a beautiful woman, and her name was Rose. She had long blonde hair that looked like starlight at night and spun gold by day. Her eyes were the color of the sky on a sunny day, and her skin was clear and unblemished. She was tall but graceful, and there were many that wished for her hand in marriage. As you can imagine, her father was very proud of his beautiful daughter, and wished her to marry her equal; if not in beauty, then at least in fortune or power. The father’s knack was his ability to lie so convincingly that people would believe anything he said. In this way he amassed a fortune built on deceit.
His daughter was not much better, for she was spoiled, selfish, and sure in her own superiority to others. Despite these defects, many men would have married her, but each time her father would say ‘They are not quite good enough, my girl.’, and she would nod and agree, her neck growing longer with each rejected suitor.
One day, the father was in another land and was invited to court. There he met the prince, and was told that he was looking for a bride. His wife would become the future queen, and here, the man thought, was the true equal of his daughter. He smiled wide and lied his best and biggest lies, but despite the interest of the prince, the king said it was impossible, for they needed to add wealth to the kingdom and not from a paltry merchant, but from a wealthy princess. The man thought and thought and the next day lied even better as he opened his mouth and claimed his daughter could turn straw into gold. Even the king could not deny the wealth that would come from such a bride no matter how lowly born, and consented to meet her. The man left the next day and returned home to get his Rose.”
“But how could she turn straw into gold? Was that her ‘knack’?” The beast had raised his head, his interest clear.
“Luke, you said you would not interrupt. I promise you will know all by the end.” She shook her finger at him and as he laid his head back on his paws, she reached her hand forward, then abruptly pulled it back, folding it tightly into her lap. “I…” She looked away, too flustered to continue.
“Come, finish your story.”
Surprised at her growing courage, but unable to meet his eyes, she turned again to look out the window and continue.
“Rose had a knack for illusion. It was, in some ways, very similar to her father, for it was a type of deceit. If she told Cook that she was cooking a chicken, then Cook saw a chicken even if it was a fish. If she explained the servant girl had a crooked back and was missing her mind then that,” here her voice broke and became a whisper, “that is what everyone saw.”
Luke raised his head, but didn’t say anything.
Helen cleared her throat and continued. “Her father knew that his lie combined with her illusion would make her the prince’s bride. He had rarely used her gift before, because he could not always take her with him, and his own knack was usually sufficient in his dealings. Despite this, Rose was very practiced in her skill and used her illusions regularly. So regularly in fact, that once her father had taken her to this foreign land, the illusions began to wear off, and their servants and household noticed some rather significant changes.” She paused here, remembering.
“What kind of changes?” Luke’s comment brought her back to the present.
“Oh, little things at first. That their clothing was made of old rags rather than the sturdy wool they had thought. That the house was in poor repair, which I thought was foolish considering that had she not pretended it was so fine they would have known to fix it.” She shook her head.
“And the servant girl was not crippled?”
She turned to look at him. “And the servant girl was not crippled.” She pulled a blanket over her, tucking her hands underneath.
“What happened then? Did the prince get tricked into marrying the girl?”
She turned and smiled at him. “You really have a hard time not interrupting, don’t you?”
He huffed and laid his head down with a grow.
“You have a knack for telling a story, I think.” She smiled, pleased at the compliment.
“The prince was well and truly tricked as was his father and the rest of their kingdom. She played her part well, and was so beautiful that anything that might have given them pause was easily overlooked. The father was delighted, for not only would his beautiful daughter marry a prince, but he had an entire country that wanted to do business with this merchant that would soon be related to the royal family. Oh, but do not worry, Luke, there is a happy ending of sorts.”
“I was not worried.”
“Your tail was not moving.”
“I….hmmph.” He laid his head down once more.
“A week before the wedding, the father presented the king with a special invention, one he said would provide clean water for the entire city. Such a device was received very well, and the royal family asked for a demonstration. The father put it in the pond in the castle gardens, and invited them to drink the clean water being outputted. However, the father had received this invention from a man who had sabotaged it. Not knowing of this deceit, anyone who drank that day became very ill. Rose in particular became so ill, that everyone feared for her life, but no one knew how to cure her.
The prince was distraught, for his lovely bride had become his whole world, and he did not know yet that her insides were rotten. He searched until he found a great healer. That healer came
to the castle and using her knack to discern the sickness, knew the very soul of the future princess. Furious that such a woman would someday help rule the country, she told the prince she needed to take her to a special place to heal, for only there could all be restored as it should. The prince immediately arranged for Rose’s departure just as her father appeared. He begged the prince not to allow her to leave, for he knew the possible consequences, and once more he lied until the prince changed his mind. The healer, however, had discerned the man’s own abilities, and had driven the coach away while they argued. The father was furious, and the prince upset, but the healer was nowhere to be found. They spent weeks searching for her, but in time all of Rose’s illusions had washed away, and the prince realized the deception. The father had vanished to save his own skin, and Rose was declared guilty of treason and banished from the country in the event they found her.”
Helen sighed as she finished. “Rose was never found, instead returning to her father’s house. There she took up her old life but now with the burden of all she had lost and a more pathetic creature you could not imagine.”
“And the machine?”
“Oh, it had been immediately destroyed, laying seeds of doubt about the character of the charismatic merchant and his daughter.”
“What of the prince?”
“He was embarrassed by the deception, and decided to find his own bride in his own way.”
“Did he find one?”
“Of course, but that is a story for another day.”
“What happened to the servant girl? The one who was not crippled?”
“That is definitely another story for another day.”
“Tomorrow, then?”
“Tomorrow! I should think not. Tomorrow it is your turn to tell me a tale. And I will be sure to interrupt you as much as I want.” She grinned at him, and turned to leave the window seal.
The Unbreakable Curse: A Beauty & the Beast Retelling Page 4