In the middle, there was a small circular garden filled with beautiful roses. White and yellow on the outside, trailing inward; then violet and black. Finally, central to this rose garden, and with only a few flowers opening to the sky, were the red roses. They were brilliant, large, dangerous as all roses were, in a red so deep and thorough it genuinely hurt the heart to look at. Cruelty raised a hand to her own red hair—there was overlap there, she thought with amusement—and then reached out and plucked a rose.
Instantly she heard a low hiss behind her, a sibilant protest, accompanied by the sound of scales on gravel. "That is the prize of my collection," she heard, the voice barely human for its gravel and slime and teeth. "Please, madam, do not rob me."
Smiling, Cruelty turned.
The Beast lurked in what few shadows his garden provided. He was nearly ten feet tall, but most of it was winding snake coils and reptilian curves which doubled back on themselves to make him seem smaller than his true height. His eight small caterpillar-like arms shifted under him in agitation in the place of legs, an anxious pat pat pat of movement. At every joint, his scales had cracked and torn, and fur spilled out from underneath. He was naked, and not so much sexless as tucked away as many animals were. The only part of him which seemed even slightly human was his face—and that was twisted and rent, fangs splitting his lips with blood, jaw distended, eyes unlidded and each movement making their nearly-popping curves twitch. He had been handsome before the curse, perhaps, but the only remnants of it were his high cheekbones and fine brows.
"Lady Cruelty," the Beast said after a moment's hesitation, his bulging eyes swiveling in their exposed sockets as he looked her over. They were not themselves personally acquainted, but her figure, dainty and fair, clearly a fairy and clearly rose-Motifed, was a familiar enough one to place. He seemed confused now, alarmed. Of course, Cruelty thought, he must be aware that she had no reason to pick his roses, and probably could not come up with a reason she would visit him at all.
"Hello," she said. "Trick or treat."
His brows drew down in confusion, but instead of asking and drawing out their conversation, he shook his head. "Please, madam," he said. "While I doubt you've interest in my hospitality, I beg you, leave my flowers and me in peace."
"I will not," she said. "Even you must be aware, Beast, that humans are entering our land again."
"I am aware," he said. "Princess Talia has gained the assistance of many. I will not hinder her, but I fear to take too much hope in it."
"You fear to get your hopes up that someone may come to love you?" Cruelty clarified, eyes glittering, and the Beast bowed his head. "Tell me, what are you looking for in love?"
The Beast, a cautious creature, hesitated again. Cruelty knew it must be very clear that she was not offering herself. For one thing, it would not do for her to interfere in his Story; for another, nothing in her pose or face implied any interest, let alone love. His eyes twisted around again, searching her face, and then he seemed to cave a little, sitting on his back four legs and folding his top two hands together.
"Lady," the Beast said, "all I am looking for in love is love. Nothing more and nothing less. I do not care for beauty or ugliness, for I am uglier than anyone. I do not care for height or width, for I am taller than any but can make myself shorter, for I am in different places both wider and narrower than it is possible for any to be. Personality—ah, well, of course I would prefer someone kind, generous, with a sense of humor and a sharp mind, but I doubt any who was not kind nor generous would love me, so I do not consider that picky. I may sound indiscriminate, Lady, but it is that I am not so lovable to have enough of a chance that I may discriminate." He hesitated, double-jointed fingers working together. "Of course, I would not know how compatible we were until we met, but you asked me about my general tastes. One must wonder if you are here to play matchmaker, or simply to taunt, Cruel Lady that you are."
Cruelty lifted the rose in her fingers to inhale its scent, looked at him past it. "I have in my palace an individual who arrived in our world longing to see the most beautiful flowers," she said. "It has occurred to me that it's a familiar concept to you. It is for this person that I came to pick your most precious belonging."
The Beast stared at her, his eyes stopping their twitching for a long moment. Then he sighed explosively; noxious breath rolled over her. "I value my privacy, Lady," he said. It was true; no matter which retelling she'd read, it was always his attempts to hold himself separate from others that had him transformed into this. It could have been refusal to allow a woman to come out of the rain, or rejection of a woman's love, or choice to deny an old lady place to rest, or refusal to tell a traveler the terms of his hospitality only to demand payment when those terms were broken. That was why a forest, which made weary travelers seek hospitality, was part of his curse. "It is the thing I have always valued most. But you know what I will say if you offer me a visitor, and you already know that I will accept."
"Oh come now, Beast." Cruelty said, and reached up to pat his knotted, joined hands. "I'm sure you'll welcome the company."
Because, she thought as he bowed his head, it wasn't like he was best known for his loneliness or anything.
*~*~*
When she presented him with the flower, Martin was apparently stunned—whether by the kindness itself or because it came after such a terrifying display earlier. He was seated in the guest room, reading a book he'd found somewhere on her shelves (on herbalism, she noticed, not displeased with this; he was a sensible young man, as they went). A quick look-through her rooms when she'd returned had revealed that he had indeed explored, but it seemed like he hadn't actually tinkered with anything. It was about as good a resolution of events as she could expect. He seemed to at least have taken the lesson that if he were to be stuck in a fairy tale, he didn't want it to be Bluebeard.
"What's with this…?" He sniffed the flower, surprise and caution still on his face.
"You wanted to see a beautiful garden," Cruelty told him. "This flower came from one of the most beautiful. It isn't a gift, however."
He went still again, other than lifting his head to watch her. She was right in her assessment of him, she decided; he'd seen what this world really was, and what she was capable of, and had his foundations of belief shaken. And perhaps he hadn't handled it well at first, exhausted as he was, but with some rest in him he seemed more the type to remain calm and try to handle events as they came to him, even if it was this far outside his experience. "Not a gift?"
"You must go and stay with the owner of that garden," Cruelty said. "That is the cost of experiencing beauty, I'm afraid."
Martin frowned, dark brows drawing down. "You weren't... I'm betting you weren't planning on keeping me here anyway, were you?"
"I wasn't," she agreed. "I don't play well with others, as you may have noticed. I like my space and my privacy and not to be bothered by other people's needs"
Slowly, he straightened. There was still a cautious fear on his face, but some measure of resignation as well. He knew, Cruelty was sure, that he had very little say in the matter. "Well," Martin said. "Thank you for... for getting me a place to stay." And then: "What's the owner like, Rue?" What have you got me into, he didn't say, but he might as well have.
Cruelty smiled at him brightly. "He's a real gentleman," she said. "Intelligent, well-spoken, and quiet. A bit ugly, but I'm sure you will never find a more generous or attentive host. Much more polite than I am," she added. Not a word a lie, though perhaps on a technicality here and there.
He gave her an awkward, strained smile. "I haven't had a problem with you," he said.
She turned away. He had no reason to say that and every reason to think the opposite with her treatment of him. Perhaps he wasn't as clever as she'd thought. "Well," she said. "Get ready to go."
It wasn't like he had any belongings; he spread his hands in a gesture of lack, shrugging. "I'm ready whenever you are. I won't overstay my welcome, I guess. But, u
h, will you give me directions?" That latter with a hint of his fear creeping back in; of course he wouldn't want to get caught in the briars again.
And she didn't want him to get lost, so she smiled at him with the lingering remnants of her own hospitality. "Follow me."
She took Martin there on foot; over the fields and across the river and through the forest—taking the long way around and avoiding Talia's castle as best she could. Better not to give him ideas of other places he could flee to. Martin was quiet, still holding the rose she'd picked for him, and apparently deeply lost in thought. Then again, he was perhaps just too tired to be up for a long trek, or to converse while doing so, and was simply weathering it as best he could.
He was still wearing his dirty and torn business-wear, but it wasn't like she kept clothes for anyone else around, and she didn't want to spare the resources to create some. The Beast would have some sort of old finery, though, and she had no doubt he'd make them available to Martin. It wasn't as if he could wear them himself, after all; seeing a young man dressed as he used to might be a painful sort of pleasure.
The wolf, crow, and frog didn't show themselves to her this time, recognizing her or warned off by the one they stood guard over, so the last of the trek through the forest was relatively quiet. She kept an eye on Martin as they went, and whenever he caught her looking at him, he gave her another awkward smile.
It was a little strange.
Finally, they arrived at the gate, which Cruelty pushed open and held for him. "Come on," she said, leading him up to the fountain. "Drink. It will refresh you. It's enchanted to provide hope to weary travelers."
"Enchanted, huh." For a moment, he looked leery, maybe overwhelmed, but then his jaw set and he took down the ladle and drank a draught of it.
In for a penny, in for a pound, was it?
He did look refreshed, slowly relaxing; it was a good thing too, since the Beast showed up then, skittered out of the shadows of the palace door and wound along the path to the fountain. Martin chose that moment to look up and jerked in surprise. He dropped the ladle, which fell to clatter against the edge of the fountain.
The Beast slowed as he approached, legs gathering under himself as he pushed himself up to his full height, and looked over Martin with an expression that seemed shocked insofar as it was possible to read his expressions with his eyes and mouth distorted as they were. He folded his highest pair of hands together over his chest and opened his mouth, glancing between Cruelty and Martin. He seemed completely at a loss for what to say, promised a beauty and faced with a young man.
Martin had caught himself against the edge of the fountain; he pushed himself upright and took a few abrupt steps back toward the gate. "Rue," he said, low voice shaking just a little. "What's… what is that…?"
Being referenced as a thing was obviously not the best first impression on the Beast. His rolling eyes froze briefly and his hands tightened where they were twined together. He shifted his gaze fully onto Cruelty. She honestly expected him to take her to task for some part of it. For misleading him, or for foisting this man off on him just because she didn't want to deal with him, or for not preparing Martin in advance and almost ensuring the Beast would get insulted to his face.
But the Beast, at least, was courteous and tactful. He said instead, "Is this the person who had wanted my flower, Lady Cruelty?"
Martin's eyes widened again—it was hard to say at what; the Beast's ability to speak, the politeness of his tone despite the rasping wet slur of his voice, or her real name. Cruelty spared Martin a brief glance, then smiled at the Beast. "That's right. Please treat him as you would any of my people."
"You do not have people, Lady, from what I am given to understand. You live a life far more solitary than my own, and desire too a life far more solitary than my own. But I will treat him as I would any guest, with hospitality." That surprisingly acerbic retort complete, the Beast fixed his rolling gaze on Martin. The human was still very clearly not what he was expecting, but he rallied himself gallantly. "Sir, I am the Beast. I have no human name to give you, as all other identity has been lost except that which is twisted and monstrous. I am pleased to welcome you as my guest. You may avail yourself of my gardens, my libraries, all amenities of my castle, and, if I may be so bold, of my company as well. You may do anything you wish here, excepting to take your leave until one year has passed. My flower's cost is companionship, and it is one we must both endure."
Slowly, Martin looked at Rue, then back at the Beast. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he, with an unfortunate obviousness, gathered his determination. And then he offered a hand to the Beast. "I'm Martin," he said. His voice was a little unsteady, but he kept his gaze focused on the Beast's torn face. "To be honest, I was never asked about any of this. It all just... just happened to me. I never even asked for the flower."
"But the flower was for you, and that is how these things go," the Beast agreed, not unsympathetically. "Cruelty chose you to pay the price, and so it must be paid." His eyes rolled, looking Martin's hand over with a little uncertainty, and then he unfolded his stubby leg-arms from across his chest to take Martin's hand in his own. "It is nevertheless my pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir."
He pretended, with an equal obviousness, not to notice Martin's involuntary shudder at the slick feel of his hand.
"Well, I'm so glad you two have hit it off," Cruelty said, putting a hand over her heart in mock satisfaction. "Enjoy yourself, gentlemen. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. I'll come visit."
"Please," the Beast said, in as dry a tone as his wet voice could muster, "don't trouble yourself on my behalf."
Martin was looking overwhelmed at the thought of having to face the Beast by himself. Poor boy, she thought without any real sympathy. She gave him a bright, reassuring smile and a jaunty wave before turning and leaving the two of them behind.
Once out, she teleported back into Beauty's hall, not expecting to appear right in the middle of an altercation.
Chapter Six
"—be so heartless!" Sixth was saying, gesturing a hand broadly. He nearly hit Cruelty in the face as she appeared.
She took three steps back, biting down on the indignant irritation she felt welling up inside her, and looked between Sixth and Odile. "What in heaven's name," she said, keeping her voice calm and cool, "is going on here?"
"Lady Cruelty." Odile turned cold, dark eyes on her in, if not appeal, expectation that Cruelty would take her side over Sixth's. And as she hadn't nearly smacked Cruelty, she was in fact in the lead there. "This man has toyed with my affections."
"I have toyed with nothing!" Sixth protested, waving his hands in front of him as if he could brush the accusations away. "Your love for me was through no doing of mine, and my rejection of same is no fault of mine but simply devotion to lady Odette!"
"Your devotion is to one side of a coin," Odile said. "Your devotion is to a creature that has not been allowed to maintain its humanity. You look only at what stands in front of the mirror and not its reflection, what stands on the ground and not its cast shadow, and so you are half blind."
Sixth took a step toward her. His pose was almost defeated, his gestures not angry but pleading. "My Lady Odile, if I were to love you, I'd love a shadow and not what cast it, a reflection and not what stands before it. You are not the reality, and even if she has been transformed, I have as well, and have never fully regained my humanity. Release me from your demands of me, and accept my love for another."
"Oh good lord," Cruelty said. "Is now really the time? We have a few bigger problems than your love lives."
Their expressions, as they tore their gaze from each other and looked at her, were equally blank.
"Love comes where it comes, and has always been the greatest power over us," Sixth said, almost confused by her protest. "Even one such as yourself should know that love undoes the plot of every villain, and overcomes every ill. Those who do not have it crave it, and those who have it wish to keep it."
"Love lifts us up where we belong," Cruelty said, and rolled her eyes as they relaxed at her sudden apparent understanding. "Please. My tale has little to do with love. Perhaps that's why Beauty's remembered best as the untainted sleeping maiden, not the raped mother who must return to marry the man who raped her."
"But she isn't remembered that way only. True love's kiss—"
"Still less appealing a story than her as the lure, isn't it?"
"It doesn't have to be that way," Sixth said. "If there were a compelling alternative, she wouldn't always return to this form. That's why true love's kiss has been given significance."
"Oh, yes," Cruelty said. "But her story's too well known to fully change. You two, however, perhaps you're such small, insignificant stories that you could be changed. Perhaps you, Sixth Son, could become more than the one who always came last even in your sister's affections." It was his sister, after all, who had only made enough shirts for five of her brothers, hadn't finished the last, and chose her youngest brother to get that incomplete shirt and incomplete transformation. "Perhaps you, Odile, could gain love in Odette's place even though you're nothing more than her mimic. And if you can find anyone willing to tell those tales to people who care to believe them, be my guest and change your destiny."
Both fell silent, pale and hurt.
"There. No more arguing now," Cruelty said. "Now, if you'll excuse me…?"
She didn't wait to be excused, just turned and headed toward the stair with a broad stride, ignoring their irritated and defeated stares. A sense of restlessness moved within her, settling thick in her throat and stomach as she went, and feeling that way only bothered her the more. She wasn't wrong; everything she'd said had been the simple truth, and the two of them—three of them, really, for all that Odette wasn't here to speak her part—were simply too romantic and unrealistic. Not an uncommon trait, especially around here, but they were the ones who'd had an inappropriate reaction to the situation, not her.
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