Cursed Beauty (A Fairy Retelling #1)

by Dorian Tsukioka

  CURSED BEAUTY

  by Dorian Tsukioka

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Copyright Notice

  Just for you

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  You Rock!

  COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  Copyright © 2013 by Dorian Tsukioka

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher (which honestly is not hard to get, just email me at doriantsukioka@gmail.com) except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Those who flagrantly disregard this copyright notice may find themselves completely shunned and their karma looking not so good for any future lives.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to my good friend, Becky, who gave me the courage to write, and put up with listening to me rattle on and on about my story idea over many late nights at Perkins.

  Writing and pie is a delicious combination.

  This book is also dedicated to Anne Elisabeth Stengle, who gave me a purpose and a goal, leading to the creation of this story, and the impetus to dream up more.

  JUST FOR YOU

  Thank you. If you’re reading this, then thank you. I am awed and amazed that you have taken some of your time, and have given it to me and to reading the words I have written down just for you. You are amazing, incredible, super smart and oh-so-sexy. Have you lost weight? You look so hot! If you enjoy this book, you can find more of my writing on my blogs. I even occasionally update them. I try.

  My writing blog can be found at http://dorianwrites.blogspot.com

  My weight loss blog can be found at http://onehundredpoundsoffat.blogspot.com

  You can also check out my other published works on my Amazon Kindle page!

  If you REALLY enjoyed the book, please consider writing a review.

  Review writing has been scientifically-proven to lead to weight loss.

  Honestly, it’s true.

  PROLOGUE

  Though she was now miles away from the prince’s twenty-first birthday ball, the girl could still hear the music ringing within the castle walls. It was nearly midnight, but her feet wanted to continue dancing, waltzing her way to the courtyard behind the house that had been her home for the past seventeen years. The bells of the clock had not yet begun to ring. She had arrived on time.

  The quiet Clip! Clip! Clip! of her shoes striking the ground was the only sound as she danced down the alley to where an old woman stood in the courtyard waiting for her.

  “You haven’t torn your pretty dress, have you, darling?” the woman asked.

  “No, no. I don’t think so,” the girl replied.

  “Good. You do look quite beautiful, you know,” the woman said, looking the girl over. “I think perhaps some of your hair pins came out while you were dancing. Your hair has come undone.”

  The girl reached up to check, and indeed, her hair had fallen loose. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to lose them. They must have fallen…” her voice trailed off as she looked on the ground behind her.

  “No matter, my dear. No matter. You haven’t lost your shoes as well, have you?” the old woman inquired.

  The girl lifted the up the bottom of her silken dress along with several layers of petticoats, and stuck out one dainty foot encased in a clear, shimmering glass slipper. The moonlight caught on the curves of the slipper, reflecting it back onto the old woman, bathing her in a cold, white glow.

  “Good,” the old woman said. “You followed my directions perfectly, dear. Are you pleased with how beautiful you looked tonight?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the girl replied. “No one knew I was merely servant girl. I looked just like a proper lady. It was the perfect disguise.”

  The old woman’s face broke into a beaming smile. “How wonderful. And did you meet your prince, finally? Did he speak with you?”

  “Yes. He noticed me from across the ballroom, and asked me to dance with him again and again. I almost forgot to leave on time, I was so enthralled with him. And he with me, I think.”

  “Do you love him, dearest?” the old woman asked.

  Looking down to her hands still clutching the skirts of her gown, the girl blushed deeply.

  “I do,” she answered. “I’ve loved him ever since…” she faltered.

  “Since your father died in the king’s army,” the old woman finished. “I remember you telling me how the prince came to bring the news to you and your mother, and offered his condolences personally. Only a kind-hearted man would do something so noble.”

  “Yes, that’s just what I believed, too,” the girl admitted. “And I was right. He is so very kind. And tonight it seemed that he…”

  The girl blushed even more deeply.

  “That he what, dear?” the old woman gently prodded.

  “That perhaps he could love me, too,” the girl confessed.

  “Of course he could, my dear. Your heart is pure, and your loveliness was unmatched tonight,” the old woman said. “How could he not fall in love with you?”

  “My beauty was due completely to you, and these magical slippers,” said the girl. “I am deeply indebted to you.”

  “Oh my sweet girl, your beauty is all your own. The slippers cannot create beauty, they can only reveal it. They may change your servants’ rags into gowns, but they cannot make you beautiful if you truly are not lovely inside and out.”

  The bells of the town clock began to chime.

  The girl drew near to the old woman, and clutched her soft, wrinkled hands. Her eyes glistened with tears.

  “How can I ever repay you?” she asked. “Your kindness overwhelms me.”

  “You needn’t worry about repayment my dear. Just tell me, are you truly in love with your prince?” the old woman asked, squeezing the girl’s hands tightly.

  The bells continued to chime, and the girl began to feel a change. Her skirts began to diminish, the petticoats disappeared.

  “Yes, I love him. With all my heart and soul. I love him with my very life,” the girl confessed.

  “Good,” said the old woman, looking deep within the young girl’s face. “But you needn’t give all your life, dearie. Just a portion of it will do.”

  The girl blinked.

  “I’m sorry...what?” the girl asked.

  “Your life, my dear. I won’t be needing all of it. Just a bit,” the old woman said. “Just the portion of your life that is in love. That’s the sweetest of the emotions, you see. It’s the one I like best.”

  The girl dropped the old woman’s hands as if they were live coals.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will soon enough.”

  The change continued. Soot and grime appeared on her clothes and face. The beautiful ringlets of the girl’s shining hair matted together into thick tangles. Rough calluses appeared on her hands. The only items remaining from her beautiful ensemble were the glass slippers which continued to shine, but now, that light was no longer reflecting outward. Instead, it was drawing the surrounding light into the shoes like a magnet.

  It wasn’t only the light that was being absorbed into the shoes. The power of the slippers began draining some part
of the girl’s very being as well. Something deep. Something beautiful.

  A pain seared through her chest. She gasped and doubled over.

  “What is happening?”

  The old woman answered, “This is how I take my payment.”

  The shoes began to pulse with a glow of their own. No longer clear as crystal, they turned a deep, dark red. An icy coldness took hold of the girl, freezing her where she stood. It began in her heart, as if all the heat had suddenly been snuffed out. The coldness snaked throughout her body, and with it a feeling of utter despair.

  “What are you doing to me?” she cried, but the old woman said nothing. The final peals of the midnight bells dissipated into the night air as the old woman simply smiled and watched.

  The shoes which had been so gloriously beautiful before, turned such a dark shade of red that they were nearly black. Though the coldness was still present, the searing pain and the feeling of being consumed by the shoes finally stopped. The girl kicked off the shoes with a shriek.

  “Oh, now, there’s no cause to treat my glass slippers that way,” said the old woman as she reached down and picked up the ebony-red slippers from the ground. “After all they did for you tonight, I think you’d be a little more grateful.”

  The girl’s teeth chattered. “Grateful? What did they do to me? Why am I so cold?” the girl demanded. “I could feel something leaving my body. What did they take from me?”

  The old woman glanced down momentarily at the glass slippers in her hands, then fixed a pointed gaze at the girl. “Your love,” the old woman answered. “They took your love as my payment.”

  “My love?” the girl asked. Then, she felt it. The coldness was not just within her flesh. It was in her very soul. She searched for her love, her deep feelings for the prince, for her family, for herself, even, but her heart was completely barren. Her love was gone. Stolen.

  The girl staggered back, placing her hands on a wall to keep from falling down. The hollowness in her heart was deafening.

  “I feel so empty.”

  “Ah, yes,” the old woman said, “that’s bound to be the case. However, you’ll find that your other emotions are still there. Perhaps they’ll even grow stronger without love to push them aside. Anger, bitterness, rage, all those emotions are still very much a part of you.”

  The girl could feel the truth of the old woman’s words. Even now, the bile wretchedness of anger rose in her throat.

  “But why? Why would you take my love from me?”

  “The answer to that is simple my dear,” the old woman answered, still smiling sweetly at the young girl. “Love tastes the best.”

  The old woman held one of the slippers up to her mouth, and tilted back her head. Liquid, thick as honey, redder than blood, poured out of the shoe and into the old woman’s mouth.

  The girl screamed.

  CHAPTER 1

  “Why do you suppose father is so late?” Adelaide asked her stepmother, Celeste, when Cook finally scurried his plate away to the kitchen for safekeeping, as the rest of the house began making preparations for bed. “Do you think the rain washed the bridge out again? Is he still at the castle, maybe?”

  “I suppose he had better things to do than to eat dinner with his family,” her stepmother replied, not bothering to hide her sarcasm.

  “He’s never been so late before,” Adelaide said, but then realized she was speaking only to herself. Celeste had already left.

  Adelaide decided to read in her room until Father arrived, but it wasn’t long before the steady murmur of rain pounding against the roof drew her into sleep. When she awoke, a few hours later, her cheek was squashed against pages of her book. A heavy pounding sounded against the front doors of the manor.

  Adelaide yanked on her shawl as she left her room. She wasn’t the only one awake. Both Celeste, and Adelaide’s step sister, Thalia, were poking their heads out of their bedroom doors as Adelaide made her way down the stairs to the front hallway. Cook was already there, in her nightclothes and robe, her hair pulled back into a nightcap. Henry, her father’s manservant, was also there, his eyes red and bleary, just woken from sleep.

  The pounding against the door continued. Henry took the lead and opened the door just far enough to stick his head out. “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “Is this the royal physician’s house?” a voice demanded from the darkness.

  Cook and Adelaide exchanged glances. The voice was a man’s.

  “Yes, it is,” Henry answered. “But the good doctor is not in this evening. If you are ill, you’ll have to wait until morning or go to the next village.”

  “Is there a family member present that I may speak to?”

  “I’m sorry sir, there is no one here who can help you if you’re sick. You’ll need to move on,” Henry added as he tried to push the door closed.

  Adelaide inched closer to the door, and Cook grabbed her hand. “Stay here miss. It isn’t safe,” she whispered. Adelaide glanced behind her to give Cook a meaningful glare and saw her stepmother and stepsister standing at the top of the stairs.

  “I’m not here to see the doctor, man!” the voice said. “I’m here to see his family. I’m the Prince.”

  The door pushed open and a young man walked into the foyer. Adelaide recognized him at once. Anyone who lived in the kingdom would know his face, but Adelaide knew him personally.

  Though she’d only been in his presence once when they were children, the scars of that day had not fully healed and looking at him caused her heart to give a sudden lurch at the memory. Just a year older than she, he still looked very much the same as he had when she’d met him. His short, bronze hair was still spiky and unruly, while his blue eyes remained bright and piercing. If Adelaide didn’t hate him so much, she might even think he was handsome.

  “My Lord,” Henry apologized, “please come in.”

  “Thank you, but I must speak to a family member immediately. It concerns the wellbeing of the royal physician.”

  “I am his family,” Adelaide spoke up, dropping Cook’s hand and stepping boldly into the foyer. “What news do you have of my father, Your Highness?”

  The prince stepped forward and looked squarely into Adelaide’s face. She lifted her chin haughtily. He studied it a moment, and recognition bloomed in his eyes. “I know you, don’t I?”

  “We have met before, Your Majesty. But I believe you did not come to strike up old acquaintance. What news do you have of my father?” Adelaide knew she was being petulant, but the prince seemed not to notice.

  “Yes, of course.” Realizing he was staring at the girl, he moved his gaze to the floor. “It is my deep regret that I must bring you terrible news regarding your father. He was caught in the rain on his return trip home from the castle this evening. We begged him to stay, and wait for the torrent to stop, but he was eager to be home with his family.” The prince paused a moment and looked down, choosing which words to say.

  “He was crossing a bridge on the outskirts of town, just as it washed out.”

  Adelaide felt as if she’d just been punched in her gut. She had to will every muscle in her body to form the words burning in her chest.

  “Is he alright?” she asked, all traces of hostility vanishing.

  The prince lowered his eyes back to the ground, and seemed not to know what to do with his hands.

  “I’m very sorry, my lady, but he is not. Your father is dead.”

  Adelaide could see the prince’s mouth continue to move, and though she knew more words were coming from it, she heard none of them. She turned to look up the stairs at her stepmother and stepsister, and watched as her Celeste yanked her robe tightly around her shoulders, and walked back to her room. Thalia lingered a moment more, then followed her mother’s lead and walked back to her own chambers as well.

  They’re going back to bed. Father’s dead, and they’re going back to bed. Adelaide turned to face the prince again. His mouth had stopped moving. He looked as if he had asked her a que
stion and was waiting for a reply. Adelaide wasn’t sure what the question was.

  “Thank you, my Lord, for coming,” Adelaide said politely before she blacked out and collapsed onto the stone floor.

  * * * * *

  For the next few weeks, Adelaide lived in a kind of daze. Nothing made sense anymore. Though her father was no longer there, Adelaide still spent most of her days in his laboratory, tucked just behind the manor. It was there that Celeste found her.

  “There you are, you lazy girl,” Celeste said. “I thought I would find you in here wasting the day away. Come to the house. Now. Changes are being made.” Without another glance, Celeste turned and left the small laboratory to return to the house.

  Changes? Adelaide’s curiosity piqued and she followed behind her stepmother. She walked into the foyer to see a waterfall of clothing falling from the second floor of the house, down over the banister railing, onto the first floor. All sorts of clothes. Her clothes. “What is going on?” Adelaide asked. “Why are my things being thrown out of my room?”

  “My room!” a voice answered from her bedroom. “Because they are in my room, and I want them out.” Thalia’s voice.

  Adelaide looked to her stepmother for explanation. “Thalia’s room is simply too small for her. It’s practically a closet, so she’ll use it as one from now on. Your room is larger and will meet her needs more readily, and so I’m allowing her to move.” Adelaide’s clothes and personal belongings continued to stream out of her bedroom door, and onto the floor.

  “But if Thalia’s room is to become a closet, then where am I to sleep?” Adelaide asked as some of her favorite books were thrown haphazardly out the bedroom door, and smacked against the floor.

  “Thalia! That’s enough!” her mother yelled. “Adelaide is fully capable of vacating her own room in a timely manner. There’s no need to make more of a mess than you already have. The servants are busy enough, without you adding to their work.”