Beauty in the Beast

Arabella stares up at the castle spires before her as dark clouds swirl overhead. She pushes open the heavy iron gate. It creaks and groans against the pressure before finally giving way. The winds pick up around her blowing the hood of her cloak into her face. She pulls the hood back pressing on into the overgrown grounds.

As far as Arabella or anyone in her village knows, this place has been abandoned for the last decade or so. Arabella has few memories of the former occupants. A prince and his entourage. The prince’s parents had died when he was very young. As the elders tell it, a plague racked the land passing from village to village. The prince’s parents were kind. They visited the sick. They provided food and shelter for many in their fiefdom, but the illness took them. The boy couldn’t have been more than five years old. Not much older than Arabella herself.

That outbreak took a lot of good people. Arabella’s mother among them. For a few years after, the castle was still lively, hosting its fair share of balls. From what some of the elders say, the prince grew up to be a vile young man. Everything had to go his way. Everyone was there for his entertainment and nothing more.

Then, sometime around his fifteenth birthday, everything shut down. No outsiders were allowed past the castle gates. Vines were left to grow up the throughout the grounds. The castle, once a shining beacon in the dark woods, became a rotting shell of its former glory.

As she looks on upon the towering husk, Arabella wonders at what must have happened here. Did the royals just abandon the castle, servants and all, or was it something much more sinister?

No matter what the cause, Arabella can’t turn back now. Her father was seen coming this way before disappearing. He’s been missing in these woods for hours, but this is the only shelter he could have reasonably made it to in the predawn. If he’s in there, she has to find him. He could be hurt or worse. If he’s not…anything could have gotten to him out here. Wolves, bears, vipers, anything could have gotten him. She can’t think of that now. Now she just has to find him.

She works her way across the grounds to the main entrance. The heavy wooden door swings toward her, leading her into the main hall.

“Hello!” She calls out into the darkness, an echo of her own voice the only answer.

From the corner of her eye, Arabella glimpses a candle flickering to life. Then another and another. Soon the entire hall sparks to life, illuminating tapestries hanging on every wall. Massive stained-glass windows rise above a large split staircase.

Arabella hesitantly walks further into the great hall, a touch of fear welling inside her. A moment passes before her curiosity gets the better of her good judgment. She crosses to one of the nearby tapestries, running her fingers along the intricate needlework.

Each tapestry tells a story. Many of them tell tales of the family that once lived here, others tell of mythologies. The one before her tells the story of a creature, a man punished by the gods for his arrogance, a man turned into a monster for his defiance. The Minotaur. A beast with the head of bull but the body of a man.

The more Arabella studies the artwork, the more she realizes: she knows this myth, but it’s been altered. Minos wasn’t the one changed for his defiance. The Minotaur is meant to be the unholy offspring of his Minos’ wife and an enchanted bull. This version is wrong.

A loud clang draws her attention down one of the corridors. “Hello!” She screams, her voice trembling. “Please, is anyone there? I’m searching for my father. Is he here?”

Before she can react, something strikes her from behind. In a dazed state, Arabella can feel herself being dragged through the castle. By the time she fully comes to, she wakes up in a cell. The faint light of a nearby torch illuminates the dungeon. A dank smell permeates the space.

“What have you done?” Comes a growl from the stairs above.

“Master, I’m sorry. She was snooping about, and I—”

“And you WHAT!? You imprison her? For what purpose!”

“S-Sire, my apologies. I know how you hate intruders.”

“Get out of my sight, Horlo!”

“Y…Yes, Sire.” A faint ticking sound approaches from above. A shadowy figure passes by the cell door. Arabella thinks she must be hallucinating because what she sees is impossible. A man with a clock’s face in his chest. Skin glistening like polished wood, golden filigree tracing the outline of his face. The creature glances in at Arabella for a brief moment before hurrying off down the spiral stairs.

“Unlock the cell, Feu.” Comes the booming voice. “Release her.”

“Yes, my lord. Right away.”

A second figure comes into view, just as impossible as the last. A waxen man, tall and lanky. At first, she thinks he’s carrying the torch, but the closer he comes, she realizes that the flame is coming from the top of his head. The candle man fiddles with a ring of keys until finding the one to the cell.

A third figure passes in the shadow behind the flame. This one inhuman. Not in the way the others were, but animalistic. Arabella catches just the slightest reflection in its eyes. From the way it moves, she gets the distinct impression that it’s hiding its face, ashamed of it’s appearance.

The creature stops a few steps below the cell door. “I’m sorry for the way my…Mr. Horlo has treated you.”

“Wh—Who are you?”

“I am…I was master of this castle. Feels like so long ago now.”

“Is…Is my father here. He passed near your castle. I assumed he would take shelt—”

“He was. He was a little worse for ware, but safe. I assure you.” His voice is calm, gentle. A sharp juxtaposition to his beastly form. “I sent him back to the village with one of my servants. He’ll be well taken care of.”

“And…what about me? Am I your prisoner?”

“On the contrary. You are free to go whenever you wish. I would recommend staying the night here, however. There’s quite a storm brewing overhead. I wouldn’t want you to get stranded in the woods. I’ve had a room prepared for you if you decide to stay.”

“I…I appreciate your hospitality, but I should really get home to my father.”

“It’s late. Please, stay the night. I will send you with an escort first thing in the morning.”

“Alright.” She murmurs as he begins to continue down the stairs. “But wait. Step into the light. I would like to see the face of my…my host.”

Hesitantly, the creature…the man steps into the firelight. Arabella is taken aback at his appearance. Fur covers his face, flowing down around his neck like the mane of a lion. Curved horns sprout from above his ears. She can see the humanoid features beneath the animal exterior, forcing her to wonder at the cause. His eyes glow a faint yellow, but there’s something very human behind them. Sadness. Shame. Regret. Arabella can’t be sure. He meets her gaze for only a moment before pulling away, heading off into the darkness.

“This way, miss.” The wax man, Mr. Feu, waves his hand after his master. Still in shock, Arabella follows them through the castle. She’s shown to a beautiful room in the east wing.

“I understand if you wish to be left alone, however I would like you join me for supper tonight, if you’re up to it. The meal should be ready in an hour. Let Feu know if there is anything else you require.”

“I will. Thank you.”

With a quick bow, the master turns to leave. “Just one thing. Please do not enter the west wing unescorted.” The last part sounded more like a warning than a request. Then without another word, he disappears into his domain.

At dinner, Arabella couldn’t help but notice the way the staff treats their prince. Despite their mystical deformities, they clearly regard him not only as master, but as a friend. And he holds them in high regard as well. She can see the grief in his eyes when he looks upon them, but she doesn’t think it her place to inquire about it.

Fascinated by him, Arabella talks to the transformed prince for much of the night. Feu and some of the others tell stories of when he was a child. She feels drawn to him, a strange connection as though she’s known him her whole life.

True to his word, he sends her home first thing in the morning. However, her wonder brings her back week after week. The more she gets to know him, the more she wants to return. They become friends, sharing everything. Almost everything.

One day while exploring the castle, she finds herself standing atop the split stairs, the west wing of the castle looming at the far. The construction is different from the east, as though one wing was designed and built separately from the other. Once again, Arabella’s curiosity drags her toward the mystery.

She makes her way up through the archway. The further in she ventures, the stranger it becomes. It’s as though none of it has been touched in many years. Cobwebs and dust coat the walls. At the end of the corridor, there’s a faint green light emanating from one of the rooms. Arabella is drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

She inches down the hall, into the room. The light seems to be emanating from a glass case in center of a large bedchamber. Arabella reaches out, pulling a cloth from the case to reveal a… a rose.

“I asked you not to come here.” Arabella spins to the rumbling voice behind her. She quickly backs away from the mystical flower, edging against the wall. The prince rushes to the case, taking up the cloth to cover it once more.

“What…what is this? What happened here?”

“That is the reason I am like this. The reason my people can’t leave this place.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That flower is my curse. The bane of my existence.” The tension in his shoulders relaxes. Any anger leaves his voice, replaced by a deep sadness. “About a decade ago, on my fifteenth birthday, a witch came here in the dead of night. She demanded I allow her to stay, offering only this rose in payment. I sent her away. This…” He reaches up, stroking one of his horns, “was my reward. I didn’t know what she was or what would happen.”

“Then why reject her?”

“Fear, I suppose. Arrogance more likely. All I saw was a grotesque old crone. I was unkind…” Arabella can feel how angry he is. Not at her but directed to himself.

Pity creeps into her mind, “You were a child.” She whispers.

“That’s no excuse.” He barks, “I should have been better. She claimed I didn’t know love. That I didn’t know how to love. Maybe she was right. She turned me into this! Everyone I’ve ever cared about is cursed because of me.”

“You were just a child.” More forcefully this time. “You couldn’t have known. And clearly she was wrong. I see the way you care for them. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is. Maybe you should learn to forgive yourself.”