AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The Beast stood in his rose garden, the overwhelming scent of new blossoms making him slightly dizzy. His garden always seemed to have a life of its own, as if the twisting thorny vines could wrap themselves around his racing heart and put an end to his anxiety. There were times when he wished they would, but now his mind was filled with images of the beautiful young woman inside his castle: Belle, so brave and noble—willing to take her father’s place as a prisoner in the castle dungeon. What sort of woman would do that—give up her life so easily, sacrificing her freedom for her father’s? The Beast wondered if he was capable of such a sacrifice. He wondered if he was capable of love.
He stood there looking at the view of his castle from the garden. He tried to recall how the castle had looked before the curse. It was different now—menacing, and alive. Even the spires of his castle seemed to consciously pierce the sky with a violent fervor. He could only imagine how the place looked from a distance. It was tall and imposing and perched on the top of the highest mountain in the kingdom, and it appeared as though it were cut from the very mountain itself, surrounded by a thick green forest filled with dangerous wild creatures.
Only since he had been forced to spend his life hidden within its wretched walls and on its grounds had he done such things as take in his surroundings this way—actually see and, indeed, feel them. He now contemplated the moonlight casting sinister shadows on the statues that flanked the path leading from the castle to his garden—large winged creatures more frightening than anything from the ancient stories the tutors of his youth had made him study. He couldn’t recall these sculptures being there before the castle and its lands were enchanted. There had been many changes since the witches had brought their enchantments. The topiaries, for example, seemed to snarl at him as he prowled the labyrinth on evenings like this, attempting to take his mind off his troubles.
He had long since gotten used to the statues’ watchful eyes glancing at him when he wasn’t looking at them directly—and their slight movements he caught only out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t escape the feeling of being watched, and had almost gotten used to it. Almost. And the grand entrance of his castle seemed to him like a gaping mouth prepared to devour him. He spent as much time outdoors as possible. The castle felt like a prison, and as large as it was, it confined him, choking the life out of him.
Once, when he was still—dare he think it!—human, he spent much of his time out of doors, stalking wild beasts in his forests for sport. But when he himself turned into something to be hunted, he shut himself away in those first years, never leaving the West Wing, let alone the castle.
Perhaps that was why he now detested being withindoors: he had once spent so much time locked away by his own fear.
When the castle was first enchanted, he thought that his mind was playing tricks on him—that simply the idea of the curse had driven him mad. But he now knew everything that surrounded him was alive, and he was fearful any further misdeeds on his part would send it into a frenzy, and his enemies would make him suffer even more for the pain he had caused so many before he became a beast. The physical transformation was only part of the curse. There was much more, and it was far too frightening to think of.
Right now he wanted to think of the only thing that could calm him even slightly. He wanted to think of her.
Belle.
He looked upon the lake to the right of the garden, the moon creating beautiful silver patterns on the rippling water. Apart from his thoughts of Belle, this was the only tranquility he had been afforded since the curse. He spent many hours here, careful not to catch sight of his own reflection, though sometimes he was tempted. He was fully aware of the revulsion it would bring.
He had been almost obsessed with his reflection when the curse began to take hold, and he quite liked the little changes in his appearance at first, the deep lines he mused had made his young face more fearsome to his enemies. But now…now that the curse had overtaken him completely, he couldn’t stand the sight of himself. Every mirror in the castle had been broken or shut away in the West Wing. His terrible deeds were engraved on his face, and that sent a hollow, wretched feeling deep into his gut, sickening him.
But enough of that.
He had a beautiful woman within his walls. She was a willing captive, someone to talk to, and yet he couldn’t even bring himself to face her.
Fear.
It gripped him again. Would his fear now keep him outside, where once it had shut him in? Fear of going withindoors and facing the girl? She was a wise woman. Had she no idea his fate was in her hands?
The statues watched, as they always did, when he heard the click of tiny boots on the stone path heading in his direction, disturbing his musings.…
The odd sisters! Lucinda, Ruby, and Martha, an indistinguishable trio of witches with inky-black ringlets, a milky pallor with the texture of bleached driftwood, and red baby doll lips, were standing before him in his rose garden. Their faces were glowing in the moonlight like those of ghosts with mocking expressions. Their finery glittered like stardust in his dark garden while the plumage in their hair made their birdlike gestures all the more grotesque. There was a nervousness about them; they were seized by a constant series of little twitches and gestures, as if they were in continuous communication with
each other even when they weren’t speaking. They seemed to be taking measure of him. And he let them. He stood in silence, as he often did when they came to him, waiting for them to speak.
They appeared whenever they pleased and always without warning. Never mind it was his castle, and his gardens. He had long before given up on insisting that they appear at his will. He soon discovered his own desires were of no consequence to them.
Their laughs were shrill and seemed to mock the tiny glimmer of hope the witches detected within his dark and lonely heart. Lucinda was the first to speak, as was their custom. He couldn’t help being transfixed by her face when she spoke to him. She looked like an odd doll come to life, with her porcelain skin and ratty clothes, and her unfaltering monotone voice only made the scene more macabre.
“So, you’ve captured yourself a pretty little thing at long last.”
