Once upon a time, there was a very rich and wifeless merchant with three unremarkable sons and three lovely daughters. The two eldest daughters, though pleasant to look at, were selfish and wicked women who enjoyed nagging everyone else and demanding nice things be given to them. The youngest daughter, however, was more beautiful than either of her sisters, and this earned her the nickname of Beauty.
Beauty had a strong fondness for reading, shunning the balls and parties her sisters would regularly attend. She would devour each book with a strange voracity, as if Beauty were a black hole only equipped to consume knowledge.
Her sisters, unable to understand Beauty’s obsession, regularly mocked her and tended to pick on her the most, insisting that she clean their rooms instead of wasting time with those silly books.
There was no doubt, however, that the eldest sister, Chantelle, was by far the more bothersome of the two nags, and would go out of her way to torment Beauty. The middle sister, Yolande, would only pester her when it was convenient.
Through this, despite her kind nature, Beauty came to despise Chantelle. Laziness, she supposed, was forgivable, as in Yolande’s case, but Chantelle’s outright malice was simply too much. She retreated farther and farther into the world of books, studying similarly cruel figures. Perhaps there was a way to change her.
Unfortunately for Beauty, in every story she read, such people never changed. They were either killed, or rotted away like the miserable creatures they were. At a certain point, she finally told herself that she would stop trying to fix it. Her sister was doomed.
As if fate were punishing her pessimism, her brother—who knew if it was the eldest, youngest, or even her real brother—burst into her room, a look of panic on his face. “Father has lost everything,” he cried despondently. “This was to be his greatest profit, but all of his ships have been lost at sea! We’re… we’re poor, Beauty!”
And indeed, poor they were. The merchant was forced to sell his grand house in order to buy a small farm in the country, in the hopes of becoming self-sufficient and surviving.Yolande and Chantelle simply didn’t know what to do with themselves. Having never worked a day in their life, they would wake at ten in the morning and wander about aimlessly, criticizing the rest of their family for perceived mistakes.
Beauty, though somewhat upset, worked hard on the farm, using trial and error to determine the best way to do chores correctly while still being able to read.
~
About a year after they moved, the merchant was told that one of his ships had managed to return safely to the port. Overjoyed at the prospect of gaining riches once more, the family celebrated prematurely with a small feast.
“Father,” Chantelle purred, “when you go to recover your goods, would you mind buying me some nice dresses?”
“And perhaps some necklaces?” Yolande beamed, her eyes full of hope.
Chantelle nodded eagerly. “Yes, with only the finest jewels! I’m so tired of my wretched glass beads. Get me something nice!”
Their father chuckled. “Of course, my dears.” He turned to Beauty, who had remained silent for most of the evening, only smiling and sometimes laughing. “Beauty, what do you want?”
“Well, I, um… maybe… maybe you could get me a rose? They’re quite a rarity around here, but they’re such elegant flowers. Just a single rose, please, and I’ll be happy.” Not wanting to sound demanding, she added, “Or don’t. I’ll be fine either way; please don’t worry about it.”
He grinned. “Of course I can get you a rose. What color do you want?”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well...” Beauty squirmed in her seat. “Red would be wonderful. I read about them the most often. But any color will do!”
He nodded solemnly. “Anything for you, Beauty.”
~
The merchant set out on his journey riding the most reliable horse they owned, taking his time to visit the marketplaces and plan what he would buy for Chantelle and Yolande once he received his money. Only the most extravagant gowns and the most colorful jewels would do, and it took him a long time to decide which were high enough quality for his precious daughters.
Having finally settled on his choices, he begged the shopkeepers to hold the dresses until he was able to pay them; they all agreed, more than happy to finally be rid of the expensive eyesores that passed for fashion.
Leaving the marketplace, he felt somewhat distraught; at no point had he seen a single red rose, or any rose at all. He couldn’t neglect such a simple request. If anyone was deserving of a gift, it was Beauty.
The merchant made a mental note to go a different path in search for a rose, after he had acquired the dresses and jewelery, then continued on his journey. A rose would wilt by the time he returned if he were to get it so early, he reasoned, so he had chosen the best course of action.
Lo and behold, the merchant arrived at the port only to discover that the surviving ship was now good for nothing, as well as all of the items onboard. He had no money for clothes. He barely had money to get home again.
Distraught, the merchant paid very little attention to the path on his way back, and quickly found himself lost in the woods during a nasty hailstorm. He felt that death was calling his name, and began to wonder whether he would answer.
Out of sheer, disgusting luck, he happened upon a large and eerily silent castle. Too tired to think straight, he put his horse in the castle stables and made his way inside. After a bit of wandering, he discovered a long table furnished with all sorts of meats and delicacies, without a single person there to enjoy it. Awestruck, he waited a minute, hoping that the lord of the castle would appear and allow him to partake in the feast. He waited another two, then three, then five, then ten, then was so famished he simply couldn’t wait another second and sat down, eating as much as his stomach could possibly hold.
Full and drowsy, he then went in search of a bedroom. There was a room nearby, with a bed furnished with the finest linens, that was unoccupied. The merchant promptly went in and fell asleep, not questioning a single action.
~
He left the castle and retrieved his horse, secretly overjoyed that he hadn’t met anyone inside. Surely, nobody would know of his rude manners.
As he was preparing to leave, the merchant noticed a small garden filled with all manner of roses: red, white, yellow, pink, orange, ombre, and many others he had no idea even existed. He was elated to at least be able to bring back Beauty a gift, and promptly picked the fullest, reddest rose he could reach.
The merchant turned to head back to his horse, only to be met with the sight of a beastly abomination no pen could ever hope to properly describe, nor eye properly make out.
It let out a growl and picked up the merchant by his collar. “I have done nothing but show you kindness, and yet you dare to steal my most prized possession from me? These roses are my pride and joy; you dare defile them with your calloused hands?”
“N-n-n-n-n-now just wait a-a-a-a-a-a minute,” the merchant whimpered. “H-how was I to know that the gift of a rose—a single, plain, red rose—was theft, and not another one of your great kindnesses?”
“I gave you what you needed to live through the night,” it snarled. “Will this rose somehow save your life?”
The merchant paused for a moment, then decided it would be best not to deceive such a fearsome creature. “N-no,” he admitted. “It was a gift for m-m-my daughter. But, my lord--”
“I am not ‘your lord’, but a beast, and by Beast you will address me,” he huffed. “Your honesty thus far has been more than I expected; call me Beast, and do not hold your tongue. I want to hear nothing but the truth.”
“I took the rose, B-Beast, because when I went on my journey, my daughters all asked for things. The o-older two asked for expensive clothes a-and gems, but the y-y-youngest only asked for this rose. I… I was u-unable to get clothing, but I wished to at least f-fulfill one request.”
Beast looked him up and down, then nodded. “So you steal for a selfless cause. Because of this, I ask not for your life, but for the life of the one who requested it. Be warned: if you do not return here within a week, I will find you myself, and I will destroy your entire family.”
Pale, the merchant asked, “Couldn’t I die instead? Please, I beg you, I would rather die a thousand painful deaths at your hand than deliver her to you.”
“She must be a wonderful daughter, then.”
“The most wonderful woman to grace this Earth. Kill me instead, I beg of you! Don’t deprive humanity of such a girl!”
“Then you shall bring her to me, but I won’t kill her. She will stay with me and keep me company.” Beast released the merchant and trudged back to the castle. “Remember, if you don’t return within a week, I will kill your family. Your precious daughter included.”
The merchant left without another word.
~
Upon returning home, his three daughters were the first to greet him.
Beauty asked, “How are you doing, Father?”
Yolande asked, “How much did you salvage, Father?”
Chantelle asked, “Where are my dresses, Father?”
“I… I’m a tad upset. I didn’t salvage anything. There are… n-no...” Before he could utter ‘dresses’, he buried his face in his hands and sobbed.
Beauty held her father tightly. “It’s all right, Father. We can be perfectly happy here on the farm.”
“I-it’s not that, it’s...” He pulled the rose out of his pocket and handed it to Beauty, trembling. “I-I only wanted to give you your rose, but in the process, I… Beauty, I’m so sorry, but y-you’ll have to live with a beast.”
“W-what? I… Father, I told you it didn’t matter! But… as long as you’re all right… I suppose mistakes happen...”
Chantelle scoffed. “Look at what a mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Beauty. All because you had to be different and ask for a rose!”
“Be quiet,” the merchant snapped. “You may never see your dear sister again, Chantelle! Don’t be so cruel!”
“Father has a point,” Yolande said. “Beauty, we’ll all miss you dearly.”
Beauty smiled sadly. “Thank you, Yolande. I’ll miss you all too.”
By this time, the three brother had finished their chores and had only just noticed that their father had returned. Perplexed by his melancholy attitude, the merchant told them what had happened. They were all furious.
“We can kill the beast,” one son said. “He may be large, but he’ll be powerless against four men!”
“He can throw you in the air as if you were a mere twig. To go against him would be foolish.”
“But why does Beauty have to suffer? Why couldn’t we send Chantelle?” a different brother said.
“Yes! Let’s send Chantelle,” the third said eagerly. “Beauty is the only one who works, but at least Yolande isn’t a complete harpy. Send Chantelle!”
“That’s a much better idea,” Yolande purred, grateful that Beauty would still be around to do her chores.
Upon hearing so many of her siblings turn against her at once, Chantelle merely went silent, awestruck by their vehement hatred towards her.
The merchant turned to Beauty. “If you wish for me to send Chantelle in your place, simply say so.”
Beauty froze. It seemed like such a terrible fate, one which the imagination could’ve never come up with on its own. Something she never read about.
Like how people similar to Chantelle never change their ways.It finally struck Beauty that, selfish as it may seem, it was an opportunity to reform her awful sister.
“Yes, Father. Send Chantelle.”
Chantelle snapped out of her trance. “But, Beauty, this is your fault!”
“If you had never asked for dresses,” Beauty said calmly, “I would’ve never asked for a rose. So, really, it’s your fault.” It pained her to make such a rude accusation, but it had to be done for the good of her sister.
“Let’s make haste,” the merchant said. “I have only five days to return to Beast, or he’ll destroy us all.”
Chantelle numbly obeyed her father’s commands, never speaking during the ride back to the castle.
“And remember,” he cautioned, “do not let him know that you aren’t the one who requested a rose, or he may very well murder you, then move on to us.”
~
Beast greeted them at the gate with two chests full of gold. “As I have no use for this metal, perhaps you could take it as a consolation for the loss of one so dear.”
“I thank you for your astounding generosity, Beast,” the merchant replied.Beast approached Chantelle, who was still on the horse, and held out his hand. “May I have your name?”
She stared at him for a painfully long five seconds, then broke into a bloodcurdling scream, almost falling off of the horse in her panic. Beast winced; the merchant scowled. “Chantelle, show some decency!”
“No, no. Such a reaction is quite understandable.” He moved his hand a little closer to her. “Your name is Chantelle?”
“Yes,” she whispered, inching away from him.
“It’s a very lovely name. Please, come with me to the castle. You must learn your way around your new home.”
Shaking, she took his hand and got off the horse, then immediately jerked herself away, standing a yard to his side.
Beast helped the merchant load up the chests, then gently touched Chantelle’s shoulder to get her attention. “What would you like to see first? Your room? The library?”
Without thinking, an insult escaped her lips. “Anything but you.”
“Understandable. As you’ll be seeing quite a lot of me in these years to come--” Chantelle shuddered at the thought--“I hope you’ll become used to it.”
“I’m sure I will,” she answered quietly. The monster could crush her throat with his forefinger and thumb alone; she decided to make an effort not to offend him further. “I, um, on a less, er, light note? I-I’d like to see, perhaps, some sort of closet or wardrobe? You… you do have one for me, yes?”
“Indeed. They’re clothes left from the castle’s previous inhabitants, but I’m sure you’ll find something that fits.”
“Good. Show me that, please.”
~
At nine o’clock PM, Beast knocked on her door. “Chantelle, will you please come to dinner with me?”
“Give me a minute,” she snapped. “I can’t get this sash to tie properly.”
“Do you need my help?”
“Don’t you dare. Stay out. Go away! I know where the dining room is; start without me!”
Beast sighed and left. If that was his best daughter, he couldn’t imagine what a nightmare the other two were.
Chantelle was not, in fact, trying to tie a sash; she was simply hoping to avoid Beast’s presence. She was beginning to consider planning an escape route once Beast fell asleep.
Half an hour later, Beast was knocking at her door again. “Chantelle, are you done with your sash? The food is starting to get cold.”
“One minute,” she screeched. “Can’t I have any privacy?”
Beast lost his patience. “Put on a different dress and come out.”
“Fine, but I have to find a dress that looks nice!”
“I’ve already heard you comment on how lovely some of the dresses are when I passed by.”
“You were eavesdropping? Shame on you!”
“You have five minutes before I come in and drag you to the table with me,” Beast roared, “clothed or not.”
Chantelle burst out of her room, almost in tears. “You’re disgusting.”
Unmoved by the pathetic display, he grabbed her sleeve and pulled her down the hall. She protested at first, but realized there was no point and plodded along behind him, feeling absolutely miserable.
They sat down at opposite ends of the table. Beast ate half a roast goose and two-thirds of the salad; Chantelle, dissatisfied with the cold meats and soggy greens, nibbled on a piece of buttered bread.
Once he finished, Beast made eye contact with Chantelle and grunted, “You may return to your room.” She took no time jumping out of her seat and running away.
~
The next day, Beast told himself that he simply had to be more patient with the poor girl; she had just been torn away from her family and was now forced to live with an ugly, temperamental beast.
Unsure as to whether or not he should go and apologize or leave her alone for the day, Beast resolved to apologize at dinnertime, but not bother her until then. She’d need some time to calm down.
At noon, however, as Beast was in his library, Chantelle rushed in with a furious look on her face. “You must have some sort of seamstress available, yes? It’s such a big castle. You must have somebody who can fix this!”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Fix what?”
She motioned to a small hole in the sleeve of her dress. “Look at it! This gown is so beautiful, but it’s got this ugly hole. I can’t wear it like this, even if you’re the only thing around to see it. My dress deserves better!”
“I’m afraid that I’m the only other person here,” he replied testily. A small voice popped up in the back of his mind, reminding him to be kind to the distressed maiden.
“Well, surely you must know how to sew, then, if you’re the only person around to mend your own clothes?”
“I cannot sew. When my clothes are no longer wearable, I simply put on new ones and discard the old. I can assure you that the hole is barely noticeable, and I only saw it when you pointed it out to me.”
“But it’s still there,” she whined. “You must have the inkling of an idea of how to sew! How did you get those clothes to fit your body? No human has such a form!”
Beast gritted his teeth. “I used to have a seamstress here, but she sadly died.”
“Did you kill her, you nasty ogre? Did she accidentally brush against one of your precious roses?”
“She died of old age. And she showed the utmost respect to my roses, unlike your father.”
“Hmph.” She walked to the library’s exit, then turned and announced, “I won’t be coming to dinner tonight, so don’t bother asking.”
“Yes, you are,” he shouted. “It’s the only thing I ask of you, and you’re going to do it!”
“F-fine, I won’t fight it. Who knows what you’ll do to me once you’re angry enough?” She then left, hastily making her way back to her room.
~
That evening, at nine, Chantelle tried to defy Beast by refusing to eat, causing him to lose his temper again.
The next day, she simply refused to leave her room under any condition, even under penalty of death from a livid Beast.
One the next, she ignored him for most of the day, then promptly attended dinner for the sole purpose of mocking his appearance.
On and on her resistance went, taking new and ever more irritating forms each day. At the end of a fortnight, Beast was sick of her presence, choosing to ask that she have dinner at ten without him. Just to anger him, she would claim that she was starving and lonely and simply had to eat with him at nine. Sometimes she taunted him, sometimes she ignored him, and one night she even threw food at his face.
After three weeks, they had managed to make each other completely, fully, one-hundred-percent miserable. At that dinner, Chantelle was too upset to even bother him, quietly eating her quail and refusing to look his way.
“Chantelle, I… I think we must have some sort of conversation about… our behaviors toward each other. I believe you’ll agree that we’ve been a tad unpleasant, to say the least.”
She didn’t respond.
“If we’re going to be living together for the rest of our lives, we’ll have to learn to cope with each other.” He tried to inject some humor into the gloomy situation with, “I didn’t ask for you to come here so I could ignore you forever.”
“I didn’t ask to come here at all,” she hissed. “If anything, rather than coping, you should release me to my family.”
Frustrated, Beast shook his head. “I cannot do that, Chantelle. You’ll have to learn to be happy here, with me.”
“Happy? Happy?” she cried. “How can I be happy with you? You serve the toughest foods, you own the ugliest clothes, you have the most fearsome face in all the land; who in their right mind could ever be happy with you?”
Taken aback, Beast furrowed his brow. “I don’t mean to paint myself as blameless, but you haven’t made the slightest effort to be kind to me. If you were a more agreeable person--”
“Oh, I’m the disagreeable one? The one who was kidnapped for the sake of an ugly flower?”
“Why don’t you be quiet? You don’t understand the situation!”
“Why couldn’t you have just killed me?” Tears were pouring out of Chantelle’s eyes. “You hate me so much, you’ve made me live with you! Killing me should be an easy task!”
Beast’s left eye twitched. “It surely is. What a good idea you've had.” He pulled the cleaver out of a ham and threw it at Chantelle’s head.
She ducked, and even if she hadn’t, it would’ve missed; his aim was off by ten centimeters to the right. Horrified, Chantelle let out a terrified scream and ran away, bawling.
He got up and pulled the cleaver out of the wall, then went after her, roaring all manner of threats that I can’t, in good conscience, reproduce here.
She ran through the halls, looking behind herself every so often only to see the surprisingly fast Beast clamoring after her, cleaver in his hand and bloodlust in his eyes.
At the end of the hall was, from what she could see, a stairway into some sort of dank and abandoned dungeon. Perhaps she’d be able to lose him in there.
As she approached the steps, praying to whatever gods that might be listening not to let her stumble, Beast threw the cleaver at her once again.
This time, it hit her back.
She was propelled forward by this and fell down, spattering the steps with blood and tears as she made her way down. At the fifth step before the ground, her disfigured corpse rolled to a halt, eliminating what little chance Beast could’ve had to break his curse.
All I could do was shake my head and sigh; this wasn’t the first girl he had killed, and at this point, I was sure it wouldn’t be the last. His callousness as a human had to be punished somehow, though, and if he’s still a lonely beast in another millennium, I certainly won’t care.
