A/N: In this story, there are descriptions of a character being wrongly admitted to a mental asylum and suffering abuse there. While this is a heavy subject, it is not the main focus of this project. I can tell you right away that you will never read the POV of this character while they are in the asylum. You will not read any methods the asylum used to abuse the character. All you will read are the reactions of a relation of the abused character to these events. It is because these events will be so rarely touched upon that I have decided to make this a T rating. However, if any reader feels uncomfortable about this then I will happily move it up to M.

Mental illness is heavily stigmatised in our society today, influenced by the way we have behaved towards the mentally ill in the past. Any sort of abuse - physical, sexual, or emotional - is unacceptable in any situation, but especially in an institution meant to help people in need. Mentally ill people in the past have not fared well in the places supposed to 'treat' them. I do not and have never condoned this attitude towards the mentally ill. However, this story is not primarily about mental illness. With that in mind, I hope you enjoy this prologue, and the rest of the story.

TheTeaIsAddictive

Prologue

The Curse

The witching hour had arrived.

The moon gleamed down through the branches, hitting the forest floor in patches. Only the faintest murmur of wind disturbed the snow lying thick across the ground. No creatures were stirring that night; there wasn't even the puff of hot air visible in the frozen stillness. Ice crept around boughs and bark, clinging close to the lifeblood of the trees like a crushing vice. Glinting in the moonlight, it spread its grasp from branch, to ground, to frozen pond. Not even the wolves, born and raised in conditions much harsher than this clear, moonlit night, dared look out their dens.

A cloaked figure was the lone moving thing in this landscape of ice and frost. It glided silently through the tableau of winter, the fluttering of its cloak leaving no mark on the ground. It seemed to be hovering an inch or so above the snow, so that no footprints were behind to showcase where the figure had come from. Such things were usually impossible. But not in the witching hour of winter.

It stayed on its invisible path through the dark, deserted woods, when it seemed to notice a plant. It stopped in its tracks - not violently enough to merit the use of 'suddenly', yet it was clear this pause had not been planned by the figure. The green, leafy stem of the plant was as yet untouched by the ice surrounding its sisters, and the cloaked figure drew close to it. It extended an old, wizened hand towards the plant. The nails were long and filthy, and the hand itself almost grey and lifeless. A golden ring adorned the fourth finger, with a large emerald set deep into it. It seemed to sparkle with the brilliance of the sun, illuminating the immediate area around the figure with a deep green glow.

The figure brushed the plant with its fingertips, and it began to glow with the same brightness as the ring. The stem grew steadily taller, buds and thorns bursting out in a haze of muted colour. The figure drew its hand away as the small plant finished growing into a magnificent rose bush, half the size of the figure. Flowers of all colours draped around the thorns; pearlescent whites, glowing yellows, blushing pinks. The figure moved its hand over the roses, seemingly undecided. Its gnarled fingers hovered over a gleaming white rose, with deep tinges of bloody red on the edge of its petals, before finally plucking a rose red enough to rival rubies.

As soon as the rose had been picked, the bush shrivelled up, back to a small green stem. With a wave of the hand, frost and ice coated the shrub, until it was as concealed from the human eye as its sisters. The cloaked figure tucked the rose safely into an inner pocket, and continued on its journey.

In the distance, the figure suddenly saw warm, yellow light - candlelight. It was several miles away, a small sliver of yellow that human eyes would not have detected. But the figure could see it, and knew that its journey was almost over. Still hovering inches above the ground, it moved towards the human light. Across clearings, across a frozen lake, through more dark forest. Past a small village a mile and a half away from the light source. Past a small wagon pulled by an exhausted horse, a weary man with a broad-brimmed hat sitting in front. A little girl lay against his side, dressed all in black, with brown eyes half-open, red-rimmed. She caught sight of the cloaked figure, and fear sparked in her childish eyes.

"Papa!" she cried out, extending a chubby hand to point at the figure.

But it had already moved on, back into the darkness of the forest. It didn't worry about the child. She had nothing to do with the roles that were to be fulfilled. And if she did . . . a little fear never hurt anybody. It glided on, its pace never rushing or slowing once since the rose had been plucked, until it reached the source of the candlelight.

A castle almost from a fairytale rose above the cloaked figure. Turrets glinted with gold, angels smiled knowingly down from every corner, and a large moat surrounded everything. The figure crossed with moat with ease. It had been a long time since there was running water in the moat, and there was no iron in any of the fortifications. It saved the figure from having to lure the child out as she'd needed to previously. It was a lot simpler now, than in the old days.

As it drew near the imposing front doors, a faint green glow emanated from the cloak, similar to when it had picked the rose. As it raised its head to look at the sky, the hood fell back, to reveal the face of an ugly, wizened old woman. Her ring glowed, hidden through the folds of draping material, and the sky grew dark with clouds. Snow began to fall heavily, and the old woman pulled her hood back over her head. It was almost time. She waited for the snow to pile upon her, until the water soaked into the material of her cloak, and then she began to shiver, although she felt no cold. Lifting her ringless hand up, she knocked on the door of the castle three times.

After a pause, where the echoes of her knock filled the castle halls, the door opened slowly. It was only enough to let a sliver of light through, but she could see a piercing blue eye, and the garments of nobility.

Open the door please, child, she said. Hesitating a little, he did, and the old woman could see the form and figure of a boy. He was small for his age, and his eyes seemed to be too big for his face. Likewise, his strong nose and high cheekbones overpowered his childlike roundness, but she could see he would grow into them eventually. He was dressed simply for a prince, in a shirt and trousers, nothing more. The woman noticed he was barefoot.

"Who are you?" he said warily. He appeared confused as to why he had even opened the door, but still determined to act with all his royal status. The woman could have told him why he opened the door; it was because it was his role to open it.

I am a lost and weary traveller. Can I stay here for the night? she asked. She smiled, and her black and missing teeth seemed to frighten the child almost as much as it disgusted him.

"No! Go down to the village and seek shelter there," he said.

Please, she said. It is bitterly cold tonight.

"I'm the prince of this region! It's not my responsibility to house you - that's the innkeeper's job, you dirty peasant!" he cried. She could see the pride rise up in his eyes, the shame he felt at even talking to a woman this grotesque, and he turned around - no doubt to call on a servant.

Do not be deceived by appearances, child, the old woman said. True beauty is found within. Are you sure you wish to turn me away? Fear and disgust played out on the boy's face, before he straightened up to the full measure of his height - an unimpressive move now, but one that could be imposing when he grew into his strong bones.

"Yes! Go away, you filthy hag, and don't let me catch you here again, or it'll be the stocks for you!"

She reached out with a sudden movement and grasped the boy's jaw, forcing his head up at a painful angle. Shocked, he let go of the door, and it sung open slowly as the old woman's emerald began to glow. Her dirty fingernails dug into his skin, almost deep enough to draw blood.

In a burst of green light, the old woman's ugliness faded away, until she was a bewitchingly beautiful enchantress. Her hair was pale gold, rippling down the back of her cloak, her skin no longer wrinkled and dirty, and her eyes the same blazing emerald green as the stone on her ring. The hand holding the prince's face, however, was still that of the old woman's. The child seemed to have lost his voice, his mouth shaping words of soundless terror, as his eyes darted from one side of his head to the other, desperately searching for help.

Any words to share? the enchantress asked.

"I - I'm sorry," the boy stammered. "Please - please forgive me Madam Enchantress - I didn't know it would be you - please forgive me - I'm so sorry -"

Save your apologies for later, the enchantress said. I have looked, and there is no love in your heart. Lines on a page. He loved several things, she could tell. But this was her role.

"What are you going to do to me?" he asked. She could feel his heart racing, his breath coming faster.

You are cursed to appear as monstrous outside, as you are on the inside. You have until your twenty-first year to find someone to love you, and to love her in return. With a wave of her hand, she conjured the rose she had plucked, presenting it to him covered in a bell jar. This rose will bloom until midnight of your twenty-first birthday. If you have not found love by the time the last petal falls, you will remain a monster for all time. Do not destroy the rose either. It will end up worse for you if you do. She also conjured up a mirror. This mirror will show you anything you wish to see. Look after it. She snapped her fingers, and they placed themselves in the boy's chambers - wherever in the castle that was.

It seems fitting a monster has monstrous surroundings. Your servants and castle are also under this enchantment.

"But they didn't even do anything!" the boy protested. "Why should they be cursed -"

They encouraged you in this path. It was their duty to bring you up in a way your parents would have been proud of. They have failed you, and they have failed your parents.

"Don't say a word about my parents!" the boy cried out suddenly. He wrenched his jaw away from the enchantress's grip, and anger flooded him. "You don't know anything about them!"

Silence! she said. With only a twitch of her fingers, she dragged the boy back towards her, clamping her hand around his jaw again. She pushed his head further back than previously, until his back arched and he gasped for breath. For that impertinence, another condition. I will take your name. Neither you, nor your servants, nor your family will remember it, until the curse is broken.

She let go of the boy's jaw without warning, and he slumped to the floor, trying to catch his breath. She swept away from him, further into the castle, and clapped her hands once.

Instantly, the bright colours of the interior darkened and dulled. The marble angels rippled, the stone reworking itself into demons and dragons. She heard faint sounds of smashing plates and cutlery from further down the hall, and knew this was her curse on the servants beginning to take effect as they dropped whatever was in their hands. She could hear panicked shouts coming from the butler's room, presumably where he was having his evening meal. From the other end of the castle, she could hear children crying in panic, although the prince could not. A cold breeze ripped through the castle, extinguishing the fires and leaving her in near darkness.

A low moan of pain sounded from the prince behind her. He cried out again, and it changed suddenly from a human's shout of pain to an animal's roar of injury. She walked slowly past him, and could hear the crunch of his bones rearranging themselves, the rip of his clothes as they struggled to contain his animalistic size. She swept out, crossing the moat again, leaving the young prince to his curse. With a flick of her hand, the clouds cleared and once again moonlight shone across the land. The enchantress glided father towards the forest, and glanced back once at the castle, now resembling something from a nightmare.

I'm sorry, young Beast, she said. This is never enjoyable, no matter how many times it has happened before. May you find your Beauty soon.

With the next gust of wind, she was gone, as if she had never existed. The castle was left to its fate.

A/N: Hey there! Guess who's back, back again?! This idea struck me a few months ago, but I've just gotten back into a regular routine, so prepare for a whole new unnecessary multi-chap retelling!

The first two chapters of this story were written before I began university, so I don't know how often I'll update given I have no idea what the workload will be like.

TheTeaIsAddictive