I don't know how much longer I can stand this.
Every night you stand before me. Beauty. You stand there and you look down at the floor, your eyes picking out every grain in the woodwork, pausing on every knot and flaw. I do the opposite. As you stand, I look at you. I watch you. I see the way you fight fear, the way you forcefully control yourself. I see your eyes flicker. I pick out every detail, every slight movement. I try everything to understand you.
You're beautiful.
That's the problem. A girl who thought herself plain, who shied away from others, might have resigned herself to her fate. She might have considered herself unworthy of a husband. A Beast might seem no more horrible to her than any other fate. I know that loneliness only too well.
But you, Beauty – you are not like that. You have spirit. You have defiance. But you also have fear. You can look upon me but I do not believe you will ever see me. I do not see myself. My reflection in mirrors, in water – that face is not my face. It is not who I am. But that is not what is important. What matters to anyone is what matters to the world. A face is not bones and skin and flesh – eyes and mouth and nose. A face is no more a part of a person than a glove is of a hand. A face is merely what is shown to the world, what is shown to others for them to make judgements upon without looking further. It is, you see, simply a point of convenience.
A single moment can change a person. I was young, I was foolish – and I was innocent. As children, we all dance around fire. Most learn to stay back. I was the one to get burned.
You do not continue to stare down. Unlike so many people – unlike even myself – you have an implicit understanding of the world around you, though you yourself do not realise it. Compared to you, the world is blind. You, I think, must lead the way. You do not see how lucky you are, to be able to find beauty in everything. I look and see only darkness, horrible shadows that exist only to hurt me. You can look at the same world – for somehow, here, we share the same world – and find a place of magic, beauty and wonder. I envy you that, but would not take it from you if I had the chance.
When you look at me, it is different. all I can see are your eyes. A light dances in them and I know what it means. You're searching for something. You're trying to find that light in me.
I must surely be the only one not yet to have yielded to your scrutiny. In desperation, you pronounce cheerfully upon the delights of the garden, on the opulence of the castle, on your pleasure at every slight thing about you – and for a moment, I can delight in your happiness. But I see nothing of the wonders you speak of. For me, all here is darkness, cold and miserable – but for your warmth.
And now you lead me to the fire. You find two chairs arranged and bid me sit. You are not so wholly unsuitable to be mistress of a castle as you believe. I sit. In the sunshine of the firelight, you speak animatedly of foreign lands, of all the places you've longed to go, of your home with your father and sisters. And I feel, not for the first time, the disgusting horror of what I have done. You no longer have the comfort and happiness of the people you love around you, and home becomes just another place you wish to go.
I do not speak but behind my mask of almost indifferent silence something inside me is crying out.
Beauty… I'm so sorry.
And now you ask me to speak of myself. You ask for a story of my childhood. You ask more than you realise – I think. Your face is calm, interested, curious – but you have hidden yourself behind it. I know what it is you ask. You would know how I came to be here, the mysterious master of this place. But there is no story to tell but what I hide behind myself. There is no great and dramatic story, no suspense or intrigue. Beauty, you do not know what you ask me. I have nothing to tell you, because there is no story – and there is no way to make you understand. I am no monster, no mythical creature – Beauty, I am a man. I was an innocent child and I grew to be a selfish, stupid man who now wishes nothing more than to join the world he once so desperately separated himself from.
Who wished nothing more. Now I believe I could be content, happy – no, blessed with…
No. I shall not finish.
I cannot bring myself to speak. There is a silence as long as centuries and you do not look at me. Finally I stand, my head lowered, my eyes downcast as yours have always been.
"Good night, Beauty."
"Good night."
I seldom sleep and never dream, but tonight I am encountered by a vision. I see you, no longer radiant and happy, but pale and crying. You are so close to me, your misery so apparent, that even though I know you will recoil I try to reach out and touch you – to offer what little comfort I can possibly be. But I cannot move. I am but a witness, silent and powerless.
You turn from me now, desolate and lost – and now I see the fire. A great wall of flame has reared up behind you, gasping and hungry. As though unable to stop yourself, you move towards it. The sound of the flames reaching for you grows louder and louder, until I can barely hear your frightened sobs. I call for you, but there is no sound. You step even closer to the flames, moment by moment you are closer. I can hardly bear to watch and yet I cannot look away. You are growing slower now, your steps weary – yet with a final effort, you throw yourself forward.
In a matter of moments the flames have swallowed you, and you are lost to me forever.
Beauty... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.