Chapter Eight

Enchanteresse

The witch stood on the cliffs edge, her eyes watering freely in the whistling wind. She liked places of high intrigue; misty woods, crashing waves, all those places so favoured by writers of drama and melodrama alike. Ironic perhaps, given what she had to do to gain powers, but the caprices of fate didn't change the witch's likes and dislikes. The wind ruffled her hair and tugged on her deep blue robe until her knees buckled slightly to stop herself moving forwards, as if it was trying to pull her over the edge. Perhaps it was. She could never be sure if she was actually still supposed to be in the world, or if it was just her magic keeping her alive, after all these years.

Here was the truth about her magic: most of the time, she could change only small things. Eye colour, voice timbre, body weight. If she had power stocked up, she could affect more; change a person's dominance from right-handed to left, their point of view long enough to get what she wanted, or make herself youthful again. These were all temporary only. Well, temporary for her - a decade is a comparatively long time for a mortal. The annoyance of infinite life and finite magic was that there was never enough for her to do what she wanted. And she wanted to help. When she was human - and that was long ago, back before she lost herself in her power - she felt so powerless. Once the magic had been gifted, she had vowed to always use it for the good of the people, and nothing else.

She let the salty sea air fill her lungs, and spread her hands out, as if she was drawing curtains back. Let me see the woman, she asked, holding her breath. Let me see the Beast. Her emerald ring glowed, and a picture began to form on the wind in front of her. It was clear and sharp, the kind of clarity this world wouldn't see for centuries. The witch leaned forwards hungrily, as the picture began to move before her eyes. A woman on horseback was following the prince across the bridge. The woman couldn't see it was the prince, of course, but the witch always knew those whom she had cursed. She watched patiently, as a dull ache began to settle in her chest. The horse was stabled, the woman stroking him gently. The Beast waited a moment, and then the two of them moved inside the castle. Let me see inside, she asked. Her lungs were beginning to burn, but she had to be sure of what she saw. The woman was shivering slightly, as the Beast directed her towards a room with a glowing fire. She almost fell towards the fire, warming her hands and letting her hood fall back. She was beautiful, the witch saw. So much the better, she thought. Beauty only makes love grow quicker. Show me the father as well. Instantly, the picture moved away from the Beast and woman, and it seemed to fly across surrounding countryside until the witch saw the building they were headed towards. La Maison de Fous.

With a pained gasp the witch let out the breath she had been holding, allowing oxygen to circle through her body again, and the image faded away, her ring's glow abating at the same time. She had seen all she needed to for now, although the father's imprisonment still worried her. The handling of the first few encounters were always difficult, and this time it had been more finicky than usual. However, once the two of them were together, the witch generally wasn't needed for a few months at minimum. Well, that wasn't quite true; she would need to force them to stay together for a period of time. Maybe a snowstorm. Or a fallen log. Or perhaps the horse's injury should develop a little more. It didn't really matter what she chose, as long as Beast and woman both lived together for a period. Despite the slight changes that had happened near the start, the story was still on track.

It had taken a long time for her to realise what made her magic stronger. Human emotion powered her, positive more so than negative. She had come up with the plan from reading the old stories, and so far it had always worked. It didn't make her a monster. She gave them happiness, after all. The pain and anger her Beasts would feel powered her to keep an eye on all the elements, until they were ready to put in place. The love her Beautys felt let her become powerful enough to challenge kings and despots, to inspire the right poet or even simply let her see what was happening without the need to hold her breath. And, of course, their love gave her the surge of power needed to curse the next Beast in the making. The choices she made were all for the greater good, she told herself. She didn't always believe what she said.

Sometimes the witch felt better about her modus operandi, and she called herself Enchantress. Sometimes it felt worse, and called itself cloaked figure. Usually, she was just the witch. Morally grey, sacrificing personal gain for the good of the populace, and able to watch two people falling in love, again and again and again. And they were always happy together, the witch knew. She used to lure merchants with several daughters, as a sort of test to see who would rescue him. The brave girl who left home was always a match for whatever stuck-up noble the witch had cursed. Before the method had been tried and tested, the witch had supervised the princes as well, establishing herself as a guardian of some sort. Now, she didn't feel the need. It wasn't like she was burned by iron or running water any more - and it was difficult enough trying to supervise a young boy when she couldn't touch iron or cross the moat to his castle. The witch also used to make the girl prove her love, by rescuing her husband. She had stopped that, now; the times changed, and she had to change with them. It was simpler than it had been in the past. It led to a little boredom at the beginning, true - she'd memorised her lines to the prince long ago. So little by little, she added different elements. The rival suitor was an interesting one, and she always negotiated it carefully. She'd never failed in a story yet, but there was a first time for everything. The time limit was a fairly recent addition. Beforehand, the princes could wait decades before a suitable Beauty was found. Ten years kept everything neat. Although cursing a child did add to the witch's guilt.

She took a step away from the cliff's edge, and felt her features slowly change, her ring a muted glow under her robes. She didn't need to look in a mirror to know that for the moment, her eyes were green and her hair sunshine yellow - if she didn't concentrate, they always went that colour. She wondered sometimes if that was what she'd looked like, before she got her powers. It had been so long that she couldn't remember anymore. She started to walk away, in the rough direction of the nearest town. She wasn't even in the same country as the future lovers, but the witch knew that if she stayed, she'd only end up hovering, waiting for the moment to strike.

She also needed to rest up her powers in preparation for the coming climax of the story, when she would be needed to ensure everything happening according to plan. It was already bad enough that the father had been put in the asylum, and that the girl had married the suitor. The cries of frustration she'd let out at those developments were enough to make nearby birds flutter out their trees. But nothing else untoward would happen in this story of Beauty and Beast. It couldn't, or else the witch's plan would come crumbling down at her feet.


A/N: Heya! Sorry it's a little shorter than usual this week, but it felt like the Enchantress's motivation (and reasoning) needed to be fleshed out a little bit more. This is pertinent information, not just me spinning a filler yarn or anything.

Since it's the holidays, you can expect me to update a little quicker than I have been during term-time. And if I don't update before next Friday, Merry Christmas to all you wonderful readers!

TheTeaIsAddictive