Underneath
He remembers a girl with soft brown hair and doe-brown eyes, good as she was beautiful. He had loved her just as foolish Youth always loves what is beautiful, never looking underneath the skin to see the flat, dull creature. They had been happy for a time, but that is where the story twists and he forgets; that is when the madness sets in and Man dissolves into Beast.
Beast, he laughs at himself, but his claws curl around the torn arm of the chair, and he remembers what waiting was like. When he emerged from the madness he had waited for her to come, sure somehow that he had not been in its grips long enough for her to forget him. Still, she did not come, did not recapture his human skin with her love. Maybe she had died, maybe he had killed her, maybe she could not bring herself to love what had been underneath all along, what the spell had exposed to the harsh light of day.
Then she had finally come...but it was not her. This woman-child was same yet other. Her lips were thinner, to start, her eyes were sharper, and under her skin lay the same wildness that had been dragged out from his own soul. They were akin, and he loved her in a new way.
He called her Beauty. She had asked his name, but he could not bear to give it to her for shame. So, he did not ask her name or why and from whence she came; he gave her a new life and identity to replace the old one that still haunted her. She was safe in his home, in his life.
She set upon his house like a wild thing unleashed at long last. She blew the dust ff all the shelves and read him poetry. She hunted fearless in his forests and planted roses in his gardens when none had ever grown there before. And she loved him for the Beast that was he no matter what skin he hid underneath, though she never spoke of it, never broke the spell. But it was enough.
She left, his mind reminds him bitterly, and his hearts aches with the injustice of those words. She had reasons, never would have dragged herself away from except that the situation demanded it. She had left him for the home that was not his, for the people, the family she had never spoken of. He let her go because no one, not even a Beast, can hold a wild thing.
Something is wrong, he knows.
Something has been wrong since she left, he heart sighs. He crushes the rose he has been holding, not caring about the thorns ripping his paws as the scent bleeds into the air.
The tug comes again, stronger. Something is wrong with her, with Beauty. He is running before he knows it, through the halls and the forest. He does not even falter when the wolves howl, what does he have to fear from his brothers?
He finds her almost home, but not quite. She is lying bonelessly in the dead leaves; everything has been dying since she left. He can see nothing but the blood.
"What has happened?" he demands, his voice harshened by the growl that always lurks underneath.
Her eyes look up into his with love and joy at odds with the pain wracking her body. She begins slowly, calmly, like she always does when she tells him a story, "They told me I lied, that I made you up when I went crazy in the forest. They always knew it would happen someday." She glances down at her torn body and back at him, "I do not even remember if they did this to me or if I did this to myself...I called and called, but you never came. I began to think maybe I did make up you in my head. I am so sorry I forgot who Beauty is." For the first, time tears well in her eyes. " I did not even have your name to call you with."
He opens his mouth to tell her his name, but his mouth has forgotten the shape of those hated words. He finds a Beast can cry as he gives her the only words he has left, "I love you."
She smiles and her voice fades to the whisper of dry leaves, a foreshadowment of winter to come, "I love..."
"Beauty!" he roars, but there is no answer. Beauty is dead.
His heart turns to stone and crumbles. In the empty void inside him he finds something like happiness that she never finished those last words, never broke the spell. He will remain an immortal Beast and never fit back into the constraints of human skin. He will forever hunt the humanity that killed Beauty.
He takes her back to their home and buries her under her rose bushes. Their roots and thorns will grow out to protect her like he could not. The roses burn black where his tears touch them.
He will not be back.
He remembers a girl with soft brown hair and doe-brown eyes, good as she was beautiful. He had loved her just as foolish Youth always loves what is beautiful, never looking underneath the skin to see the flat, dull creature. They had been happy for a time, but that is where the story twists and he forgets; that is when the madness sets in and Man dissolves into Beast.
Beast, he laughs at himself, but his claws curl around the torn arm of the chair, and he remembers what waiting was like. When he emerged from the madness he had waited for her to come, sure somehow that he had not been in its grips long enough for her to forget him. Still, she did not come, did not recapture his human skin with her love. Maybe she had died, maybe he had killed her, maybe she could not bring herself to love what had been underneath all along, what the spell had exposed to the harsh light of day.
Then she had finally come...but it was not her. This woman-child was same yet other. Her lips were thinner, to start, her eyes were sharper, and under her skin lay the same wildness that had been dragged out from his own soul. They were akin, and he loved her in a new way.
He called her Beauty. She had asked his name, but he could not bear to give it to her for shame. So, he did not ask her name or why and from whence she came; he gave her a new life and identity to replace the old one that still haunted her. She was safe in his home, in his life.
She set upon his house like a wild thing unleashed at long last. She blew the dust ff all the shelves and read him poetry. She hunted fearless in his forests and planted roses in his gardens when none had ever grown there before. And she loved him for the Beast that was he no matter what skin he hid underneath, though she never spoke of it, never broke the spell. But it was enough.
She left, his mind reminds him bitterly, and his hearts aches with the injustice of those words. She had reasons, never would have dragged herself away from except that the situation demanded it. She had left him for the home that was not his, for the people, the family she had never spoken of. He let her go because no one, not even a Beast, can hold a wild thing.
Something is wrong, he knows.
Something has been wrong since she left, he heart sighs. He crushes the rose he has been holding, not caring about the thorns ripping his paws as the scent bleeds into the air.
The tug comes again, stronger. Something is wrong with her, with Beauty. He is running before he knows it, through the halls and the forest. He does not even falter when the wolves howl, what does he have to fear from his brothers?
He finds her almost home, but not quite. She is lying bonelessly in the dead leaves; everything has been dying since she left. He can see nothing but the blood.
"What has happened?" he demands, his voice harshened by the growl that always lurks underneath.
Her eyes look up into his with love and joy at odds with the pain wracking her body. She begins slowly, calmly, like she always does when she tells him a story, "They told me I lied, that I made you up when I went crazy in the forest. They always knew it would happen someday." She glances down at her torn body and back at him, "I do not even remember if they did this to me or if I did this to myself...I called and called, but you never came. I began to think maybe I did make up you in my head. I am so sorry I forgot who Beauty is." For the first, time tears well in her eyes. " I did not even have your name to call you with."
He opens his mouth to tell her his name, but his mouth has forgotten the shape of those hated words. He finds a Beast can cry as he gives her the only words he has left, "I love you."
She smiles and her voice fades to the whisper of dry leaves, a foreshadowment of winter to come, "I love..."
"Beauty!" he roars, but there is no answer. Beauty is dead.
His heart turns to stone and crumbles. In the empty void inside him he finds something like happiness that she never finished those last words, never broke the spell. He will remain an immortal Beast and never fit back into the constraints of human skin. He will forever hunt the humanity that killed Beauty.
He takes her back to their home and buries her under her rose bushes. Their roots and thorns will grow out to protect her like he could not. The roses burn black where his tears touch them.
He will not be back.