August, 1655
She had always had... special talents. She had a special way with animals, and people often liked her instantly upon meeting her. But she had never told anyone about them, not her younger sister, and especially not her father. Her mother had died giving birth to her younger sister, Beauty, and she had always wondered what it would have been like to have known her. Would her mother have been someone to confide in, would she be as strict and distant as her father, or would she have been as... stupid as her sister.
She sighed as she lay on her simple bed, waiting for the sun to rise so she could start her chores. Beauty wasn't stupid, exactly, she was just different. She liked different things, boys for one, and clothes and jewellery interested her a lot more than they did her older sister. Not that they could afford much of either, so Beauty contented herself with toying with the village's boys. As her nickname implied, she was indeed a beauty, with ruby red hair, emerald green eyes, and opal skin that shone like the presents she persuaded local suitors to buy for her.
Beauty's older sister got up and dressed in her drab grey dress. She no longer wanted to stay in bed, thinking these jealous thoughts; she needed to be up and busy. Perhaps if she finished her chores early she could practise. Whenever she could, she tried to escape to the furthest field from the village to use her talents. Some days, when she was feeling particularly energised, she could do amazing things. She could make flowers bloom early, especially roses, which were a favourite of hers. She had once forced the stream to change direction and break into two, creating a small island in the middle, on which she placed her rose.
"Morning, Da'," she said, kissing her father on the cheek as he shuffled past. He simply grunted and walked past her. Neighbours always told her stories about the brilliant man he had once been, but that was before her mother's death. She walked into the kitchen to begin cleaning. Her sister was still asleep of course.
That afternoon she was walking in the village, getting bread for supper, when she saw him. Patrick. He was in the bakery, talking to the baker. He had shoulder length black hair that had a slight wave, and his green eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement. Patrick was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen, in fact he was the handsomest man she'd ever seen. He was a few inches taller than her and had broad shoulders. She stood quietly as he recited his mother's orders for a big party they were throwing.
"I wish my mother wouldn't always make me take these lists. But she doesn't trust the servants!" He laughed, and the baker joined in, although in a way it was insulting. But no-one could be insulted by Patrick- he was too charming. To those who had given Beauty her nickname, he was known as Prince Charming. He was the only son of the Lord and Lady that lived in the big manor house. She knew him only from when she saw him in the village, and they never entered the village.
"Well, I'll have them done for tomorrow night Sir," the baker said.
"Thank you, and no need to call me Sir," Patrick said with a smile. He stepped back and almost knocked her over. He spun around to catch hold of her and flashed his winning smile. "Sorry about that miss! I'll be on my way then." He walked out of the shop with another smile, leaving her staring after him.
"What would you like, missy?" the baker asked, "I am busy, you know!"
She knew immediately that she had to get to that party, at the manor house. She had to see him again. Never before had he noticed her, but this time... this was it. She spent the rest of the evening, not practising, but making a dress, out of an old one of her mother's. Apart from Beauty's dresses it was the only piece of material that would do for such a thing. By the next evening she was finished. It was a light blue dress, made in a simple style, with one undercoat on the skirt, and a bodice top with a low cut back. Making sure her father was in his study, she ran out into the night.
She made it to the manor house, where there were still carriages arriving. She decided to sneak in the back. She picked through the gardens, ducking at all the windows, until she came to a set of steps, leading up to a mini-balcony, and a set of glass doors. She was about to start up the steps when she saw Patrick leaning on the rail, talking to someone. She pressed herself against the wall, her exposed back chilling at the touch of the stone. Directly above her, Patrick was leaning over the guard rail and staring at the star-sprinkled sky. This thought almost stopped her breath.
"Does the view please you?" he said.
Someone replied, but the person was just a little too far away to be heard.
"Indeed," he chuckled to himself. "Come here then, and take a better look."
She held her breath as she heard footsteps. She knew that it was a female approaching by the sound of the click click on the stone. "Patrick, it is wonderful." She recognised that voice.
"Not as wonderful as you, Beauty." A stab of pain went through her chest, and she found she couldn't breathe Her breath came in gasps as some invisible knife stabbed her again and again. Her heart was breaking. Everything was quiet above, and she knew they would not see her as she dashed, like a wraith, through the gardens and into the neighbouring woods.
Trees tore at her as she ran. Her dress ripped. She stopped at the river and the pain was still there. Below her the rapids were frothing noisily as she stood on the steep, mossy bank. Crashing into the rocks that had withstood the battering for so long, the water had the force of her attacker that night. Except there was no attacker, it was her heart, cracking in two, on its own.
Her raven hair whipped around her, mimicking the turbulent water, and her ripped dress flew all around her in the wind that had been suddenly conjured. She could no longer bear the pain. She jumped into the rapids.
Everything was dark. Not the dim darkness where you could still see shadows of what was around you. This was true darkness, where there was no light anywhere, because it had simply never existed.
"Do you want payback?" a voice that boomed and whispered at the same time rang out.
"No, I just..."
"Why are you here then?" The voice also had echoes, she noticed.
"I don't know." She paused, "I don't want revenge, but she isn't worthy of him."
"I see." The voice also paused. "I can help you to let him see what she is really like. What her true nature is."
"You can?" She still tried to peer into the darkness, trying to see this mysterious person, "How?"
"You have powers, but they are not strong enough. I could lend you some more... in exchange for something."
"You could? That would be... in exchange for what?"
"That does not matter now. What matters now is that you agree to let me help you."
"I..." What was going on? Should she agree? Was it a sin to wish ill against your own sister? She already knew the answer to that, but tried not to think of God's wrath. "I agree." At once she felt her body being pulled, and colours streamed past her eyes. Her body began to shake, like she was having a fit. And then everything was black again.
She awoke in a bed. It was a four-poster bed, in a light blue room. Everything about the room was light blue: the cushions on the window seat, the quilt and blanket on the bed were all the same shade. Her favourite colour. She sat up, bringing on a pain in her head. At first she wondered where she was, but then she saw who was sitting in the chair next to her. Patrick.
"You're awake then are you?" He smiled amiably. "You gave everyone a scare. How do you feel?"
She opened her mouth to answer, but instead of her words, the voice rang out of her mouth. "You fall for someone based on looks, you realise nothing of personality, nor of real love. For this, I curse you... now let us see what your beloved thinks of you, and whether she will still love you." As she, or the voice, spoke, Patrick began to change. His body began to mutate, and fur burst from his skin. He began to scream, a gut-wrenching scream of pure pain, over and over. She began to scream too. This wasn't what she had meant, this wasn't what she'd wanted.
Suddenly he flopped to the floor, barely breathing. She got up and bent over his still body. She wept for him then, as she had done many a night. Then she was flying across the room. She slammed hard into the wall. He was standing now, panting heavily, he turned to her, teeth bared.
"Don't touch me... you witch!" he growled.
She tried to protest, to tell him no, but the voice rang out. "I am no witch, I am an enchantress. You crossed me, now pay the price. This curse is indefinite, unless you can get someone to fall in love with you, and you love them in return. Before the last petal on this rose falls." Her arm waved involuntarily and a red rose appeared, glistening slightly.
"Well, that is no problem, I love Beauty already, and she loves me," Patrick spat out.
This time it was her own voice that said, "If that's true, why isn't the curse broken?"