The Enchantress now had so many books, charts and magical artefacts spread across every horizontal surface in the cottage that she had been forced to conjure up an additional room. Her usually magically-coiffured hair was tousled and the quill she gripped in a slightly sweating hand was dripping black ink onto unfathomably valuable magic tomes. Every now and then she swore violently and made something explode.
Thus far she had managed to rule out the position of the stars, the Prince-Beast's birth sign and the alignment of the planets as explanations for what had happened. She had read every passage on transformations and reformative use of magic in every book that alluded to the subject. She had used the magic mirror to send a message to every magical contact she had – framing it as a theoretical enquiry, of course. She had been searching desperately all night but the only conclusion was that she had failed. The prince hadn't changed.
But he had! She summoned up images of him in the mirror, from that Christmas when she had cast the spell on him until his wedding day. Anyone could see it in his eyes. He loved Belle. And Belle loved him. That was why the spell had broken. And they still loved one another, she was sure of that as well. She had measured it every way the magical community had ever thought of, short of cutting out both their hearts to see whether they fit together, as proposed by a rather unpleasant fourth-century warlock who didn't get invited to many parties. She had felt fairly safe in giving that method a miss.
But why, why had he failed the test?
She slumped on the desk, her head in her hands. This was ridiculous. She wasn't going to let this problem beat her. She wasn't going to be humiliated. She knew she'd done well, that the prince was a far, far better man than he would ever have been if she hadn't intervened.
Go back to the beginning, the last Enchantress, her mentor, had told her. Go back to the beginning and look around.
She stood up, seizing the mirror again. She set it down carefully on the table in front of her and climbed on to the chair. Concentration was required here if she was going to avoid smashing up a rare and expensive piece of equipment. She closed her eyes, muttering under her breath. When she felt ready, she jumped onto the table.
She fell straight through the mirror.
When the world settled down, she was outside the castle. It was a winter's night, cold and dark. She looked around and spotted herself disappearing around the round, jutting wall of the ballroom. She took a moment to prepare, then strode off after herself.
"It's twelve years ago," she said, aloud, invisible and inaudible to her former self. "I'm doing a final check, just making sure that this prince really is who I think he is. That he deserves what I'm going to do to him."
She joined herself at the window, watching the prince reject his Christmas gifts.
"Spoiled and selfish," muttered her other self.
She sighed. "I've really got to get over this habit of talking to myself." And then it struck her. That was it. Oh, goddesses, that was it! She watched, her hand over her mouth, as her former self ducked away from the window and underwent the awkward and frankly uncomfortable transformation into a hideous old crone.
Spoiled and selfish.
It all took place exactly as she remembered it. Twice, he refused to let her in. Two chances.
"Go away, you wretched old hag."
She remembered that that had stung. After all, it was still her body, even if she knew it was under a spell.
A showy transformation, this next one. It wasn't necessary to levitate and glow while changing back into one's ordinary form, but that had been her style at the time. She'd worked something similar into the curse she'd put on the prince. The follies of a young Enchantress. Maybe if she'd been paying less attention to stunts like that and more to the spell she wouldn't have cursed the servants too. It was a sobering thought.
"You have been deceived by your own cold heart." The echoing voice as well? Oh dear. Never again. "You are cruel and you are selfish. Until you have learned what it is to truly love another person, and to earn their love in return you shall remain in shape what you are inside... a Beast."
She had to look away as the transformation took place. It was horrible, even knowing that he deserved it. She wasn't sure she could do any of this again.
She knew what the problem was now. That wording – the whole damn spell, in fact – was wrong. Badly wrong. She had cast the spell so that the prince would see the error of his ways, so that he would learn to treat others with respect, regardless of their appearance or station or anything else. She had wanted to make him a better person. So why, why hadn't she composed the spell around that?
What she had meant was "learn to be a better person and you'll be free". But what she had said was "find love and you'll be free". That was what was wrong. When he and Belle fell in love, the conditions of the spell had been met and the spell was broken. But the test was designed to ensure that the spirit of the spell had been met, that the desired change had taken place. And it hadn't.
"You damn romantic fool ," she hissed at the other her, the one now blasting the rose into existence and explaining its function to the cowering Beast. "It's not the same thing at all!"
How blind she had been, to think that falling in love would utterly change his nature, as though one segued instantly from arrogance to selflessness on exposure to the curative qualities of True Love.
The prince did love Belle. Belle loved him. But she loved him in spite of his faults, the faults that were still there.
Spoiled and selfish.
The Enchantress snapped her fingers and the past melted away and she was back in the infuriating present. Somehow, she didn't feel any better for having solved the problem.
It's explanation time! Hope that made some sort of sense.