Beauty And The Beast

Prologue: The Beauty and The Beast It would not be accepted. Its piteous cries twined through the thick mist gathering in the vale and almost became part of the night’s aspect; it was a quintessential fearsome night, Reader, when one could not see but two inches away from their person and tree branches woke and grappled at travelers. It was the sort of night mothers would insert into goblin stories to frighten their young into good behavior, and early bedtimes. The creature dragged itself away from the growling female who could not bear its scent among her young, its blood staining grass and bush alike. Fear not for the little one, it was done no great harm, only scratched away. Cuts that warned of no welcome where it was different. Its mother had of recent fallen to a well aimed barrel and now adorned a modest cabin in -----borough. Now this creature may well have joined her for it moved towards the village, drawn, no doubt, by the numerous smells emanating from the place that promised nourishment. The village was of the small and familiar kind, residents knew too much of their neighbors and were wary of visitors. It was a clustered place of rambled design; houses of a myriad sizes were thrown together and divided by cart-wide winding streets of packed dirt. It was a forgotten place, hardly self sufficient by normal standards but what the eyes of ----borough had not seen, the mouths certainly did not water for. Again, the creature should have done so had design not caused a sudden and frightening racket to disturb the woeful sounds of the night. The jarring crashes were joined by much light – far more than this creature could bear then without bowing to fear – and from a doorway sprang a darling whose laughter soon mingled with the din behind her. Expletives of a most colorful sort were hurled out behind her in the half-hearted manner that a parent may chide a disobedient but much adored child and her laughter rang through the night in glee-filled peals. The creature, having demonstrated admirable courage in remaining to witness this spectacle, now tore away fearful that the creature before it may notice its presence. Now, Reader, you must forget this little beast. The creature at the doorway, however, you must note most carefully. A young thing of some twelve summers, it was a sprightly child whose parents had called it Adabelle for its remarkable beauty. And this child was certainly beautiful: a mane of burnished gold fell about a much remarked upon countenance; a straight snout inherited from its noble ancestors was endearingly small; a pair of jade eyes which were known by all to flash with mischief as quickly as they were to dull in reticent repentance; a slight figure that males found pleasure in towering over and some joy about her that drew even the most placid into animation that she may never be bored. Adabelle had no conceit about her, though; she scarcely took notice of her own beauty. Vanity was too tame an emotion for this one and frills and fripperies did not interest her. Not that she could not or did not have many – too many in the child’s mind – of both.

She was no beggar’s daughter – her sire was of above adequate means – but paid as much heed to her appearance as she did to her station which was little more than none; this point was now the bane of her mother who felt that she must soon join with a suitable mate as all others of her sex and standing had begun to do. Exploration had far more allure though than any mate could to Adabelle and she could often be seen scouring the forests in the hopes that she may spy some new creature to join her numerous trophies; she thrived on the thrill of a hunt and would often, to her mother’s displeasure, join her father in one of his searches for game. She stood now, if you will recall, at the doorway having just escaped physical retribution from her incensed sire. Some crime of hers had been discovered that she had failed to hide with the dexterity she had acquired over the years and her agility had just spared her the results of her laxity. Her mother muttered from within that she would be the death of her and her father, fur bristling, remonstrated in furious yet indulgent tones. Like times before, his daughter’s wrong-doing would be forgotten then, later, perhaps tomorrow for the night was in its dotage, she would come to his study the picture of penitence and he would recite some reprimands before drawing her into his lap. And there she would fall asleep while he essayed to look over account records of the mill of which he held partial ownership. “Come in Belle, can you not feel the coolness of the night? Or will you catch your death to cause me more grief?” “Oh Papa, you know I do nothing to cause you grief.” A sniff from her mother who, at a rocking chair, was engaged in a curious manipulation of needles, brought a smile to the imp’s mouth. “Nor Mama either. But I will only return if you promise to calm yourself. No more threats now. No, for I shan’t stand it and will scream quite loudly.” Do not think, Dear Reader, that the child is truly so spoiled; it is merely that she knows her parents are not in earnest and so she jests. “Adabelle, come in this instant! Or shall I fetch you in?” A grin was the only response this question gained but the child did, after playing much at ignoring the command, venture back into the house. “Close the door and come here.” Was said in serious tones and she acquiesced, moving timidly – for she could adopt this carriage at will – towards her pa. “Silly child!” Her mother chided from near the fireplace and Belle looked warily at her; she was within reach now and her bravado from the doorway was much diminished. She

peeped up through long lashes at her now fearsome father and attempted a smile of contrition. As always Papa was not immune and his features relaxed. “Child, go to your room. I will speak to you on the morrow.” He thought that he might as well preserve previous practice and preach in his office. Having escaped the night, the child ran to her mother and gave a quick kiss and a “Goodnight, mother Dearest” that won that woman over. Her father would not get such treatment; his promise of more scolding had exempted him. He was not hurt, only smiled at the peculiarities of youth and joined his wife at the hearth in a cushioned rocker opened at the lower back for comfort. Adabelle, already prepared for the night in a billowing garment wasted no time in clambering into her bed and was dreaming of a hunt in next to no time. xx Now, Dear Reader, let us leave this family and journey to the top of the vale where a mansion of gruesome feature looked upon the village in the vale. High walls – grey when light shone upon them – and much elaboration of the gorgon kind characterized its physiognomy. It was forbidding in aspect and the villagers of ----borough did not speak of it; its history was lost in the minds of the tiresomely wary elderly who had lived in its heyday. Now it was silent and the villagers preferred it that way – it had been ingrained in them from birth to fear the place and none of them questioned this judgment. But we must approach this daunting residence or we will be mired in the same ignorance as these villagers find pleasure in. And it is well we entered now for there is much uproar within and it is not of the laughable sort as was seen earlier. We will explore slowly for the noise does not seem likely to quit too quickly. The hall, if one entered through the front door as we have just done, is expansive and expensive from its deep blue and white marble flooring which stretches some way to its shining oak paneled walls upon which hung golden gilded torches which were now lit and still to its vaulted ceiling that bears such elaborate paintings as to decorate a cathedral of one of the ancient cities. An exquisitely carved wide marble staircase splits at its top leading to two wide, well polished twin doors. Now I shall satisfy your curiosity by taking the set to the left and following the din. Passing through these doors we find a richly carpeted passage lined with twelve doors of which only one was opened. Chandeliers of fine crystal and gold light the way and we tiptoe towards the open door from whence comes the loud wailing. The door is one of the last and it is lucky that the rest remain unopened lest we be caught by a resident before our adventure is finished.

We reach the door and, having taken a bracing breath, peer within. Shock draws us back as well as a small amount of fear but the image remains. In the room – it was large room of ostentatious design – there was a bed and upon the bed there was a boy and around the boy…here one must falter to describe…but no…we shall draw all. Around the boy, there were the most horrifying creatures one may hope to meet. Hairless, skinny limbed beasts whose power lay in their heads, they were garbed in strange clothing that clung to their torsos. They spoke in a garbled tongue that was impossible to decipher and they seemed to be trying to calm the boy. He screamed and fought their best efforts in earnest, clawing at their thin skin whenever it chanced to come within his grasp. Fine lad! They must have stolen him! It is insupportable! But we must run away lest they discover our presence. We have seen a sight and now must end the night away from this place. xx Now this area, this chunk of earth is a curious undulating place; there is the river which surrounds all, one mountain after which is the vale where lies ----borough, the highest peak of the landmass upon which is the mansion we have just vacated and then, on the other side, there is a valley, one more mountain and the rest of the surrounding river. The valley is our next destination and where we shall rest for the night. --shire is a quaint place of quaint buildings and quainter people. Gingerbread houses line swept cobblestone roads lit by flickering fires in pretty lampposts and the careful arrangement of the village placed a steeple-topped meetinghouse at the center. Order and beauty reigned. Silence would have too had not one house been proclaiming loudly one name “Gryffith.” The house lies near the edge of the village close to the river and blazes with light where its neighbors’ remain silent and resist the impulse to announce their alertness. We must enter this house. Within – it is a simple place of necessary furnishings that betake wealth neither wealth nor poverty – there is a woman from whom the exclamations are coming. She weeps with wrenching emotion and rolls about on a carpet in the center of what must be the parlor. Her cries are not so unusual as her watchers; five or six night-gowned children of ages from four to twelve surround her and seem interested in her demonstrations. There is not much betrayed by their countenances, perhaps some surprise but not too much, but their eyes seem fascinated by the display. The look is as one would give a circus beast in the middle of its paces. And then there is the man. He sits at a desk which seems a branch of his office with papers, quills and inkwells covering it. Groomed and well prepared for the night, he ignores the cries and gyrations and appears absorbed in a document which he peruses and, upon occasion, corrects. Some minutes pass and he looks finished with the paper. He stands, glances at the wailing woman, and at his children. The latter scatter and scurry out of the room, perhaps, to their beds. He addresses the woman. “Cease these dramatics, Fifine. The boy is gone and that is all.” His words elicit cries that do not appear to have heard him.

“I will leave now for bed. Do not disturb us with sobbing or I shall be forced to silence you myself.” Exit man. There is the faint whisper of that name and then the quiet gasps that signal the end of a good cry. We must leave now, Dear Reader. Some lights have been switched off and from, The Wild Man, ----shire’s one inn, silence appears to have once more seized power.