The Beast

Her butter yellow dress draped over the marble staircase and quivered in the breeze of the distant roars and growls. Her beautiful coffee eyes rippled with tears, they trickled down like drips from a shaking teacup. Her red, rosy cheeks faded into a pale ghost-like complexion, as if the roses behind her cheeks had withered away. Belle’s delicate hands grasped a gold, intricately designed mirror. Shimmering caramel vines enveloped the handle and climbed up the face of the mirror where elegant honey roses blossomed and twinkled in the dying candlelight of the nearby candelabra.

The face stared back at Belle, it was upset, it was hurt, and it was scared. Brushing her fingers over the poor girls face, she comforted her, told her it would all be all right. Belle’s tears fell onto the girl’s face and tapped the mirror surface, producing a small melody. It almost seemed familiar to her, like she had heard it before, like a tale as old as time. Belle wiped the mirror with the petticoat of her ballgown and curved her back up into a smooth S-shape like a feather duster. Picking herself up, she lifted herself off the icy marble stone and she tip toed down the grand staircase. Her heals made a faint tap every time she caught the floor, like the ticking of an old clock.

The ballroom was pitch black, besides the faint glimmer of hope in the corner of the room which danced to her melody. Belle curtsied, a deep arch like the neck of a teapot, she rose again to face the emptiness in front of her. Carefully, her arm wrapped around the shoulder of nothingness and her other arm looped around the chest of the damp air. She began to dance. Her dress swam in the ocean void and twirled as if it were a napkin at a grand dinner table. The mirror in her hand showed the face of a girl who had been broken, the bottomless teacups at the centre of her face began to spill over once more, they were chipped, they couldn’t fight the flood of tears which cascade down her face.

Dropping to the ballroom floor once more, Belle clung to the mirror and saw her reflection gape back at her. With a monstrous throw she flung the gold mirror across the floor and watched as the shards shattered at the rebound. The glass, although broken, would not show Belle a different image, her reflection was still more broken than the splinters of light that littered the stone.

Appalled at what she had done, Belle crawled along the floor to the battle ground of crystal. In a desperate attempt to remake her beautiful reflection she grabbed the shards and began to remould herself. Blood oozed from her fingers and palms as the chips poked and scratched her small hands. Piecing together her porcelain face, she prodded the mirror into a rough arrangement. An innocent girl didn’t stare back at her. Horrified at the sight, Belle screamed. What had she done?

Looking desperately at her reflection to change its appearance, as if a magic spell could transform her back to who she once was. As Belle looked closer, the glistens of glass almost made her eyes look a dazzling blue, like the sapphire dress she had once worn. She moved another piece into position, she saw big plum lips. She scooted a corner piece into the picture, she saw a tuft of hair coming from her ear. She shoved a shard into the middle, she saw a long, sharp tooth poking out. She placed the last chip into place. She saw a pair of horns coming from the mass of brown hair. The face stared back at her. The Beast was here.

Belle screeched. It was a terrifying sight. The face had no emotion, no humanity, no love, and no hope. As she stared at her own reflection, Belle couldn’t see herself anymore, only the beast she had become. Around the empty ballroom, scattered in remains, broken teacups, tea pots, candles, and clocks. Across her butter yellow dress, crimson stains of blood which varied in shades ruby to scarlet. Shimmering in those beautiful coffee eyes reflected the pain which soaked her watery gaze. Her red, rosy cheeks burned with the fiery rage which boiled inside of her. And the mirror which lay in her delicate hands where the image of a broken beast lay.

No matter how she arranged her hair, her makeup, her clothes, her smile she could never see herself as anything more than a worthless, unloved monster. She lay the mirror down upon the floor, lifted herself from the ground and walked towards the balcony doors. The night air was cool and breezy, it flipped her hair back and forth like a wave of surrender, the yellow ribbon in her hair blew in the winter’s coughs, the baby hairs which surrounded her face drooped in a mournful sigh. Belle stood at the edge of the balcony. Belle looked over the edge. Belle saw her future.

Suddenly, a warm hand grasped her wrist. Belle swung around in fright. In front of her were a pair of perfect blue eyes, both swimming with sparkling fishes. Taking both her hands in his caring touch, Adam lured her back into the ballroom, which was now alight with thousands of candles, which mirrored off of the broken china.

Adam looked at Belle, he leaned in close to her ear and whispered in a soft, adoring tone, “you are beautiful inside and out.”

A small smile crept across Belle’s sodden face, she beamed into his ear as she curled up to him. He cradled her in his arms and brought a small mirror out of his pocket. He placed it into her palm and gave her a reassuring smile.

Belle took the pocket mirror up to her face and stared at her reflection. There staring back at her was a beautiful girl with coffee brown eyes. All the years of seeing herself as a hideous beast, Belle could now see herself for who she was. A beauty.