"Beauty and the Beast: Part 2: Beauty" by C. L. Corbin

For twelve years of her life, Beauty had not questioned how she lived. She never thought to ask Beast the many things that she thought of, late at night when there was nothing to do but question herself. She hadn’t ever known a life other than the castle, and this had never bothered her. Never until that day, on her twelfth birthday.

As for every birthday, Beast had his servants prepare a special feast for Beauty. Beast and Beauty and the servants were the only people in the castle, and that was how it had been for as long as Beauty could remember. The servants didn’t really count, though, as they weren’t human- or rather, only slightly human. They were very much alive, but they had almost robotic movement, slow and jerky and precise, and they had no features. Their faces were blank, without eyes or ears or a mouth or nose. Yet they moved and functioned and did everything a human could do, except that they could not talk. Beauty had never liked them, and she stayed away from them as much as possible, but there were so many of them to keep the whole castle clean and cook meals that it was hard to avoid them for long.

Every year the feast that they prepared was delicious- every kind of food Beauty could ever want was served. And every year she had enjoyed the feast immensely, and couldn’t stop thanking Beast for his kindness, but this year for the first time the feast seemed pointless. It was so much food, and only for her and Beast. Of course they couldn’t finish it all, and then it would just be thrown out by the servants that evening.

So, of course, Beast wondered why Beauty seemed melancholy as she ate her food. “I’ve been thinking.” she said, looking up from her raspberry meringue tart. “You taught me that all children have a mother and father.”

“Yes, that is true, my dear Beauty.” Beast said.

“Well, who are my father and mother, then? Because I know you are not my father.” Beauty said.

Beast chuckled. “And why do you think that?”

“Because we aren’t the same. Anyone could see that. I don’t look like you at all, and it seems to me that I would look at least partly like my father.” Beauty said slowly, thinking her words through as she said them.

“Well, no, I am not your father.” Beast said.

“Then… who is? And who is my mother?” she asked, her voice slightly alarmed.

Beast smiled and said, “Beauty, does it matter? Really, I don’t know. You have me, and aren’t I enough?”

And Beauty did not wonder again for five years.

When she turned seventeen, she again wondered about her parents. She was a very strong-willed young woman, and every day she asked Beast, for she had a feeling that he did know who her father was. One day, Beast took her hands in his and said, “If I showed you your father, my dear, would you be content?” Beauty’s heart filled with excitement and she vowed that she would be, that if she could only see her father she would never wonder again.

So Beast brought her to the tallest room in the castle, a room Beauty had never been in before, a cold room with large open windows and a horrible drafty feeling to it. In the middle of the room was a table, and on the table was the most ordinary thing……

A hand mirror. Nothing more, nothing less. It was plain and not attractive to look at, with a wooden handle. But when Beauty looked into it, she saw not her own reflection, but a man, a fat and jolly-looking man with kind wrinkled features and a balding head. He was sitting at a desk surrounded by papers and books and various pens and maps. He seemed deep at work writing with a scratchy feather quill, muttering to himself. Beauty’s throat choked up and she couldn’t speak. Could this be the man that she had wondered about for so long? Was this all she had ever wanted? Could he see her? Did he miss her? Did he know she existed?

“Father. Father! FATHER!” She cried out the words, but he didn’t look up. Tears filled her eyes and streamed down her face. She ran her hands down the mirror and knew that he couldn’t feel her, and more tears came. But she couldn’t look away from the mirror.

Then Beast came back into the room and he lifted Beauty up. “My dear, I never would have shown you if I thought this would happen….” He said quietly.

“I… I just want him to see me!” Beauty sniffed, holding the mirror in her arms. “Why doesn’t he see me, Beast? Does he care that I’m here and I’m his daughter?”

“I don’t know, Beauty. I wish I knew the answer. But you don’t need him, do you? You have me, and I love you, Beauty. You don’t need him.”

Beauty let out one last sob, leaning into Beast’s shoulder. “I want him to love me.”




***

Beauty hid the mirror underneath her dresser. She went about her life as usual, but every night she brought out the mirror and stared into its depths. Sometimes her father was eating, sometimes talking to people, and sometimes working at his desk. But most of the time, late at night, he was asleep. He did not have a wife. So where was her mother? Was she dead? Somehow, Beauty couldn’t bear to think of that. It was better to fantasize of her mother being alive than to think that maybe she was dead.

Each evening, Beauty and Beast sat down in front of a roaring fire and talked. Beauty felt bad for Beast- his voice always had a tone of sadness in it. He was lonely, but Beauty didn’t know why, because she was always there to keep him company. There was something he wanted, though, and Beauty could never bring herself to ask what it was. One day, they where talking, but they both stopped. There was silence, until Beast dropped down on the floor in front of Beauty and said, “Beauty, I love you. And I must know, do you love me…?”

It was the hardest thing Beauty had ever had to do, but she said no.

“But, Beauty. Why?” Beast asked, his voice filled with pain. “Is it because of how I look?” He ran his hand down his face, his fingers brushing over scars as he did so.

“No, Beast. I can’t love you that way. Please do not ask me such questions. Oh, Beast, I can’t take that!” Beauty watched as Beast wept, and she ran out of the room into her bedroom, burying her head in pillows. How could she love him? Did he truly love her? She had never had some one say that to her before. Millions of thoughts ran through her head. Questions, questions, questions.

And each night after that it was the same way. Each night Beauty said she did not love Beast. Each morning Beauty awoke with a bright red face, from crying through the night. Beauty could not keep going like this. So she did something Beast had told her she was never to do…. She left the castle.

Outside there were rose gardens that stretched for acres and acres, their smell soft against the scent of dew. Beauty had never been outside before, because Beast had told her not to, but it had been so easy, an opened door… And now she was here. The wind brushed against her face, and it felt cool and good, small blades of grass crumpling beneath her feet. Of course she knew what the outside looked like, because she saw it through windows, but she didn’t expect it to be so amazing. She ran through the neat rows of gardens, brushing her hands against soft rose petals, breathing in their intoxicating scent. It was like heaven.

After a while, though, she realized that Beast wouldn’t know where she had gone, so she knew she needed to go back. I may never be allowed to come back here again, though. She thought. So she decided to pick some roses.

She wandered around, plucking a rose here and there as she found ones that suited her taste, until she had a full bouquet of them in her arms. Then she headed back to the castle. Suddenly, a hand touched her shoulder. Startled, Beauty turned around and said, “I know I shouldn’t have come out here… Please forgive me!”

But the person in front of her was not Beast. He was a tall, lanky man, taller even than she was, and he had scruffy blonde hair and green eyes. He was wearing clothes that, at one time, must have been expensive, but where now nothing more than rags. He was so thin that he looked starved, but there was something about his face…..

“Rose.” He whispered, his eyes full of longing. He reached his hand toward her, as if to touch her arm, but Beauty drew away. “Wait, Rose! Please!” The man pleaded. And, for once in her life, Beauty was afraid.

“Leave me alone! I don’t know who you are!” Beauty cried, clinging to the roses she held.

“Please, my darling, please! Let me at least look at you!”

“NO!” Beauty cried, opening the door to go back inside.

“Wait! Rose, no! I’m your father!” He cried, reaching desperately for her.

“No you aren’t! I know who my father is!” Beauty cried, pulling away and stepping into the doorway, away from this pitiful man.

“Listen to me, Rose! Please!”

“My name is Beauty!” She cried. The last thing she saw as she slammed the door closed was the man, reaching towards her with an almost skeletal hand, his face so pained Beauty could hardly look. Then the door was closed and tears came down her face.

She ran to her bedroom and spread the roses on her bed. Out her window, she saw the rose gardens stretch out, and far below she saw the man walking away. He limped slightly, and he was hunched over. He looked so sad that Beauty almost put her head out the window and cried out for him to wait, but she didn’t. All she could do was wonder. Who was he, and why had he called her Rose? Was he her father? No, of course he wasn’t. He was a beggar, a sad, delusional beggar. Her father was a jolly, happy, rich man.

The day dragged on, and she saw no sign of Beast. Minutes seemed like hours as her head almost exploded with questions that she couldn’t answer. Maybe Beast could. After all, he was wise. He would know. He would know what to say.

At dinner, Beast was there. He looked tired and sad. “Beast, what’s wrong?” Beauty asked.

“You left the castle, didn’t you, Beauty?” He asked, his voice rough and sickly-sounding. “Why?”

“Beast, because you made me! You wouldn’t stop asking me if I loved you and I just wanted…. I wanted to think!”

“So you had to break my one rule? The only rule I gave you?”

“I’m sorry, Beast! Please forgive me! I didn’t mean to hurt you….” Beauty said desperately, but Beast wouldn’t look at her. There was nothing but silence.

Finally, Beast said, “It is over now. But, Beauty, you must understand that I almost died. I need you here. Please understand.” And tears ran from his eyes.

Beauty said nothing. She didn’t know what to say. So she said, “While I was outside, I met a man.”

Beast looked up at her suddenly. “What did he say to you, Beauty? Tell me, what did he say?” His voice was urgent.

“He said… He called me Rose, and he wanted to talk to me, and he called himself my father. I was scared so I ran back inside.” Beauty said, her voice shaky. Why was Beast acting this way? “Who is he, Beast? Do you know him?”

“I know who he is.” Beast said, standing up from the table and walking away.

“Wait, Beast! You must tell me! Please!” Beauty ran after him.

“You would not want to know, I swear to you.” He said.

“I do! Oh, I do, Beast!”

Beast turned around and looked at her. “Do you want to know?” He yelled at her. “He is your father. That man is your father. And your real name is Rose. Okay? Are you happy? I’ve told you!” He roared the last words and Beauty flinched.

“Wait. Then who is the man in the mirror that you gave me? If you knew that was my father, then why did you give me the mirror? Tell me, Beast! Don’t walk away from me!” Beauty cried.

“I didn’t tell you because he is sick! He’s dying, Beauty! I gave you the mirror to make you feel better and stop worrying. Your real father- his name is Nicholas- I didn’t tell you about him because he’s a beggar and he won’t live much longer!”

Beauty stopped. Everything sunk in. The man she had seen was her father. Her real father. And he was dying. There wasn’t much time.