The Beast

by Alianne Donnelly

  I should leave. Standing here before the closed portal, I want to leave.

  The door seems far heavier than it did the night before last when I finally push it open.

  Someone – Jacques, I believe – ordered the chambers to be cleaned. There is nothing in the anteroom now, aside from lit wall sconces and that broken mirror. It is covered now. I push the tattered velvet aside to expose the cracked surface. I have not yet dared to look into the main chamber. I want the reflection to lessen the impact of its appearance, but it does not.

  The monster’s bedroom is empty as well. Save for a pallet on the floor and wood enough to last the night, there is nothing. It resembles a cave; a wounded animal’s den.

  To my shock, he looks wounded. Curled on the pallet on the floor, swaddled in a torn blanket, he shivers. It seems he has not yet realized I am here. He looks so much like my Beast did this morning after the transformation, I feel compelled to go to him. I stop my feet from crossing the threshold. This might be precisely what he is waiting for.

  “Are you ill?” I ask.

  The man on the floor, looking utterly pathetic, opens one eye, just barely. He moans. “You again.” His voice seems weak. What is this? Some sort of elaborate trick? “Haven’t I run you out yet?” A massive shudder passes through him.

  “What is the matter with you? Should I call for help?”

  “Mind your own fucking business,” he snarls, but though his voice is cold as ice, I can see the effort it takes him to utter the words.

  I trace my steps back to the door. Louis is standing guard in the hallway again. I ask him to have a chaise brought to the anteroom. Within moments, two footmen come bearing the heavy piece of furniture. The monster watches this with seething hatred, but does not utter a sound until they leave.

  “Why are you still here?”

  It is the same question I see in every face and every set of eyes in this castle. “Because I love the Beast, and so I must learn to love you, too. You and he are one and the same.”

  He scoffs and it turns into a cough. “Is that what he told you?”

  “That is not necessary. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

  “Horse shit,” he says. “You cannot possibly understand, unless you feel it on your own skin.”

  I am becoming inured to his profanities. “Enlighten me, then.”

  That one eye opens again, mocking me. “Come closer,” he says.

  “No.”

  He chuckles and his body shudders again. When he speaks, his teeth are clenched and his voice strained, as though he has no control over his movements. “There is another way to break the curse. I’d bet this castle he hasn’t told you that.”

  He is toying with me. I know this, and yet I still strain forward to hear more. “How?”

  “By the simple fact that he and I are not one and the same.” He pulls the blanket closer around him, curling more in on himself. “Only one can exist at any one time and that moping bastard somehow managed to get the full month, while I have to make do with three days of it. We are each other’s obstacle. Get rid of the obstacle and the possibilities are endless.”

  “Get rid of… you mean kill? Kill one of you?”

  “Why do you think they chain me? It can’t be done by someone affected by the curse. But accidents do happen.”

  “You would kill yourself?”

  His laugh is pure evil. “Stupid bitch. Why would I do that?”

  I feel cold and put my feet up on the chaise like a little child frightened of the dark.

  He sees. The monster struggles to sit up, mirroring my pose, but even in his condition he makes it look much more threatening than weak. His eyes reflect the fire’s golden glow, making them look almost green. “So tell me, Savior,” he says the word as an insult. “Would you kill me to forever free the beast? Or would you free the man to reclaim his home and his life?”

  Chapter Five

  I do not see my Beast the next day. Or the day after, or the day after that. Not a glimpse, not one word. It is as though he is not in the castle any longer. Life goes on as it always has: The maids clean, the chefs cook, the gardeners tend the blooms and orchards. I am presented with magnificent feasts at each meal, but I eat them alone. I stroll the beautiful grounds around this majestic structure, but my step is heavy with loneliness.

  I have much on my mind, and I imagine my Beast does as well.

  But I hear the servants whispering. They will not tell me directly, no doubt for fear of their master. Nevertheless, on the sixth day, I learn the reason for the monster’s weakened condition on that final, awful night, as well as the absence of my host now.

  On my way to the library, resigned to yet another day without my Beast, I come upon two maids in the dining room. Their voices carry through the door and I quietly ease to it to better hear Jocelyn speaking to her aunt Aimee.

  “Why would he do it?” the girl on the verge of becoming a woman asks. “He could have died!”

  “The master is too clever for that,” Aimee replies, but I can hear uncertainty in her voice.

  “He must have known the lady Lyssette could handle herself with him. She’s done it before. She’s seen him at his worst!”

  “Child, it is not so simple a thing,” Aimee says patiently.

  I cautiously peek through the key hole.

  “Do not call me that,” Jocelyn says and stomps her foot. “I am not a child anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.”

  Aimee’s hands pause while smoothing the linens they are folding. She looks as though Jocelyn’s words hurt her. “I know,” she says. “But there are things you can only understand when you fall in love. It is not the lady Lyssette the master doesn’t trust. It is himself. It is because she’s seen him at his worst that he wanted to protect her from it.”

  “And so he poisoned himself to keep her safe?”

  I gasp, and my hand flies to my mouth to muffle the sound. My heart races and I feel faint. Poison? The word… the idea that he would do such a thing for my sake makes me ill. No, it cannot be true. Surely, Jocelyn is mistaken.

  “Leave be, Jocelyn,” Aimee says. She does not correct the girl. She does not offer another explanation.

  I seek the wall for support as my legs go weak. It is true, then. He poisoned himself to keep the monster docile. Did he… could he have known that his words are as much a weapon as his powerful arms?

  “But he could have died!” Jocelyn insists with so much feeling, it sounds as though she is on the verge of tears. She sounds the way I feel. Frantic, hurt, astonished that the Beast would do such a thing. She sounds as if she would race to his chambers at once to berate him for his recklessness, or perhaps to nurse him back to health.

  Aimee hears the same thing I do. “Jocelyn!” she hisses sternly. “You must stop this wretched infatuation. You know you cannot break the curse for him. Remember your place, girl! You’re a maid in the master’s household. Nothing more.”

  I wonder how long the girl has loved her master. Since the beginning? Did she love him before he became cursed? Did he make her believe he could love her back? Would he have loved her back, if I hadn’t come along?

  Jocelyn was always kind to me, as all the others were. She would be my chamber maid, had I not insisted that I do not need one. She is a beautiful girl, with golden hair and eyes the clearest green, like jewels. Any man would be lucky to have her. Many young men here gaze at her with longing, but she has eyes for none.

  None, apparently, except her master.

  I feel pity for her. It is no easy thing to love the Beast. How much more difficult must it be to love him, and know he will never love her back?

  I remove myself from the hallway; let my feet carry me wherever they will. My mind is in a daze, swirling with so many questions I know I might never get answers to. I think about every person here, and how long they must have waited for even a chance to break the spell. How many of them hated their master for being the cause of their misery? How many wished, even o
nce, that he would die?

  How many have loved him always, despite his flaws, choosing to see only the good in him, even when they had to imagine it to be there?

  I find myself in front of his chambers. There are no guards on duty today and the hallway is dark and quiet. I enter without knocking. As I expected, it is empty. I walk across the anteroom, and for the first time enter the monster’s bedroom. The chains lie in a heap in one corner. I hesitate to touch them. They’re stained with blood from his struggles to free himself.

  The fireplace is cold, a mound of ash and soot the only evidence of life. I pull the heavy drapes aside to reveal magnificent windows and a glass door leading out to a balcony. It overlooks the courtyard. From here, I can see the abandoned road for miles beyond the dark forest. I see my village in the distance. I think of my father, and my sisters. It has been months since I have seen them last. I pray that they are well.

  As I turn away, my gaze snares on a portrait hanging on the wall. It is ruined, torn to pieces, many of them missing. What remains of the canvas hangs in strips along the sides, twisted to hide their subject.

  I have seen similar paintings around the castle, set aside to be disposed of. Portraits of my Beast, and the man he used to be, each torn as though one part of him could not stand to look at the other. I can imagine him stalking through the castle, seeking them out to tear them apart. As man, and as beast, each refusing to abide any hint of the other’s existence.

  This one is different, I know. It has not been put away. It hangs in its proper place, a place of honor in the middle of the wall, where sunlight from the windows shines directly upon it. Why keep this one? What significance does it have?

  Curiosity compels me closer. If I move the pieces back together, will I see the Beast, or the man?

  With careful fingertips, I grasp each strip and uncoil it. The canvas is warped and does not straighten completely. If I force it, the paint will crack and peel. I see evidence that someone has tried to repair the canvas; by the looks of it, again and again. There are layers of glue on the underside, and some miniscule pieces of canvas still stuck to the backing. Whoever repaired this, only to have it destroyed again, took great care to restore it. With humble respect for such devotion, I hold each piece in place as I add new ones, so absorbed in my task I do not even look at the subject until all the pieces are back in place.

  I cannot believe what I am seeing.

  Neither Beast, nor man.

  It is me.

  Chapter Six

  A festival is taking place in my village today. Like so many times in the past, there will be colorful banners and ribbons streaming from every post. The baker will have his wares laid out on a table in the middle of the square to tempt passers by, and the musicians will stroll through the streets, collecting an eager crowd in their wake.

  My father and sisters will be there.

  I miss them.

  I wonder if they think of me. Do they worry? Have they already forgotten about me? Amalia and Marguerite are of marriageable age now. Have they found suitors yet, or does my absence darken their prospects. As the eldest, I know Marguerite must marry first. But Amalia was always the kinder one.

  I worry for my father. Though all of us love him very much, neither Marguerite nor Amalia have ever shown the slightest bit of concern over him.

  They do not see the way he sinks into his chair at the close of each day. They do not hear his weary sigh as he hangs his head for a moment before he tugs his boots off his aching feet. My sisters, so concerned about their own looks, do not notice the many wrinkles creasing their beloved father’s face, or the gray of his hair.

  Monsieur Lafarge gave me his word when I left that he would look after my family in my absence. I can only pray that it is so. The thought that there is no one to care for my father, to cook him stew and make his bed weighs heavily on me. I look around this castle, and guilt falls on my shoulders for being here alone.

  They should live in such luxury, not I. I’ve done nothing to deserve it.

  And today, it makes me feel so awfully alone.

  The moon is new tonight, and still my Beast has not returned. The servants tell me he has recovered from the poison, but have no answer as to why he still keeps away.

  I dream of him nightly. Sometimes I see him as a man, screaming his rage, fighting his bonds like a maddened animal. In those dreams, I feel that if I could just get close to him, if he would just let me, I could calm his fury. I could make him happy.

  Other times I see him as my Beast, staring at a picture I cannot see. The look in his eyes is despairing. He is surrounded by beautiful things, and people who love him and wish only the best for him, but he will look at none of them. Only that picture. He looks at it as though he yearns for it desperately, but knows he can never possess it.

  That is a strange vision. My Beast is the master of all in this place. It is all his. He has but to ask for something, and it is brought to him on a silver platter. So much wealth and bounty… Why can he not be content?

  I sit on the edge of the fountain. The sun shines down brightly, making the water sparkle like diamonds as it falls into the pool. Stone angels stand tall in the middle, other, playful ones sitting and leaning all around them. My gaze turns to the row of trees far in the distance. Beyond it, the road to my village. My home.

  I look back at the castle, my new home. I seek out a window high above. The drapes flutter closed and I sigh. He watches me, I know. I will him to come to me, but he does not.

  A thought occurs to me; one so horrible I push to my feet and run back inside. Jacques calls after me as I pass him, but I do not slow. My skirts make me trip on the staircase, but though I bruise my knee, I get up and keep going. My heart races and the stays of my corset feel too tight to take a breath.

  The corridor to the Beast’s chamber is dark again. I race to the grand portal of his chambers and bang on it with both fists. “Let me in!”

  The last time I was here, the man told me I can free one version of him by killing the other. I hit the door harder, and finally kick it. “Is it true?” I demand. “Is that why you’re hiding?”

  There is no answer.

  Tears burn my eyes. I look around for something, anything. The wall sconces are shaped like metal torches. I have to rise up on my toes to wrestle one out of its brace. It is heavy, but makes a satisfyingly loud noise when I bash it against that door. Like the creature behind it, it is immovable. But I cannot stop. “You monster! How dare you be afraid of me!”

  The door opens and there stands my Beast. He towers over me, his paws as big as my head and claws almost as long as my fingers. Still, he says nothing.

  I clutch the torch tighter, though my fingers are cramping. “How could you,” I sob, “for even an instant, think I would deliberately do you harm?” How could you think me such a beast?

  The Beast drops his gaze; it seems he has nothing to say. We stand at an impasse, on either side of the door that can be closed at any moment. We can each pass through and join the other. But we are both rooted in place, some invisible barrier keeping us apart. I want him to meet my gaze and tell me it was a lie. I need him to just look at me and acknowledge my presence. I cannot see inside his mind; have no way of knowing what thoughts swirl behind that fathomless, lost gaze.

  And he will not tell me.

  I can almost hear the man he turns into, laughing cruelly at his own jest. He has scored a tremendous victory.

  I drop the torch and walk away.

  Chapter Seven

  I can see the carriage emerge from the woods. Though I am smiling, my hands twist in my skirt nervously. That carriage holds everything I cherish in this world – my family.

  Jacques announces himself with a knock on the door and, “My lady—”

  I rush past him before he can finish. “They’re here!”

  The servants gawk as I run down to the grand entry hall, but they smile also. It is the first smile I see on their faces since the last full moon. Lo
uis opens the front doors wide and I run outside to greet my father and sisters on the drive, just as they are emerging from the posh carriage.

  My father weeps with joy at the sight of me. My sisters embrace me warmly, but their eyes are on the castle and its grounds. They’ve never seen such grandeur before. I take them inside and show them where I’ve been spending my days. I give each of them the same warning the Beast first gave me: Do not enter the west wing. They nod, but when I turn my back, I can see in the great mirror in front of me my sisters exchanging a conspiratorial look.

  Jacques sees it also. He inclines his head to me in a silent message. He will keep my sisters away from where they ought not be. I am grateful for his vigilance.

  When at last I have shown them all there is to see, I leave my family in the capable hands of the maids. They will show my father and sisters to their rooms and make certain they have everything they need.

  “A successful welcome, if I may say so,” Jacques says. He is courteous and obliging as always, but I can sense he is happy for me. These last few days have not been easy on me. Having been shunned by the very man I am meant to save, I thought about running away. So many times I came to the doorway with my cloak about my shoulders, only to stop. I am the greatest of fools. Even after everything, I still cannot abandon him.

  But that does not mean I will tolerate his treatment of me in silence. I smile, and it feels genuine. “It was, indeed. I take it as a good sign that they’ve not run screaming yet.”

  “Well, perhaps that will come later.”

  Despite myself, I laugh. “Do not dare jest about such things.”

  Jacques bows to hide his smile. “My apologies, Lady Lyssette. I am sure the master will be on his best behavior.”

  I hope so. My father has already seen the master of this castle, and it speaks highly of his bravery, and his love for me that he came back here. My sisters, on the other hand, have no prior knowledge of the Beast. And I fear their curiosity will lead to their ruin. “See that he does,” I tell Jacques playfully. “Or he and I shall have to have words about it.”