A Collection of Stories

Beauty's Beast

"Are you ready, my lady?" the voice from the mirror asks.

The woman on the other side frowns. Her well-manicured fingers are tracing the scar running from her forehead to her bottom lip.

"Oh, don't worry about that," says the other, grinning widely. "No one will see it, remember?"

She nods, careful to avoid eye contact. The other's smile grows wider, menacing.

"Are you nervous?"

Silence.

The voice chuckles, the devilish sound echoing off the highly decorated walls and causing the candles to flicker. The woman winces.

"Awe, come now-how many times have we been through this?"

More than I can count.

Laughter again.

"You forget we hear our thoughts. How fun!"

She takes a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She rubs her hands to keep them from shaking.

"Alright, alright, enough games. Time to get down to business. We will wear the maroon dress tonight. The blood won't be noticeable on that one."

Her own red river runs cold, but her body moves involuntarily as she rises from the bureau and reaches for the stunning masterpiece laid out on the sofa. It shimmers and gleams in the candlelight. She slips into the dress with care; the fabric is soft and light-dangerously bewitching, while the train trails gracefully behind.

"Yes... yes! How beautiful!"

She twirls pouts, winks, and smiles at the reflection.

"Perfection. We are perfect, I say!"

Of course we are.

"How dare you mock us!" the voice thunders. "Sit!"

Her legs make their way over, and she drops into the seat again.

Let me go!

"Don't be a fool, girl. You know we can't do that unless-never mind."

The woman mechanically pins a charming diamond encrusted brooch in her hair.

"The dress won't be enough to charm our target. And we cannot rest our laurels on our face alone either, though the gods themselves ought to be envious.... No, we shall need... a stronger spell."

No!

"Yes!"

Please don't.

"Quiet! You're hurting our head with your shrieks. There is a special lip colour for us, and the tea we must drink for strength. It shall be a long night."

Her body rises from the chair, gliding to the table where a delicate set of china is waiting. The teapot's fixed smile is sweet, but her eyes are full of sorrow. Despite her trembling, her hands are steady as she carefully pours a steaming cup of red liquid with a candy-like smell. She raises the teacup, taking a moment to glimpse its tear-stained face. Her fingers gently trace the chipped spot before her lips closes over the rim.

"Good girl, now you may collect that parcel on the ottoman for us."

The package is rather light, carefully wrapped in silk. There is a cold hardness to it. She swallows the lump in her throat.

What is this?

The other smiles. "Open it and find out. We will need it for the task."

The woman steps back, but her grasp tightens over the object.

No. No, I don't want it!

Her hands peel away the fabric, revealing the most beautiful dagger she'd ever laid eyes on.

Dear God!

Its steel blade glints in the light and she runs her finger across the edge, releasing a steady stream of red ink.

Music wafts to her ears from somewhere below.

"What's that? Ah, yes... I think our ball has begun. In about twenty minutes, His Majesty will come for us and what shall he get?" The voice cackles wickedly. "Nothing!"

Don't do this.

"My dear, I'm not doing anything-we are!"

The woman goes to the mirror and with a shaking hand, applies a generous amount of rouge to her lips.

"Delectable."

Voices reach her ears from some part of the castle.

She glances at the great clock who watches her from the mantelpiece with a look of horror.

No.

Steps are resounding nearby.

The candlestick flickers near the glass, his scented wax permeating the air with aged lavender and fear. Her reflection stares back at her.

"We must kill the beast!"

No!

"Belle, ma chérie?"

His Majesty enters the darkened chambers. He meets nothing but blackened silence. He goes further into the room, his hand on the hilt of his sword, but suddenly stops dead in his tracks. His skin pales as his breathing becomes unsteady.

His beloved lies in the center of the room, forever enveloped in the hollow arms of death.

Shards of glass cover the bureau while the moonlight glints on the blade protruding from what only moments before had been a mirror.