Belle is a maid living in service of a handsome prince who she falls madly in love with. Jealous of all the other women and angry at his refusal to notice her she curses him and turns him into a hideous beast. For years they remain together in the c...
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Shelves shake, glasses clink and smaller objects topple to the ground as I scramble around the room desperately searching for the final ingredient for my spell.
"Come on where are you?" I mumble.
Reaching far back into the shelf I blindly rummage for the jar I've been looking for over half an hour. One by one I dismiss jar after jar after jar. Too long, too short, too lean, too stout. One after the other, each bringing me closer to the breaking point.
"Pour l'amour de Dieu!" I sigh in frustration and move on to the next shelf repeating the process and sadly reaping the same results.
Eventually, I find it tucked far back in the last shelf. Rushing back to my table I sprinkle some of the jar's contents into the small, stone bowl that is already filled with the other ingredients I found. Using a heavy hand grinder I crush all the ingredients together into a form of powder. Since my last attempt at altering or strengthening the spell didn't work I scoured my book and managed to find the other one.
As soon as the power is ready I spread it onto the symbol I drew on the table. Reaching over the table I pick up a nearby candle, and a glass of water, take a deep breath and start the spell.
"J'invoque la puissance des éléments : la terre, l'eau," I flick drops of water onto the powder, "l'air," I blow onto the wet powder, "et le feu," I dip the candle and allow the flame to touch the powdder. "En tant que votre humble serviteur, je vous supplie de donner votre force à mon sort. Je vous supplie de m'aider. Je vous supplie de me donner de la force. J'invoque les éléments de cette Terre, aidez-moi s'il vous plaît."
I patiently waited for any sign that my spell was a success. I was hoping for a rush of electricity in the air and yellow sparks to dance around me. But, as the time ticked by nothing happened.
Sighing in frustration, I push my fingers through my hair scraping my long nails against my scalp. Anger rises within me and I have to bite at the inside of my cheek opening up the old scars to keep myself from screaming. Yellow sparks fly from my hands sizzling through the air. From the corner of my eye, I can see them dance through the air twirling round and round before eventually dying right as they touch the hardwood floor below.
Looking down at the book the overwhelming feeling of failure starts to surface causing hot tears to pool in the corners of my eyes. Using the tip of my finger I trace the cursive-style writing from the large loops in the ls, the elegance of the cs and every little letter takes me back to the day this spell was written.
The line of candles perched on a shelf light up the small room and the scratching sound of a quill harshly kissing paper fills the air. Sitting in the old chair on the far end of the table I curiously watch as my mentor scribbles a new spell in her book, the one I'll hopefully inherit once my training is complete.
