No Rose Without A Thorn

Harris Augustine was not a rich man, but people seldom noticed this when they gazed upon him and his three daughters. The four dressed finely, moved gracefully, and turned their noses up to anybody who disagreed with them. Their porcelain skin and distinguished features marked them with a look of glamour, but their watery eyes and hollow cheekbones marked them with a look of mystery, making them unapproachable and little more than gossip to most.

The three girls, of course, felt none of their so-called mystery, and knew exactly what they were: spoiled rotten.

The eldest sister spent her days with her head in the clouds, having the privilege of not having to care about anything real or important. The middle sister spent hours simply trying on gowns of different colors, lengths, and styles. She prided herself on her figure and rarely could choose the dress that suited her best. The youngest sister, smallest of all, did little but gaze at her own reflection and pinch her cheeks to make them red. Different angles, different expressions, the youngest sister could sit in front of the mirror all day.

One day Harris announced to his daughters that he was going on a journey. "What shall I bring you when I return?" he asked.

The youngest sister requested expensive jewelry made of diamonds and pearls.

The middle sister requested new gowns of silk and satin.

The eldest sister requested only a rose.

And so Harris went away. As he traveled, he scoured markets and purchased jewelry of the highest caliber for his youngest daughter, filling suitcases with only diamonds and pearls. He had dazzling gowns sewn for his middle daughter, and filled trunks upon trunks with only silk and satin. But when he found himself close to home, only then did he remember his promise of a rose to his eldest daughter.

He came upon a tall iron fence with a looming, dark castle behind it. Harris was pleased to find that there were huge rose bushes with many blooms pressed up against the fence. Many of the roses were easily within reach, and Harris smiled at his luck.

It was the work of a minute to cut a flower. As he was tucking the bloom into his bag, though, a growl stopped him.

A hooded figure had appeared next to him when a moment ago there was no one there. The figure was enormous, dark, and intimidating, and spoke with a low growl. "You take from me with no thought of payment?"

"Who are you?" Harris asked, quivering.

"Suffice it to say I am the one from whom you steal."

Harris shook as he explained his promise of a rose to his eldest daughter. His clothes were dirty and his movements shaky. He no longer had the swagger and charm to turn up his nose.

"You may keep your stolen rose," said the figure, "but in exchange, give me the first of your possessions you see upon your return." He then pushed back his hood to reveal the gruesome face of a beast, all teeth and snout. Deep brown, toughened leather. A wild boar combined with a jackal.

"You have crossed me," said the beast. "You will die if you cross me again."

Harris, terrified, rode home as fast as his horse would carry him. When he was still a mile away from home, he spotted his eldest daughter standing on the side of the road. She was pink in the cheeks, so beautiful she seemed to glow. "We got word you would arrive tonight!" she cried, rushing into his arms.

She was the first of his possessions he saw upon his return. He now knew what the beast had truly asked of him.

Harris's body went cold. Freezing cold remorse sliced up his spine and settled in his lungs. Shards of his fingertips shattered and fell to the ground. His skull cracked; his brains popped and oozed. He held his warm, glowing daughter in his arms as he felt the regret slide through his veins.

And then what?

We all know that Beauty grows to love the beast. She grows to love him, despite what her family thinks—for his charm and his education, his knowledge of art and his sensitive heart. She sees him for what he really is.

And indeed, he always was a human. He was never a wild boar/jackal at all. It was only a hideous illusion.

Trouble is, it's awfully hard to convince her father of that.

Her father sees the teeth and the snout, the deep brown, toughened leather. He hears the low growl, whenever Beauty brings her new husband home to visit. It doesn't matter how civilized and erudite the husband is. It doesn't matter how kind he is, how his brown skin glows like his wife's.

The father sees a jungle animal, and his repugnance will never leave him.