Winter's Rose ~A Beauty and the Beast Retelling~

The Two Curses

The night was eerily silent. The shops had been closed; the lights had been extinguished; and the children were fast asleep. The hum of the day was gone from the streets, the only thing roaming them was a stray dog hunting for scraps around the tavern. The celebration had finally ended, and the drunken warriors had finally found a resting place after a long year and a half of fighting.

The rebels from a handful of small hamlets had thought themselves powerful enough to overthrow King Henry, this was not the case, the rebellion was squelched almost instantly. However, the lives lost however had become a martyr, causing the fighting to be prolonged and countless lives to be lost. The war had ended on a battle field on the outskirts of the town, about eighty miles away. The town could hear the cannon shots from the field, and some townsmen could have sworn they heard the cheering all the way from the battle field when the rebels surrendered. The King's soldiers had marched into the now quiet town and celebrated until the early morning.

Rosalind had fallen asleep between her parents. Her brown hair spread out across the pillow. The soft breeze blew in from the window across the room and brushed across the faces of the dormant family. Her father's soft snores and her mother's soft sighs played like a score to Rosalind's dreams. Her older brother, Andrew, was asleep across the hall--he had fallen asleep after playing with a wooden sword their father had fashioned him.

The scream was what woke the town. A horrible guttural sound that tore the breath out of lungs. Her father shot up in bed and woke her mother; they looked at each other in dread, as the cannon shot shook the ground that the house rest upon. The sick chorus of screams now played the tritone in Rosalind's nightmares. Her father raced to wake Andrew, while her mother picked her up and carried her to the wardrobe. She set her down, and the cold wood floor bit at her feet causing her to grab onto her mother's leg in protest.

Her mother began striping the inside of the wardrobe of its contents and placed Rosalind inside. She went to step into the wardrobe herself when there was a bang on the door. Rosalind could hear the shouts and see the fear on her mother's face. She paused for a minute, before stepping out of the wardrobe. She began to shut the door of the wardrobe when Rosalind began to cry for her.

"It will be all right, my sweet child, stay hidden and stay quiet. Your father come for us," her mother cooed, as she shut the door. She could make out shouting and conflict rising outside the still-opened window. Her mother began to hum a soft lullaby to Rosalind as her father's shouts rose above the noise, and gun fire took its place.

The wails of neighbors could be heard as they called out for loved ones and mercy. The war was over. But the conflict continued. The attack had turned into a massacre. The warriors who had hours ago celebrated a victory now lay dead in the gutter of the street. The cobblestones were stained red. The people had recovered from their shock and have begun to fight back, but it was all in vein, they were outnumbered; out gunned. The cacophony of sound buzzed louder as the fight raged on.

Rosalind began to cry harder out of fear. Her mother continued to console her, until the muskets reached the window; where they took aim and fired multiple shots. The sickening cries of her mother were heard as the musket ball pierced her abdomen. Her white night gown now adorned in scarlet red. Her singing had ceased; like a canary in the mines.

The wood of the wardrobe splintered, as the wood cracked under the power of the musket ball. Rosalind screamed as the splinters showered her face. She could not see. She could taste the iron of blood on her lips. Her throat ached as she wailed for her mother and father. She could still hear the fight outside, the gunfire, the smoke, and the death. She began to panic. She felt as though the walls around her had begun to cave in around her and she began to press against them. Fighting the door, pressing her weight into the wardrobe door. It was stuck.