Beauty (A retelling of Beauty and the Beast) by: Robin McKinley

Chapter one - 200 years

Being a beast was the most repulsive living in the land. I used to live a grand life, being pampered and spoiled from the dirty work of those I live around. I was to be the next in line of many. I was to be serenaded by my father and mother with pride for how well breed I came to be. I had a life. But that's the thing though; used to, was, and had are all spoken in past-tense. I used to have parents, I was handsome, I had everything.

For the first couple of years all I did was lock myself in my bedroom, breaking everything, screaming at the mirrors, sob at the balcony that overlooks my mothers grave, avoid the wind that seemed to be my maids and butlers who were moaning for their grief of becoming the wind, and look at the mirror the magician dropped. The mirror was nestled on a small mahogany table I used to use for my evaluations over my to-be kingdom. But instead of paperwork, the mirror and a rose my mother last gave me on her birthday in a vase, occupies the table. I would sometimes look into the mirror but I can't understand what it contains or the strange images it outputs. I later find that it can look upon the present. A window to the outside world. I discovered this for I asked the mirror to give me a reason to keep such a deathly reminder of the one who has cursed me so. And remarkably, it has answered back, but not with words, with an image that moves, but never it replays the same motion, for it looks like it is happening now; continuously. It was showing of one of my wind-maids carrying a tea tray, just outside my door. I inhaled briskly as the wind-maid came in, as did the wind-maid in the mirror did. They both spoke in coalesce, both moved in coalesce, and both left in coalesce. I was utterly stunned and I felt like my paws were stuck with maple syrup to my spot. I was like that for a while, just gaping at the mirror for a long time.

The mirror didn't only do that, it emits magic, like it is pulsing a magical power to give the lone castle life. The candles in the halls and corridors light up when passed by. The table can set itself up without thinking about it, like it was it's sole purpose to do so. Even the food magically appears to my plate even though there's no chef that cooks. This has gone on for so long that I barely bat and eye when the lights flicker on when I approach them and hence-forth. 

One day, one of my wind-butlers came to make my fire in the fire-place. Invisible hands held and adjusted wood, rearranging until the pile deemed fit. I can almost imagine him nodding to himself.

"Well come now, I know you know I am a beast with enough mischief to blind the holiness of my life, so why do something so petty as making a fire for a beast that has more strength than 50 men?" I said, a little ruffled with him. Why do they not run away from this empty castle of ruin? Away from the past?

"Well you see milord, even though such a beast can have his own content with something, yet he can be as blind as an Ox, will we really leave a book we've barely tickled with, and yet not ever even wonder what the ending will be like?" he said picking up a book and flipping through the pages.

This gave me a question to either relapse to my past or find the maiden that could break this blasted curse. But who could ever love such an ugly beast like me? I told the wind-butler this. 

He only shook his head, or at least I can tell for he was invisible, yes, but he emits a certain aura my beast form detects, and said, "Blind as an Ox," and left me in my freshly-lit fire, leaving the book he picked up by my chair. I picked up the book, 'Browning' it read. I cradled the fragile book, re-tracked my claws and I flipped through pages and spontaneously landed on a page and read a poem.

A Face

If one could have that little head of hers

Painted upon a background of pure gold,

Such as the Tuscan's early art prefers!

No shade encroaching on the matchless mould