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  Transfigured

  Teaser from upcoming fantasy thriller in 2014

  The Beast has changed back to a handsome prince, yet Beauty finds out that although some curses may be broken, they are never completely destroyed.

  Review from Beauty but a Funny Girl:

  In this story, happily ever after is not where Beast and Beauty ended up. The Beast is now a handsome prince - king?- but he is haunted by his curse. He stays in his own wing and Beauty stays in hers on the opposite side of the castle. He's the perfect husband ... in public. Beauty tries all that she can to connect with him, but he rebukes her every effort. After years of being in an unhappy marriage, Beauty finally takes things into her own hands.

  This story was beautiful and tragic. I thought it was the perfect length and really told the story of what happened after the curse was broken. It is far from the Disney version of this tale and really grasps your attention. It was one of the rare short stories where I didn't want more, as it would have ruined the ending and been too much.

  by

  Ava Zavora

  www.avazavora.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Ava Zavora

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition

  Transfigured first appeared in Belle Noir: Tales of Love and Magic.

  Some curses fade and leave nothing but the faintest mark, a tea stain on watered silk. There are those that are so malevolent that, upon defeat, explode in a fiery burst of sulfurous flames, burning everything they touch as they die. Others dissolve like morning mist in the brightness of the midday sun. Some cannot be defeated at all, but feed upon the energy spent trying to vanquish it, growing more and more potent with each failed attempt.

  And then there are those ancient curses with deceptively simple antidotes that shatter like jagged shards of a vast mirror.

  These curses may be broken, but never completely destroyed, sharp slivers of light distorted.

  “What would you like me to bring back for you, my pet?" My father had asked gaily before he made his journey. “Gowns, baubles, perhaps new shoes?" Outside the window, autumn leaves drifted in a shower of scarlet and gold. Soon the snow would cover everything in eternal white.

  “I would like a rose.”

  “What, my dear?”

  “Nothing. Keep safe and come home soon.”

  When he stumbled back to the manor that winter’s night, his face drained and pale from the knowledge of certain death, it was not solely out of duty or love that I chose to take his place.

  “It was for you Beauty, that I took this." My father had knelt in front of me, a small gold rose in his hands catching the firelight. “I did not think such a trifle would be missed."

  Words fell like thorns from his mouth-a terrifying beast in the woods, his great error, a demand for reckoning. He did not ask me to save him, but the meaning lay there, all the same, heavy and golden in his hand.

  Did I know what awaited me? Did I have fear? All I had ever known was my father’s world of preening nobles and petty jealousies, where my only worth, the lush fall of my hair, my jeweled eyes, the glowing luster of my skin-the sum of my extraordinary beauty was measured by the brilliant match my father had hoped for me. He had held me out like a prize rose and, under his calculating gaze, kept me in a glass case for a lord wealthy enough to satisfy his greed and ambition. My golden future had been cultivated for me; my father dictating what I should wear, to whom I should speak, how I should stand and sit to best be displayed.

  Across drawing rooms and banquet halls, amidst the swirl of silks and satins, I was paraded in front of and judged by endless eyes, treacherous, desirous, always watching. A swift intake of breath, momentary silence, then the glazed look of enchantment whenever I am first beheld. All look, whether they want to or not, and keep on looking, consuming me until only shadow and light remained. At them all I gazed silver and serene, reflecting back what they wanted most to see.

  But sometimes, in rare moments when I was left alone, I would slice my serene and pliant image with a few fine cuts of the blade on my inner thighs. A small revolt of red temporarily welling against smooth, white skin to be washed away, not even a hint of a scar to mar the surface afterwards.

  I had bowed my head to every demand made of me to the last, but still my father’s eyes only glittered with dreamt of gold. And gold it was that ruined all of his careful scheming.

  I was not brave, I was not honorable. I merely wanted to be free of the glass case, where I was watched but never seen. My father kept me closely guarded only to barter me to an animal. I laughed in silent bitterness as my father led me to what he believed was my doom. He barely paused at the gates before spurring his horse back home. I watched him disappear into the forest, not once looking back.

  Yes, I had fear, but with every step towards what awaited me in the blackness beyond the gates, and away from the constraints of my old life, I felt myself breathe freely for the first time. That I had so readily accepted my dark fate perhaps hinted at the darkness hidden in my own heart.

  That fate, when it was finally revealed to me the night I first arrived, in its hideous shape and form, surpassed my every nightmare.

  How my blood raced when you drew dangerously near—the threat of your gleaming claws that could have torn me to shreds, the promise of your sharp fangs that could have devoured me, the wild, musky scent of you that hinted of unspeakable things done in the cover of a full moon.

  It was only much later, when I was able to listen to your voice without drawing back in fear, then later still when I was able to meet your eyes, steadily, that I realized all along I was meant to face you. You were a dream I once had that vanished with the waking—a mystery and keeper of a secret that belonged to me. You were my one true reflection, as I was yours.

  “I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “But I must.”

  “You know how I would answer.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what it is that you ask?”

  “Yes.”

  “It will never be.”

  “I know.”

  “And still you ask.”

  “Beauty, will you marry me?”

  The doors were never locked, the gates always kept open. I could have left at any time, but I did not. I should have been in despair, alone in a ruined castle with only a beast as companion. I should have withered in fear, but instead something unexpected bloomed.

  “You are a beast in body only. Never forget that.”

  “But a beast nevertheless.”

  “You have a soul. I see it in your eyes.”

  “What you see is suffering. Even the lowest animal suffers. And the pain of every thing I’ve ever touched, every breath I’ve ever strangled, every life I’ve ever cut short will reside in me forever.”

  “I see the truth of you and it is beautiful, even in all its horror.”

  “Beautiful? How can you see me that way, when I am despicable even to myself?”

  “The same way you see me--past all that I seem. It is beyond magical.”

  I remember that afternoon in the rose garden, when you plucked a crimson rose for me. Its thorn had pierced you deeply. Your blood ran so dark, it was almost black against your fur. Scarcely knowing what I did, I put your massive finger in my mouth and sucked the dripping blood. Gasping, but unable to pull away, you looked at me in shuddering silence. The rapture I felt, with you
in my mouth—I could hear your great heart beat rapidly as your blood filled me.

  You slowly withdrew and as you turned around to leave, in your monstrous frame I could see how you struggled to restrain yourself. You left me there in my red-stained dress. The air was filled with the scent of musk and roses so heavy, I thought I would drown in it.

  To this day I can still taste the blood you left in me.

  I could not sleep that night and through the window of my room, I could see the full moon swell, white and milky. I heard you growling and grunting at the other end of the castle; you shook its walls with your restless pacing. I found myself outside your door and pressed against it, listening to what lay beyond. I said nothing, but you stopped your grunting. I heard you paw your way to the door and sniff the other side. Through the thick, rough wood, I felt the heat of your breath on my skin.

  Before I could call you to me, I heard you jump across the room and smash the window down. When I could no longer hear you running, I slowly walked back to my cold and empty room.

  In the morning when you did not appear, I went looking for you, past long-forgotten, dusty rooms full of shattered idols and broken mirrors whose fragments no one had bothered to sweep away. I found you in the northern turret, slumped and defeated. You did not bother to wipe the blood from your face.

  “You could stop if you wanted to.”

  “I am what I am. This curse that rules my body, rules me completely. It is out of my control.”

  “Not even for me?”

  “Not even for you."

  “And if I were to leave once and for all?”

  I waited for you to draw me back, to ask me not to go. I stood still, waiting for you to speak.

  With heavy effort, you turned to look at me. Had you asked me then, the question you had asked me every night since I arrived, I would not have refused you.

  “I will not stand in your way.”

  If I had not left, if I told you then what I felt, would everything have turned out differently?

  But I did leave. And when I realized that hearts can be cursed as well and rule just as mercilessly as any spell, I returned to you.

  As you lay dying in my arms in the rose garden where we once walked, the whole world dulled and darkened for us. I murmured every promise I could make, that I would never leave again, that I would stay for good and spend my whole life showing you who I truly was. My tears fell on your hideous face, where it mingled with the blood that soaked your fur.

  “I love you,” I whispered, heart cracking open with every word.

  Your eyes closed for the last time and silence shrouded us both.

  A sound followed like a thousand mirrors breaking-the world splintered in light and darkness-then something as intangible as a sigh, as fine as mist being released from a fractured vial as I held fast to you. A temporary ripple on the surface and then stillness.

  Perhaps I was caught in the trickery and distraction of a spell undone—the spring that finally came after a hundred cold and barren winters, the gleaming castle with proud flags unfurling in the blue sky where crumbling stones used to be, the armies of servants now at our command, sound and clamor filling up the years of silence, and you, shining in the sun, alive, transformed, so different from the other. Shocked with the noise and bright light of the glamour after, perhaps I did not notice, as I should have, just exactly how different you were.

  We live in that gleaming castle on a hill, a handsome prince wedded to his princess, each in perfect symmetry to the other, and we are envied for our life, which will be set in a story told for ages to come. But what will not be told is the price that needs to be paid, the lingering affliction of a broken curse.

  Day after day I wonder, “What have I done?”

  Countless courtiers and nobles in countless balls, the minstrels and the poets that pay tribute, all say the same, that I am the most beautiful woman they have ever beheld. Each time this declaration is made, your face is the one I seek. I meet only an inscrutable expression. It is there every time I catch your eye, which grows less and less frequent. The last time you have ever truly looked at me was the last time I held you in my arms, the last time any honesty had ever passed between us.

  I watch you, do you know that? I search your face in vain for any trace of the other. I watch you and take note of the what moves you, the breathtaking sunset that awed you, the red rose whose rich scent you feasted upon, the books you read avidly, and I note, too, how you turn from me when I approach you by the window, not even a perfunctory comment when I dress my hair in roses, shutting the covers and saying it was nothing of interest when I inquire what you read. Even an absentminded pat on the head that you would give to a faithful dog, you do not bestow upon me. I remain the rose underneath my father’s glass, perfect and untouched.

  You shield yourself with unfailing courtesy, and the exquisite manners that befit a prince, combined with your beautiful bride, the bounty of your land, the lords and ladies that bow to you and seek your munificence, have diminished in memory the many years you spent as a cursed monster. No one would dare mention your long exile or the rumored depths of your former depravity, dazzled by the brilliance of your court.

  The land has been reborn with your transformation. The fields are rich with overflowing harvest, more fertile than they had ever been in all the years since before the spell. Your subjects are grateful and happy and just as fertile as the land. Every marriageable woman in the kingdom it seems now has an infant on her hip--all except one.

  So if their prince has slight eccentricities, they are glossed over, or not noticed at all except by his watchful wife. No one remarks that the prince does not hunt as is his right. Instead, the poachers raise flagon after flagon, thankful for the abundant game.

  No one notices that although the prince will serve mutton and venison, rabbit and pheasant on his table, no meat ever passes his lips.

  Time and again I would watch you and look for aversion in your eyes to the animal flesh plated before you. Instead what I see I remember from what seems like long ago, the momentary, unguarded flash of wild bloodlust. I see the struggle possess your face when you think you are not being observed, the powerful animal hunger being forced deep down. How easily you could avoid any inner battle at all by banishing meat from your table, yet you do not make such an order. Your appetite rages, yet you do not, would not satisfy it, and in time, I have come to see, the struggle itself strangely sustained you.

  I hurry through the night forest alone, crunch of dead twigs and hard earth underfoot. I did not know the smell beneath the scent of pine and moss when my father led me through here that winter, but I recognize it now, that rot of flesh.

  I hear wild things moving between the trees but have no fear - I have been in the company of beasts before.

  There in a clearing is a solitary cottage, plume of smoke rising from the chimney. Through the window I see a lone woman stooping by the fire. She hears me and turns her opaque, cataract-filled eyes towards the glass, unseeing. She has been waiting for me.

  An hour later I stumble out and make my way home. Her words echo in the black night, the imprint of her talon-like hands still on my cheeks when she had held my face.

  “Such wasted beauty,” she had crooned. I did not ask her how she could tell. “You know what needs to be done. If only you have the courage to do it."

  It was a small matter to have your manservant give me the key to your bedchamber. On this night my ladies perfume my bath with petals from the roses that grew in our garden. My hair is brushed with a thousand strokes until it shines like gold and my skin is softened to silkiness.

  I gaze at the image imprisoned in the mirror, trying to see what you would see, and I realize I do not know what it is to be beautiful, anymore. With cold scrutiny, I can say that my reflection is more than pleasing. This is all I have ever known. This is all I have.

  I dismiss my maidens, then walk alone to your wing, which you had chosen to be on the other side of the castle f
rom mine. I unlock your doors quietly and walk in.

  Your chamber is cavernous and dark, except around the fireplace where a fire had been lit, bathing a small sphere in red-gold flames. You are seated in a great chair, your head back, your eyes closed. You did not hear the doors open, so I gaze at you for a few moments, my back against the door. I could look upon you all night, if only you would let me. On a table by your chair, I see the open bottle of wine I had your manservant leave for you. It is still full. Ever so softly, for my feet are bare, I approach you. It must be the scent of roses that fill the air as I come nearer, for at last you open your eyes. I had hoped that the wine would have dissolved the stone walls in them. I am arrested in mid-footfall and stand a few feet away from you, unable to come closer. You look at me in silence.

  “Good evening, my lord,” I finally say, my hands folded in front of me.

  “My lady." Your voice is measured and strained. You look at the wine next to you, then the key dangling from my wrist. You do not ask me why I have let myself in your room at this late hour, uninvited.

  I unfold my hands and untie the silk sash around my waist. I tremble as I let my robe fall slowly to the ground. Although I am near enough to feel the heat from the flames licking my bare skin, I shiver.

  You do not move as I stand before you. Neither do your eyes roam me, the way others do, even when I am fully clothed.

  “Do I not please you?” I ask.

  You breathe deeply, your eyes briefly closing. “You do not need me to tell you how beautiful you are.”

  "Need?" I ask, on the edge of hysteria, voice shrill. "What do you know of my needs?" You watch me, I think, fully resigned to hearing what I have to say. "I have been assured since birth that I am, indeed, beautiful," I say matter-of-factly, without any pleasure or pride, "yet my husband will not touch me." I kneel before you, searching your locked face. "Why?"