Previously in this series: Love You Forever. Original text by Jeanne-Marie LePrince de Beaumont.
There was once a rich merchant, who had three daughters. Being a man of sense and careful daughter-husbandry, he kept them well, for he always made money on his investments. The girls were exceedingly handsome, particularly the youngest. When she was little everybody admired her, and called her “The little Beauty;” so that, as she grew up, she still went by the name of Beauty, which made her sisters very jealous.
She would answer to no other name. She did not know how to protect herself from the envy of others, which is to say she did not know how to survive. Instead she read books.
The two eldest had a great deal of pride, because they knew their own worth. because they were rich. They went out every day to parties of pleasure, balls, plays, concerts, and so forth, and they laughed at their youngest sister, and they made themselves happy. They answered to their given names.
All at once the merchant lost his whole fortune, excepting a small country house at a great distance from town, and told his children with tears in his eyes, they must go there and work for their living.
Beauty at first was sadly grieved at the loss of her fortune; but she had ever found that if she made herself smaller, life would trouble her less. Beauty rose at four in the morning, and made haste to have the house clean, and dinner ready for the family. No one paid her for it, and no one thanked her for it, either, and so gradually she ceased to think of it as work and began to think of it as her nature. She expected it from herself as others expected it of her, and who can be grateful for what is supposed to come naturally?
After she had done her work, she read. Reading was, as ever, her great comfort. And still she only answered to Beauty. Her reasons were her own.
The family had lived thusly for about a year, when the merchant received a letter with an account that a vessel, on board of which he had effects, was safely arrived. This news had liked to have turned the heads of the two eldest daughters, who when they saw their father ready to set out, they begged of him to buy them new gowns, headdresses, ribbons, and all manner of trifles; but Beauty asked for nothing, for Beauty had ceased to think of herself. The house’s needs were her needs; the family’s comfort was her comfort. As she never thought of herself, no one thought of her; as she asked for nothing, no one brought her gifts.
“What will you have, Beauty?” said her father.
“Since you have the goodness to think of me,” answered she, “be so kind to bring me a rose.” It was a greater inconvenience disguised as a simple request. In trying not to think of herself, she burdened everybody.
Her father went on his journey. There were taxes and disputes and contentions for the merchandise, and after nearly coming to blows with envious men, he returned home, as poor as he had been when he left.
He was within a few day’s journey of home when he found himself lost in a dark forest. It rained fiercely on his head, and the wind rode so high that it threw him from his seat. As night fell, he heard the heavy pad of paws behind him and heard the hot breath of beasts beside him.
He perceived a light through a corridor of pines and rode toward it, finding himself at the entrance to a great fortress, flooded from top to bottom with light but devoid of movement.
He found no one inside the gate, but tied his horse within the stable and ventured indoors, where he was met with a large hall, and a blazing fire, and a full table, and empty chairs. He had forgotten to be wary of hospitality with no host, and drew near the fire to warm himself, congratulating himself on his narrow escape.
“I hope,” said he, “the master of the house, or his servants will excuse the liberty I take; I suppose it will not be long before some of them appear.”
He waited a considerable time, until it struck eleven, and still nobody came. At last he was so hungry that he could stay no longer, but took a chicken, and ate it in two mouthfuls, trembling all the while. After this he drank a few glasses of wine, and growing more courageous he went out of the hall, and crossed through several grand apartments with magnificent furniture, until he came to a garden.
Passing through an arbor of roses he remembered Beauty’s request to him, and gathered a branch on which were several; immediately he heard an unfriendly and an unwelcome noise, and saw such a frightful Beast coming towards him, that he was ready to faint away.
“You are very ungrateful,” said the Beast to him, in a darkling voice; “I have saved your life by receiving you into my castle, and, in return, you steal my roses, which I value beyond any thing in the world, but you shall die for it. I give you but a quarter of an hour to prepare yourself, and say your prayers.”
The merchant fell on his knees, and lifted up both his hands, “My lord,” said he, “I beseech you to forgive me, indeed I had no intention to offend in gathering a rose for one of my daughters, who desired me to bring her one.”
“My name is not My Lord,” replied the monster, “but Beast; I don’t love compliments. I like people to speak as they think; and so do not imagine I am to be moved by any flattering speeches. But you say you have got daughters. I will forgive you, on condition that one of them come willingly, and suffer for you. Let me have no words, but go about your business.”
The merchant was loath to part with any of his daughters to this monster, but he loved his own life, and fathers have given their daughters to monsters before. His decision caused him great grief, but never so great that he would have amended it. He took his horse from the stable and left the palace with a heavy heart and a heavier step.
Once home, his children thronged round him, but instead of returning their embraces, he looked upon them, and holding out the rose-branch in his hands, he burst into tears.
“Here, Beauty,” he said, “take these roses, but little do you know how dearly they will cost you and me.” He then related to them what had passed on the road. Immediately the two eldest set up lamentable outcries, and said all manner of ill-natured things to Beauty, who did not cry at all.
“See the little willful thing,” they said, “she would distinguish herself from us, and in the getting of a flower she has traded our name and our happiness. Our father will surely die of shame, and yet she does not so much as release a single tear.”
They did not think to blame their father, and, sorry as he was, he did not think to blame himself either.
“Can I bring my books with me?” Beauty asked, and no one objected, which was the closest she ever came to hearing Yes.
***
The horse took the direct road to the palace, and towards evening they saw it lit up like a furnace. The palace threw off such a great heat from the enormous fires stoked in each room that it melted the snow in a great ring around it.
The horse put itself in the stable, and the merchant and his daughter put themselves into the great hall. The table was set beautifully. The merchant had no heart to eat, but Beauty soon overcame his objections and convinced him to serve himself. A man who truly believes himself to be worthy of something will not punish himself overlong; Beauty’s father was no exception.
There was the heavy pad of paws in the hall, and the heavy breath of something in the doorway, and then the Beast was with them.
“Have you come willingly to me?” the Beast asked her. “Have you come of your own accord?”
“Ye — e — es,” she said, trembling. Her “no” wore the shape of a “yes,” and this lie was good enough for everyone involved.
The Beast responded, “Good.” He turned to her father. “Man, go your way tomorrow morning, and never think of coming here again.” The Beast moved, and then there was the heavy breath of something in the doorway, and then there was the heavy pad of paws on the stairs, and then there was nothing.
“Oh, daughter,” said the merchant, embracing Beauty, “I am almost frightened to death, believe me, you had better go back, and let me stay here.”
It did not count, and he did not mean it, but still he took credit for the making of the offer.
Her father could not help from crying as he left, but who can cry forever? And who can feel sorry forever? And who will not eventually excuse himself of guilt, if he lives long enough? Life held enough distractions that he quickly enough found pleasure in freedom, and did not wish to undo the trade he had made. And still he had two other daughters.
After he left, Beauty picked up one of her books, and pointed her face at it, and turned the pages, almost as if she were reading it. She was sick and hot from the nearness of the fire and the nearness of her fear.
***
As soon as he was gone, Beauty sat down in the great hall, and fell a crying likewise; but as she was mistress of a great deal of resolution, she recommended herself to God, and resolved not to be uneasy the little time she had to live; for she firmly believed Beast would eat her up that night.
Not all Beasts eat you up in a single night. Some Beasts devour by pieces, and still others make you consume yourself.
However, she thought she might as well walk about until then, and view this fine castle, which she could not help admiring; it was a delightful pleasant place, and she was extremely surprised at seeing a door, over which was written, “Beauty’s Library.” She opened it hastily, and was quite dazzled with the magnificence that reigned throughout; but what chiefly took up her attention, was a sweeping set of shelves bearing books the names of which she had never learned, a harpsichord, and several dozen music books.
“Well,” she said to herself, “perhaps I will be permitted some small pleasures here before I am killed.”
She noted with some surprise that the books she had brought herself were already shelved among the others, although she had not put them there herself.
Then she thought: “If I were going to be killed, the Beast would never have gone to such trouble creating a place for me.” This consideration filled her with courage, and she took a book from the shelf, and read these words, in letters of gold:
The library is yours.
The books are mine.
Your eyes are your own.
What you read is up to me.
Beauty thrust the book back onto the shelf and sat on her bed. She did not move for some time.
At noon she found dinner ready, and while at the table, heard an excellent concert of music, though without seeing anybody. I will have distractions but no companions here, she thought to herself. I will be left alone but given no privacy. She found that her hand shook so that she could not bring the fork to her lips. She found she laughed without meaning to. She found herself counting footsteps in the hall. She found herself looking at her feet rather than looking at her books.
“The books,” she heard. “Not yours.”
At night, as she was going to sit down to supper, she heard the noise Beast made, and then he was in the chair beside hers. “Beauty,” said the monster, “will you give me leave to see you sup?”
“That is as you please,” answered Beauty.
“No,” replied the Beast, “you alone are mistress here; you need only bid me gone, if my presence is troublesome, and I will immediately withdraw.”
“If I am mistress here,” Beauty asked without looking at him, “why am I mistress of a library of books I cannot read?”
“Why, Beauty,” he said lightly, tilting her chin so that she had nowhere to look but at him, “you are mistress of the house, and I am master of everything in it.” He dropped her chin and left his paw in her lap. It lay there like a dead thing. “Tell me,” he said, “do not you think me very ugly?”
Beauty said nothing.
“Come, you are mistress of your own voice; speak,” said the Beast.
Beauty opened her mouth.
“But remember I am master of all the words spoken in this house,” he said, taking her hands and pressing them tightly. “Remember that.”
“I think nothing of the kind,” she said.
“You may go to bed,” he told her, smiling. “I will eat your dinner for you.”
Beauty rose to leave. “Please endeavor to amuse yourself in your palace,” the Beast said after her, “for everything here is yours, and I should be very uneasy, if you were not happy.”
Beauty had nothing to say to that. She went to her bed and laid herself down in it.
***
“You have not been in your library yet today,” the Beast said the next week at supper. “Does it displease you?”
Beauty heard the command hiding within the question, and sat among the books all afternoon. She did not open the books. She did not open the curtains. She let the hours pass themselves over her.
That night at dinner, the Beast was especially kind. He heaped her plate with every kind of delicacy, and she ate them all.
Afterwards, he asked her: “Beauty, will you be my wife?”
She was some time before she dared answer, for she was afraid of using words that he did not want her to. At last, however, she said, “No.”
Immediately he got up and put out the fire in the hearth. “Good night, Beauty,” he said, as cheerful as ever. “Sleep well.”
That night, long after Beauty went to bed, she heard heavy steps in the hall outside her door. When she woke in the morning, every fire in the house had been extinguished, and the carpets and the drapes were full of smoke. When she went to the library, she saw the name of every one of the books had been smudged away with ash, black and nameless and eyeless.
***
The next night at dinner, the Beast stood in the doorway before entering the room. “Beauty,” he said kindly, as if to an untrained dog, “these chairs are for my wife. Are you my wife?”
“No, Beast,” she said.
“Then have you any right to sit on that chair?”
“No, Beast,” she said.
“Then where do you think you should sit, Beauty?”
Beauty took her plate and sat on the floor.
***
Beauty spent three months in the palace. Every evening Beast paid her a visit, and talked to her. And every night, before she went to bed, he always asked her, if she would be his wife.
One day she said to him, “Beast, you make me very uneasy, I wish I could consent to marry you, but I am too sincere to make you believe that will ever happen; I shall always esteem you as a friend, endeavor to be satisfied with this.”
“I must grieve, then,” said the Beast, “for, I know too well my own misfortune, but then I love you with the tenderest affection. If you will not marry me, perhaps I will die of grief.”
Beauty worked very carefully not to change the expression on her face.
“If you do not marry me,” the Beast said, “it might kill me, and then this house would have no master, and you would belong to no one.”
That night, Beauty took her covers and slept underneath her bed, and drew a blanket over her eyes. And she did not come out. And the Beast paced the halls, and he called after her, but he could not find her.
“Your poor Beast shall die of grief,” he said to her.
Beauty blushed at these words, but she did not come out.
“I would happily die,” the Beast said, “rather than cause you a moment’s unease. Is it your wish that I should die, Beauty?”
And Beauty said nothing, and she did not come out.
After three days, there were no steps in the hall, and there was no breath in the doorway, and Beauty came out. And there was no sign of the Beast anywhere in the house, and all of the fires were lit.
And Beauty went into the library, and sat down in it. She did not touch the books, for the books were still not hers, no matter how dead the Beast was. She was mistress of the house, but nothing in it was hers, not even herself, and perhaps she is sitting there still.
Tags: beauty and the beast, books, children’s stories made horrific
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“fathers have given their daughters to monsters before.”
Shivers.
“But remember I am master of all the words spoken in this house,” he said, taking her hands and pressing them tightly. “Remember that.”
That’s the bit that creeped me out the most. Just…*shudders*
oh man OH MAN i love this a lot
Tale as old as time.
They did not think to blame their father, and, sorry as he was, he did not think to blame himself either.
I’m so much angrier at the merchant than at the Beast.
At least everyone knows to be afraid of the Beast.
The merchant is pitied and consoled as a victim.
This is exactly what I didn’t even know I was in the mood for today.
The scariest thing is that this isn’t a fairytale
“Not all Beasts eat you up in a single night. Some Beasts devour by pieces, and still others make you consume yourself.”
This really…wow. Wow.
That was the first bit that sent shivers down my spine.
eeeyup
Yes thank you this was PERFECT and I just sat and stared at it for a moment.
“His decision caused him great grief, but never so great that he would have amended it.”
Of course.
Holy shit that was terrifying.
Oh man. So this does an incredible job at pulling out a lot of things that are subliminal in the 18th century French version, but this part really spoke to me most:
Beauty at first was sadly grieved at the loss of her fortune; but she had ever found that if she made herself smaller, life would trouble her less.
girl I know that feel.
yuuuuuuuup me too
Was the original version not horrible enough?
Remember, kids, your parents could sell you to a monster or abandon you in the forest AT ANY TIME.
The original was totally a Nice Guy story. Just ask her to marry you every night, over and over and over, insinuate yourself into her life until she has a hard time imagining life without you, and voila!
Basically that old XKCD strip – “In a moment of weakness, and loneliness, you’ll give in…You’ll quietly revise your definition of love and try to be happy.”
And that passed for a fairy tale ending.
Well, “Nice Guy” for certain values of “Nice,” taking into account the whole deal about imprisoning her and threatening to murder her father for no good reason. Insinuating yourself into her life is a lot easier when she can’t escape.
This version is certainly also excellently and pointedly horrifying. It reminds me powerfully of Tanith Lee by way of Lucy Clifford.
That XKCD strip is on point.
It’s an ode to Stockholm Syndrome.
Going in place of her father was Beauty’s decision, at least. She had a little tiny sliver of agency.
It was in the Disney version and in Robin McKinley’s version, but I don’t believe it was her decision in earlier iterations. *disappears down Internet rabbit-hole to investigate*
It definitely is her choice in the original version by Madame de Beaumont (here). This is the rare fairy tale that has an author, though it makes use of structures and ideas that have been around since at least Cupid and Psyche.
Beauty’s decision to go can be seen a lot of ways: she’s making a choice to grow up and leave her family, she’s making a choice to forgo the chance of a conventional future, she’s making a choice to save her father, she’s making a choice that warps the direction of familial loyalty (fathers sacrificing daughters for their own interests is ancient but also anciently horrible; consider Clytemnestra’s rage at Agamemnon for sacrificing their daughter Iphigenia).
It’s so interesting re-reading this. (Thank you for the link!) I guess I always have, in my mind, conflated “the Beast demanding one of the merchant’s daughters” with “the daughter not really getting to make a choice”.
On re-reading I see that technically she does, since there’s a loophole that the merchant may himself return in three months. So yes, she is offering to go in her father’s stead. But the story says outright that the merchant had no intention of returning, so I still feel like the merchant passive-aggressively placed her in a position where she *had* to make this offer.
It’s like a husband who makes a trade with a neighbor. The neighbor will mow the husband’s lawn this month, and the husband will mow the neighbor’s lawn next month. The husband happily allows the neighbor to mow his lawn for now…then the next month comes around and he waits, and waits, and waits. Eventually everyone realizes that he had no intention of mowing his neighbor’s lawn like he agreed. So eventually, his embarrassed wife decides to mow the neighbor’s lawn instead.
Did the wife *choose* to mow the lawn? Or was she the pawn of a deal that someone else made, and felt that she had no other choice?
(It’s ridiculous that I’m responding to your classical references with a suburban lawn-mowing dilemma.)
It’s not ridiculous! One weird thing about fairy tales, even literary fairy tales like this one, is that the characters tend to be sort of flat, like there’s a lot you can read into their actions but they don’t have richly portrayed inner lives. It’s all event-event-event, the sort of thing you can remember the next time you tell the story aloud. So, using your example, there’s room to ask, is the wife concerned about tidiness and the homeowners’ association? Is she concerned about promises and honor? Is she concerned about avoiding revenge? The outline of events tells us she’s not the same character as someone who would laugh at the idea of mowing a lawn, or someone who would decide to leave her husband and marry the neighbor, but there are still a lot of different people she might be.
Anyway, that’s how I tend to approach fairy tales. There’s a lot of history and a lot of cultural stuff embedded in the story, but there’s also a lot of openness and potential. Our heritage is problematic but it’s also ours to use as we need it. Beauty’s decision to leave her family is a bizarrely life-affirming act of faith for me; it’s not that for everyone.
This answer made me want to revisit more fairy tales. Thank you for the conversation! I’m literally going to go peruse the Brothers Grimm now.
basically anything Jack Zipes writes about fairy tales is interesting, imo, but he was my introduction to the meta stuff.
“from the beast to the blonde: on fairy tales and their tellers” is a very thought-provoking (and long) monograph about cultural context of the stories and what they might have meant to the tellers/listeners, and how they both upheld and resisted cultural patriarchy, but tbh I think the author stretched too far with many of her claims or ignored actual facts in favor of literary criticism in a few too many places, and the organization is a little clumsy/meandering, which makes it difficult to keep track of what her arguments are in any given section. but still worth a read if you’re interested, and she did help me to think about the stories from different angles.
ACK. It’s just as well you don’t write serious things more often; it would surely kill me if you did. This is *terrifying*.
“In trying not to think of herself, she burdened everybody.”
oh
OH
….upon finishing this piece, that is no longer nearly the most striking part. The Beast’s methods of controlling are terrifying.
Jesus, Mallory. (Never stop writing horrifying children’s stories, they are my favorite.)
I am so, so glad this version doesn’t glorify the Beast’s control over Beauty. If she ever did come to care for him, it would be Stockholm syndrome, because where was she supposed to go?
oh my goodness this is incredibe
Oh my GOD.
It’s strange how you could so accurately describe my first marriage without even knowing me.
I hear you. 2 months in recovery now!
If anyone needs me, I’ll be hiding under my desk.
Your desk won’t save you. This needs a blanket fort and some cats.
If you stay under there for three days, you can be your own boss!
There’s a typo: Two versions of the same paragraph right before the inscription in the book.
ok thx
yw 🙂 magnificent story
Can we take a moment to talk about how clever Disney was about dodging these very tropes?
– They cut the Beast persistently asking her to marry him every night (blech).
– They cut the Beast pretending to be kind while taking her prisoner – he was clearly an angry jerk, and he and Belle had plenty of standoffs.
– Instead of her father volunteering her, Belle took charge of her own destiny and offered to stay herself.
– Belle called the Beast out on his assholery and even yelled at him.
– Instead of the Beast warning Belle that she must must must come back and rescue him or else he’ll die, the Beast freed her with no expectation of her ever returning.
– And without telling her that he was going to die. He didn’t guilt her at all.
So Belle ended up having roughly 100x more agency and attitude than in the original story.
But no matter how she calls him out, she’s still stuck there. He still screams at her and threatens to starve her. She still treats being released as if it’s a gift and not *what any decent person would have done.* It’s cool that they tried to soften it, but this really isn’t a story that can be softened.
The Disney version did surprisingly manage to dodge some of the creepier parts of the original story and add in some nice bits about Belle and the Beast being two outsiders that match well together buuuuuuuuut……. there’s no way to avoid the fact that it’s still Stockholm Syndrome. The heart of the story is a captive woman falling in love with her owner. There’s just no way around that.
I know! I used to love that whole story until I woke up one day and went “Oh. OH.”
A much improved version really
This is terribly depressing. I love it.
Frankly I think this story is horrific regardless–to the point where I read it once to SteelyKid and then explained why I was never reading it again, though as she was four at the time I simplified it to “he was going to kill her father for taking a rose and that is a bad thing,” and did not go into “it is terrible and wrong to believe that if only you love your abuser in the right way you can fix him.”
At least in this version I can believe she finds her resolution and leaves, perhaps with the help of a sensible librarian who stumbles upon the house.
But then suddenly the door was cast open to reveal the limber, sword-wielding silhouette of Dusk Ravenshadow, half-vampire adventurer and librarian. “I offer challenge, Beast!” she thundered. “I have heard rumor of your crimes, and have come to slay you and free the– oh, never mind,” she finished, noticing his withered carcass.
“Yes, the Beast is dead,” said Beauty sadly, “but his evil sorcery still lies heavy on me, and on this library. If only you could lift this curse, noble stranger.”
With a mighty bound, Dusk employed her heroic library skills, and a cure was soon found. “According to this book of long-forgotten lore, the curse can be lifted if you regain your self-worth. But it also means that we will have to live here in the forest as wolves forever. Can you do it?”
Beauty’s brow furrowed with effort, gazing into Dusk’s violet eyes, and she suddenly felt her sense of personal agency grow three sizes that day. “Yes, let’s do it!” she cried out, owning her decision. “Let’s be wolves together!”
And so the curse was lifted; and Beauty and Dusk lived in the castle together from that day on as highly literate wolves. Really, really well-read wolves. And if you, gentle traveler, were to visit that castle deep in the forest, you would find them there even now, in the library, happy, reading together, adorable spectacles perched on their wolf noozles. And where, you may ask, did they get the spectacles? Ah, but that, that is another story.
Wonderful. Thank you.
This is perfect, and you are perfect. I cracked up at the first line and did not stop laughing until I had finished.
IntenseDebate appears not to have registered my emailed reply, so sorry if this comes through twice:
I love you a lot, right now. * hands you Internets *
This needs to be a graphic novel.
May we please have the story of the spectacles tomorrow night???
(how does one do bambi eyes with a keyboard?)
It’s not every story that suggests werewolves as the *remedy* for a curse. I commend you, madam.
It’s not often a short story gives me actual chills and makes me want to scream and cry.
Well done. D:
JESUS FUCKIN CHRIST
I don’t have words for how awesome this is.
“perhaps she is sitting there still.”
Perhaps she legged it several fuckin’ continents away!
Now look here, Ortberg. I was just about to go to bed and then I read this. Now what am I supposed to do? Apart from crawl under the desk and rock back and forth?
Seriously, though, even by your standards, this is amazing.
“Her “no” wore the shape of a “yes,” and this lie was good enough for everyone involved.”
Perfection, as always, Mallory.
And as always, you don’t really need to change anything fundamental to make it horrific, do you? You just draw out what was already there.
WOW!
The Disney Beauty and the Beast has always been my favorite fairy tale by far, so naturally, this retelling horrified me the most by far of all the ones you’ve done yet. Chills right into my soul. Wow.
i like how you poisoned the books because lbr i and an embarrassing number of my friends would without hesitation live a life in an unhappy marriage for a multi-storied library.
amazing
A savory telling of the girl child’ s betrayal…..
This is…I have no superlatives that feel superlative enough.
Mallory, may we have a book of these? The Little Book of Misandrist Fairytales? Please?
I would buy ten thousand of those books and give them to everyone I know.
fuuuuuuuuck mallory this killed me
I LOVE Beauty and the Beast (the original, the Disney movie, the Cocteau movie, the McKinley versions, Angela Carter’s stories), but holy shit, this is great. So creepy. So dark.
the Cocteau movie is SUPER CREEPY and this one surpassed that, so well done Ortberg??
(“La Belle!” “No, La Bête” “La Belle! La Belle!” it’s a haunting refrain of my nightmares.)
To be real, the earliest versions of our beloved fairy tales are creepy as fuck. Like Sleeping Beauty already has consent issues but in the Italian, “Sun, Moon, and Tali,” the prince straight up rapes her and she wakes up not from that but from the children she birthed while asleep sucking on her finger. Then there’s the ogre mother. . . :-O
YES! Angela Carter’s Everything. But her Beauty and the Beast and Little Red Riding Hood ones are tremendous! Also I love the one about the vampire woman …. can’t recall it’s name …
“The Lady of the House of Love”? And her Bluebeard one. I love that one.
I LOVE Beauty and the Beast (the original, the Disney movie, the Cocteau movie, Angela Carter’s stories), but holy shit, this is great. So creepy. So dark.
This makes me feel a lot better about never having gone back.
This is where I link to Bronze, Emily Short’s fantastic game and you lose all productivity for the rest of the day.
“When the seventh day comes and it is time for you to return to the castle in the forest, your sisters cling to your sleeves.
‘Don’t go back,’ they say, and ‘When will we ever see you again?’ But you imagine they will find consolation somewhere.
Your father hangs back, silent and moody. He has spent the week as far from you as possible, working until late at night. Now he speaks only to ask whether the Beast treated you ‘properly.’ Since he obviously has his own ideas about what must have taken place over the past few years, you do not reply beyond a shrug.
You breathe more easily once you’re back in the forest, alone.”
Wow, that rec was awesome!
It did not count, and he did not mean it, but still he took credit for the making of the offer.
So you’ve met my stepdad. Ouch.
Thank you for rescuing the poor maligned sisters from being terrible people because they enjoy their lives and aren’t drudges.
Ayn Rand’s Beauty and the Beast
Wow.
Her “no” wore the shape of a “yes,” and this lie was good enough for everyone involved.
*weeps*
I feel like I remember a version where the father has to send the first person (/thing?) he sees and it’s his daughter who ran to see him?
That sounds vaugelt like the Armless Maiden (http://surlalunefairytales.com/armlessmaiden/index.html)
The library is yours.
The books are mine.
Your eyes are your own.
What you read is up to me.
NIGHTMARES
This is a perfect and delightful fix-it. Yes please and thank you.
Holy benevolent patriarchy, Batman.
I liek this one, it puts time in to show the subtler things that happened prior to her being thrown off to the beasts’ place that make it harder to recognise/escape from abuse. because shit is normalized so much and it’s terrifying
“And Beauty went into the library, and sat down in it. She did not touch the books, for the books were still not hers, no matter how dead the Beast was. She was mistress of the house, but nothing in it was hers, not even herself, and perhaps she is sitting there still.”
is that how the story ends ?