She never included it.Īlmost anyone else would have run out of thoughts by this point. But that never resonated as well as red as blood.Īnd the part at the very end, where the Enchantress is waylaid upon exiting the castle, thrown into a black carriage, and spirited into the night-well, it didn’t sound as epic and grand. Sometimes she remembered bits differently: sometimes the rose was as pink as a sunrise by the sea. She had enjoyed its repetition in her mind for years. It often entertained the woman who lay in her black hole of a room, manacled to a hard, cold bed. If you do not learn to love another-and be loved in return-by the time the last petal of this rose falls, you, your castle, and all within, will be cursed and forgotten forever.”Īshamed of his monstrous form, the Beast concealed himself inside his castle, with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world.Īs the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope-for who could ever learn to love a beast?
“You have until the eve of your twenty-first birthday to become as beautiful on the inside as you were on the outside. As punishment she transformed him into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there. The Prince tried to apologize but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart. And when he dismissed her again, the old woman’s ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the Prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away-although she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for true beauty is found within. Although he had everything his heart desired, the Prince was spoiled, selfish, and unkind.īut then, one winter’s night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered him a single blood-red rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Once upon a time in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish. In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman She comes and goes.Įach morning it is her face that replaces the darkness. She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands. I see her back, and reflect it faithfully. Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
Searching my reaches for what she really is. But it flickers.įaces and darkness separate us over and over. Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall. Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
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