Young Writers Society

Isabella could feel the flames lapping at her ankles as she ran through the burning house. Her mother’s voice telling her to save Celeste rang in her ears.

She could little Pierre screaming. Tears trailed down her face.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered.

She felt a tug on the sleeve of her nightgown.

“Ella, I’m scared.” Celeste looked up at her, big green eyes filled with fear.

“It’s going to be okay.”

Celeste started to scream, and she was ripped away from Ella. The fire engulfed her, turning her skin black as soon as it made contact.

“No!”

She woke up, a cold sweat trickling down her back. She glanced down at her shaking hands and the scars that had been left by the fire. She could’ve sworn she felt the flames on her body again.

“It was a dream.” She told herself, though it wasn’t at all comforting. “Just a dream.”

***

Prince Frederic followed Jacques’ directions exactly. The interior of the palace was falling apart just as much as the exterior, but it was clean. There was no visible dust anywhere, almost like someone lived there. Someone other than a beast.

When he got to Jacques’ cell, it was easy to pick the rusted lock. It was a skill he’d acquired through years of sneaking around the palace and into forbidden rooms.

Jacques was shorter than Frederic had expected. He had a kind face, graying brown hair, and light blue eyes. They crept back through the palace silently, as if they might wake it. Frederic unsheathed his sword that was still hung at his hip. The front of the palace was built of crumbling stone, vines grown up the walls. From the front of the palace to the large wrought iron gates, there was a cobblestone path lined with overgrown rose bushes in every shade you could think of.

They had almost gotten to where Frederic’s poor horse had been forgotten when suddenly, Jacques stopped. He stooped to pick a pale yellow rose.

“We don’t have time to admire the garden!” Frederic tapped his shoulder. “Do you want to be here when the beast gets back?”

Jacques straightened suddenly as they heard a low rumbling noise, almost like a growl. Frederic looked behind him, just in time to see the beast pounce. On instinct, Frederic raised his sword and pierced the beast straight through the heart.

***

Isabella didn’t get anymore sleep that night. No matter how hard she tried to forget, she could still hear her baby brother’s screams. Her father had been the first to perish in the fire. Her mother told her to grab Celeste, while she went to save Pierre. Neither of them made it out of the house.

After the fire, a Great Aunt took Celeste in and gave her proper care and education. Isabella had been sent to Jacques’ estate. He had taken her in gladly, and she had become fast friends with Lisabeth and Anastasia. Something about Ana had always been off, and though Ella had never received confirmation, she knew that she wasn’t the only child Fleora had ever beaten.

When Ella started to grow into a woman and Jacques’ trade drew him away from home more and more often, Fleora started to hate her. Now, Fleora’s horsewhip was a constant danger and her contempt a constant companion.

Ella got out of bed after hours of trying in vain to fall asleep. Her day wasn’t any different that usual. After a cold bath in the creek, she gathered the eggs, milked the cow, and fed all the animals. She wasn’t the only miad, and almost all of the staff had offered to take over this particular chore, but she loved the animals and she liked to work. She would much rather do laundry or bake than do needlepoint or endure afternoon tea with the same self-centered suitors that Fleora constantly had lined up for Ana and Lisa.

The only thing that she would change was the one thing she couldn’t- Fleora’s punishments.

Once the animals were fed, Ella tended the garden for a couple hours and went back inside. She then ate breakfast and started on the laundry. Fleora insisted that all her laundry be washed very specifically. First, Ella had to do it herself. Second, it had to be done with boiling water. Third, it had to be done by hand.

Ella’s hands were the least elegant part of her. They were fire-scarred, calloused, and rough from years of hard work.

In the afternoon, she cleaned around the manor and endured the abuse from Fleora, and endured the bandaging from Odette, which was nearly as painful. Finally, she ate supper and stole an hour or two of time alone to do her own laundry and read.

She never did her own laundry at the manor. No, this chore was reserved for the only place she actually felt safe on the property. There was a small pond behind the manor, about a quarter mile. The cool water soothed her worn hands, still raw from Fleora’s laundry.

She may sleep at the manor, but this was the only home she’d known since her innocence had burned before her eyes. Although Lisabeth and Anastasia provided her comfort, it could never come close to her fairytale childhood. The only place she felt herself again, like the little girl she had been before the fire, was the pond. It was very much similar to the one near her parents’ estate. It brought back memories of picnics and sunlit strolls, of days that were happy and carefree.

***

They found Jacques’ horse in the stable and walked back to the entrance to the overgrown palace grounds together.

“It was awfully considerate of the beast to keep your horse for you.”

Jacques chuckled.

There was a long but not uncomfortable silence.

“I don’t suppose you would stay to help me bury him?” Jacques glanced down at the body of the beast.

After a few hours of strenuous work, they had successfully buried the beast in a clearing in the forest. Jacques had placed the yellow rose on top of the grave, but he’s also picked another and placed it in his pack, which Frederic thought was counterproductive.

“I really must get home to my girls. I haven’t been home in months.”

They clasped hands and nodded at each other.

“This is goodbye, I presume.” Jacques said. “As I said before, you are welcome at my home any time.”

“Thank you for your kindness.” Frederic replied. “Safe travels.”

“You’re the one who saved my life.”

Frederic mounted his horse and started to ride. The sun started to set when he felt a searing pain. It was beyond anything that he’d ever felt. The stabbing sensation in his gut consumed him. He convulsed, falling off his horse. He began to change. Thick black fur sprouted from every pore, encasing his skin. His limbs grew more muscular and animalistic. His nose turned into a snout, his teeth to razor sharp fangs.

His scream was long and torturous, slowly transforming into the howl of a wounded beast.