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Beauty & the Beast
Part I, by Akito
An empty, meaningless, despicable life.
That is what the Beast lived. Hoping always for something more, but shutting himself off from the world. Drowning in his own reflection, his own sad, deserved weakness.
Until Beauty came into his life. And he hesitated. Inside, he knew he was worth nothing. That he will ill-bred and fit for no more than pain. That a cage would have done him better than any compassion, any futile attempt to tame his disgusting appearance.
But he relented, and accepted Beauty. He treasured Beauty more than anything else, ignoring what was Right. He contented himself to be loved, desperate and wanting, like a pathetic dog begging for scraps. Beauty pitied him, unable to kick such a shameful thing away, though it would have been better for the Beast.
So they were happy. Both lying to the other, pity tying them closer until they could hardly breathe. A happiness that looked better on the surface than the growing chasm underneath.
"Do you love me, Beauty?" the Beast would ask at every sundown.
Beauty would smile, a look forced beneath hidden repulsion. "Yes. Of course, Beast." And Beauty would cradle Beast, and sigh in feigned contentment. It was a lie that eased one heart. A lie that would raise Beast up to crush him down harder.
As all good things come to an end.
to be continued . . .
Part I, by Akito
An empty, meaningless, despicable life.
That is what the Beast lived. Hoping always for something more, but shutting himself off from the world. Drowning in his own reflection, his own sad, deserved weakness.
Until Beauty came into his life. And he hesitated. Inside, he knew he was worth nothing. That he will ill-bred and fit for no more than pain. That a cage would have done him better than any compassion, any futile attempt to tame his disgusting appearance.
But he relented, and accepted Beauty. He treasured Beauty more than anything else, ignoring what was Right. He contented himself to be loved, desperate and wanting, like a pathetic dog begging for scraps. Beauty pitied him, unable to kick such a shameful thing away, though it would have been better for the Beast.
So they were happy. Both lying to the other, pity tying them closer until they could hardly breathe. A happiness that looked better on the surface than the growing chasm underneath.
"Do you love me, Beauty?" the Beast would ask at every sundown.
Beauty would smile, a look forced beneath hidden repulsion. "Yes. Of course, Beast." And Beauty would cradle Beast, and sigh in feigned contentment. It was a lie that eased one heart. A lie that would raise Beast up to crush him down harder.
As all good things come to an end.
to be continued . . .