[Fiction] - Pride
I've been using Pride as my working title for my story, but the more I think about it, the less it has become a Beauty and the Beast rendition. I mean, besides the fact that there's a handsome prince who somehow encounters a downfall later on, thereby resulting in an enchantress turning him into some fugleh monster. Yeah. That's pretty much the extent of the similarities. Though that backbone is probably the reason why it IS a rendition, albeit a prologue of the rendition. Sommat. Erm.
Anyway, this was just a short scribble I thought about using as an intro to the story. But I probably won't, as it takes away from the tone, just a bit.
It’s been said that it was Pride which destroyed the Beast. Glimpses of his previous life, whispered amongst servants in dark kitchen corners, and the untainted medieval tapestries told the same type of story; in the past he was a handsome, capable prince sired by nobility that exceedingly boasted of its heritage. From the moment he was old enough to train, the prince was embroiled in a turbulent era, with a life dedicated to defending borders against foreign dignitaries and keeping power away from ambitious friends. It was a difficult path to walk, the youngest, surviving son of a voivod, and he traversed it well. My Beast traveled his path.
But amidst this continuous battle, it was his inexorable, unyielding pride that undoubtedly proclaimed him to be unfit and unworthy of earthly gain. Stripped of his past beauty and whatever glory received, he roamed the castle’s empty, cursed halls and lamented centuries of a lost era, of a time before that fateful mistake of a day when she reappeared to strip him of the virtues. The enchantress.
The enchantress had placed the spell, had cursed the castle, had used every inch of her strength to render the Beast’s people incapable of joining the outside world. The anger she bore against him fueled her into an almost unpitying frenzy, taking the castle’s entire vicinity away, so that only those gifted-and willing enough-to find the monster within the voivod’s halls would be able to enter the place. She was not so heartless, however, to keep the curse forever; her final words to the Beast were words of kindness, a softened kindness that showed her mercy. She told him to love, and she told him to find someone who will love him in return.
How could I have escaped that love? There he was before me, the living embodiment of humility and honor. The enchantment he had been under was broken centuries after the curse was placed, by a love that not even I knew would take over me, would take over us. And, just as soon as the enchantment disappeared before our very eyes, we began to live.
It had not always been so, the Beast and I. He had been alone for hundreds of years; his only companions were servants who did their duties, too afraid to approach him otherwise. I had a father who loved me, two sisters who doted on me, and village friends who humored me. He never knew-or had forgotten-the tender feeling of a parent’s arms placed around him. My father spoiled me with his unquestionable kindness, even so far as almost sacrificing his own life for my selfish happiness.
Amidst all this, the Beast and I met, to a path that brought us here, in a castle now filled with music and laughter, in a world that is solely our own, far removed from the still-warring nature of Europe. The Beast had become the glorious prince he once was, and yet I had come to love him as the glorious creature he used to be.
Still, I praised him for his gentle heart, his loving caresses, his merciful gaze. He moved with utmost elegance; even when he was still at his monstrous form he had glided through the castle, a fantastic, dreamlike figure in a foggy memory. He had a sharp mind, the sharpest when it came to movement and strategy, sharper still when he spoke of history and wars and battles. With all these lauded praises, the Beast merely smiled and shook his head. There was sadness in his eyes as he began to object to each virtue.
“If you knew me then, you would not be so kind.”
But I didn’t know him then. I only knew the now. He was a Beast when I met him, but even at that instant he had a good heart. A misplaced heart, but a heart nonetheless. So why were his eyes always on the brink of agony when we spoke of the past?
After the curse was broken, the Beast refused to revert to his old name or his title, merely satisfied with the servants that loyally called him “Master.” He insisted on “Beast” for his informal address, without any inkling of changing it to something else.
People say that the past should be left alone, for fear that it might consume our very livelihoods. Yet I cannot help but wonder what had occurred then to have rendered him so fearful of his own shadow. For I know even in his happiest moments, there are those covert glances towards the throne room, those stolen glimpses down the duck pond, those mere glazed, dreamy instances indicating his journey back into his childhood that cause him to let out a slight shiver. Yet when questioned about these horrible lapses, he merely shook his head, laughed, and told me the moment will soon pass and to give no thought over it, Belle, my sweet, my kindest, dearest Belle. He would breach the subject no further, and I could not bring myself to worry him.
But I hate to see him tormented so.
Anyway, this was just a short scribble I thought about using as an intro to the story. But I probably won't, as it takes away from the tone, just a bit.
It’s been said that it was Pride which destroyed the Beast. Glimpses of his previous life, whispered amongst servants in dark kitchen corners, and the untainted medieval tapestries told the same type of story; in the past he was a handsome, capable prince sired by nobility that exceedingly boasted of its heritage. From the moment he was old enough to train, the prince was embroiled in a turbulent era, with a life dedicated to defending borders against foreign dignitaries and keeping power away from ambitious friends. It was a difficult path to walk, the youngest, surviving son of a voivod, and he traversed it well. My Beast traveled his path.
But amidst this continuous battle, it was his inexorable, unyielding pride that undoubtedly proclaimed him to be unfit and unworthy of earthly gain. Stripped of his past beauty and whatever glory received, he roamed the castle’s empty, cursed halls and lamented centuries of a lost era, of a time before that fateful mistake of a day when she reappeared to strip him of the virtues. The enchantress.
The enchantress had placed the spell, had cursed the castle, had used every inch of her strength to render the Beast’s people incapable of joining the outside world. The anger she bore against him fueled her into an almost unpitying frenzy, taking the castle’s entire vicinity away, so that only those gifted-and willing enough-to find the monster within the voivod’s halls would be able to enter the place. She was not so heartless, however, to keep the curse forever; her final words to the Beast were words of kindness, a softened kindness that showed her mercy. She told him to love, and she told him to find someone who will love him in return.
How could I have escaped that love? There he was before me, the living embodiment of humility and honor. The enchantment he had been under was broken centuries after the curse was placed, by a love that not even I knew would take over me, would take over us. And, just as soon as the enchantment disappeared before our very eyes, we began to live.
It had not always been so, the Beast and I. He had been alone for hundreds of years; his only companions were servants who did their duties, too afraid to approach him otherwise. I had a father who loved me, two sisters who doted on me, and village friends who humored me. He never knew-or had forgotten-the tender feeling of a parent’s arms placed around him. My father spoiled me with his unquestionable kindness, even so far as almost sacrificing his own life for my selfish happiness.
Amidst all this, the Beast and I met, to a path that brought us here, in a castle now filled with music and laughter, in a world that is solely our own, far removed from the still-warring nature of Europe. The Beast had become the glorious prince he once was, and yet I had come to love him as the glorious creature he used to be.
Still, I praised him for his gentle heart, his loving caresses, his merciful gaze. He moved with utmost elegance; even when he was still at his monstrous form he had glided through the castle, a fantastic, dreamlike figure in a foggy memory. He had a sharp mind, the sharpest when it came to movement and strategy, sharper still when he spoke of history and wars and battles. With all these lauded praises, the Beast merely smiled and shook his head. There was sadness in his eyes as he began to object to each virtue.
“If you knew me then, you would not be so kind.”
But I didn’t know him then. I only knew the now. He was a Beast when I met him, but even at that instant he had a good heart. A misplaced heart, but a heart nonetheless. So why were his eyes always on the brink of agony when we spoke of the past?
After the curse was broken, the Beast refused to revert to his old name or his title, merely satisfied with the servants that loyally called him “Master.” He insisted on “Beast” for his informal address, without any inkling of changing it to something else.
People say that the past should be left alone, for fear that it might consume our very livelihoods. Yet I cannot help but wonder what had occurred then to have rendered him so fearful of his own shadow. For I know even in his happiest moments, there are those covert glances towards the throne room, those stolen glimpses down the duck pond, those mere glazed, dreamy instances indicating his journey back into his childhood that cause him to let out a slight shiver. Yet when questioned about these horrible lapses, he merely shook his head, laughed, and told me the moment will soon pass and to give no thought over it, Belle, my sweet, my kindest, dearest Belle. He would breach the subject no further, and I could not bring myself to worry him.
But I hate to see him tormented so.