Kiss from a Rose

Belle wandered the endless hallways of the castle, passing room after room of luxury. She glanced in each as she passed, unsure of what she was looking for, but sure that she would know when she found it. She passed scarlet carpeted rooms, with tables laden with feasts, lanterns bracketed on the walls blazing proudly. One room contained a small fountain in its center, water dancing over a crystal orb, lit only by a small glint of moonlight from the window. Another was filled with statues, many of them Greco-Roman, most certainly originals, yet all were immaculate and unharmed.

The never-ending hallways ended abruptly, reaching a spiral staircase. Strangely, there was no railing. The stairs were of a rusted metal that had seen better days. It seemed a stark distinction from the finery the castle had formerly displayed.

Belle hesitated, noting the difference in the air. It was cooler by the staircase. The air was stale and smelled of mold. The silence was unnerving. Belle wondered why the lavish hallway would lead to such an ugly thing. She expected a grand dining hall with tables running across the room, adorned with silver plates and crystal glittering from the firelight. At least, that had been her idea when she had left the library.

The hair on her neck rose, and she suddenly had a violent feeling that someone was coming for her. The feeling arose from the hallways she had just come from.

Still, the staircase in front of her, without any railing or carpeting of any kind, did not give her any motivation to ascend. She stalled, but then hearing footsteps echo from the hallway, she dashed for the first step.

She tripped on the stair, fell and skinned her shin. Blood began to seep to the surface of the cut, and she cursed herself for wearing such a short dress. She realized that she had released a distressed yell, and hurriedly resumed making her way up the staircase.

It was higher than she had thought, and climbing it quickly was difficult without any railing. She nearly slipped again as she began, and then kicked off her dress shoes, feeling much more comfortable on her own feet. Her speed increased dramatically, and she thanked God that she spent so much time barefoot outside. She looked forward to explaining to her mother that her lack of ladylike qualities had actually benefited her for once. Then a shadow danced across the wall, and she swore she saw fur and teeth. She quickly focused on climbing.

It took her a few more minutes to reach the top, but it felt like hours. She was sweating profusely now, and her dress clung to the hips tighter than was comfortable. She paused for a moment to catch her breath, but then heard the surprisingly unmistakable sound of claw grinding on metal. Fear struck her like a shattered bell, and her breath caught in her throat. She ran forward, blindly making her way through the dimly lit corridor that she had ascended to. The corridor went on for what felt like miles, but Belle’s bare feet padded along the stone floor in a rhythm that would have made Gaston blush. Her hair flew behind her, streaking like a cape.

She noticed the wooden door just in time to slow down. She put her hands up against it, panting, her exhaustion finally allowed to take control.

The door fell inward, and with it fell Belle. Her adrenaline brought her to her feet in an instant, and she threw her arms out in front of her like a drunken boxer. There was no one there. She quickly inspected the room, but realized that no one could be hiding in it. The door must have fallen open when she put her weight on it.

It was a small square room with a black lacquered table in the center. Light fought its way into the room through slits in the ceiling. The light shone, like a single ray from the sun, onto the center of the table. A half-filled vase basked in the light, a lone flower dressing it. Belle approached the table slowly, her eyes filled with wonder at the sight of the flower.

As she reached the table, she realized that it was a rose. It was blood red, the red of the deepest wine and of the deepest kiss. Its petals were slightly parted at its outermost, yet they were closed at the center, protecting its heart. The rose was the most beautiful thing that Belle had ever seen in her life. All she had ever wanted was forgotten and replaced with the rose. She bent her down, hoping to breathe in its essence.

She didn’t hear the creak as the door opened, didn’t hear the stride of heavy paws towards the table, and didn’t hear the knife leave its sheath. Hers was the taste of the roses and their nectars consumed her as the blade plunged deep into her heart.

I watched as her body fell forward. Her head lull as it hit the ground. She lay, back straight, with her face looking towards heaven. Her dead eyes were filled with ecstasy.

The vase followed her to the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces, but I didn’t hear them. The rose had fallen out of the vase, and it fell slowly through the air. It landed, as if by magic, on her left breast, its thorns kissing tip of my knife.

I looked down at this scene—this beautiful dead woman in her white dress, blood pouring from her wound—yet all my eyes could see was that rose.

Its petals fell apart as I watched. It was dead. I won’t lie, in that moment I did shed a tear. It’s not every day that a woman steals your heart.