Mrs. Beast (33 page)

       is born,

       
show me if I need

       to fear.

       
Is Prince Runyon

       far or near?"

    
The mirror's surface darkly reflects the Great Hall of Castle Fleur de Coeur.
 
The Hall is draped in black mourning cloth and empty of mirrors, paintings, and furniture.
 
By the subdued light of a dozen candelabras, more than a hundred subjects crowd the room, weeping into black handkerchiefs.
 
Runyon, dressed in black from his riding boots to his velvet and fur trimmed robe, stands before a dais.

    
Beauty rubs her eyes.
 
"Is Runyon holding a service for the father he murdered?"

    
Runyon clears his throat and a hush falls over the hall.
 
I have the time and strength to speak but a few words.
 
I must weave soon for my coronation and King Gunther's funeral.

    
A crash emanates from the mirror, and Beauty sees Blockhead struggling to carry Runyon's divan out the door.
 
Careful with that, you dolt!
 
Runyon shouts.
 
He places his right hand dramatically on his forehead and breathes deeply.
 
Within the mirror's magic surface, Beauty sees that Runyon conceals a halved onion in his clenched fist.
 
He pulls his hand away and tears trickle down his cheeks.

    
Be assured I will rule over you from my father's kingdom with the same devotion I have given Fweur de Coeur.
 
I weave you in the capable hands of my new First Minister, Marcel and his bride, Wady Anne.

    
"Father?" Beauty murmurs and Marcel, accompanied by his very young and pregnant wife, walk to Runyon's side.

    
Yesterday, I wearned of the king's death, then this morning, Mister Mephisto dewivered the tragic news that our bewoved princess Beauty drowned in the Deep Icy River, her body swept out to sea.
  
Runyon sobs and bites his gloved fist containing the onion.
 
His tears flow anew and he stammers,
Rest in peace, Beauty
.

    
Beauty stares at the mirror and gasps, "It is
my
funeral!
 
Why would the devil deliver that false report?"

    
Gleeful, throaty laughter fills the air and Beauty turns her eyes to the top of Glass Mountain.
 
Then wearily, she drops her gaze and whispers, "Better they believe I am dead."
  
She lifts the mirror to her face in time to witness Runyon dance down the castle steps and bound into a waiting carriage.

     
"Take away this

       awful sight

       
and let me rest

       in peace tonight."

*
     
*
     
*

1 September        Page Eighty

    
I began this quest with no doubts, certain that love conquers all.
 
I learned to love my Beast, but did he truly love me?
 
He knew, but could not tell me, that my love would break the spell and free him from his curse.
 
Were the qualities that made me adore him a false show?
 
He kept pressing me to voice those three words: I love you.
 
Why wasn't he content with my unspoken butheartfelt devotion?
 
Because he hated the form I loved.

    
And why would he love me after I return him to what he so despised? I've been a fool.
 
Spouting my credo to anyone who would listen: Beauty means nothing.

    
Beauty caused Snow White, Rapunzel, Rosamond, Cinderella, and me to be hunted by evil doers like Vanita, Horst, Gothel,
 
demons, witches and wizards; mistreated
          

                                                                                   
Page Eighty-one

by our families and married to men like Otto, Johann, Fitzgerald,
 
Paul, and Runyon; denied the steadfast and enduring love given to Maisees, Trinas, Jhorons and other plain and pretty girls that refuse to befriend us.
 
Why do the people who desire beauty so greatly treat women who possess it so badly?

    
If I don't scale the mountain, where will I go? Into hiding and denial as the other beauties have done?
 
Snow White hides among the dwarfs and denies the hope of love. Rapunzel hides in Storyendburg and denies love with a succession of sexual partners. Rosamond hides in opium and denies reality. Cinderella hides behind her veil and denies aging.

    
What can I do to live in peace, love unconditionally, have the power to exercise my will, and to raise my child without fear?

  
Three pairs of pointed ears poke from the shrubbery as Beauty's waters break and she cries out with her first contraction.

    
"Thar she blows," Elora shouts from the Deco Palace roof.
 
Her telescope swings wildly.
 
Croesus ducks in the nick of time.
 
Elora points her finger and zaps the shrub nearest Beauty.
 
Three elves shriek and leap into the air, their little green pants afire.
 
Elora pushes up the sleeves of her black robe and Croesus backs toward the skylight stairs.
 
Electric-blue bolts fly from her fingertips lighting up the sky like a blitzkrieg.
 
The mountain rumbles and three hundred steps appear.
 
Elves dive for rabbit holes.
 
Beauty stumbles to the first step up the mountain, then clutches her belly.
 
Elora snaps her fingers and the stairs become an escalator, carrying Beauty up the south face of Glass Mountain into Elora's arms.

*
     
*
     
*

  
"In this Grimm realm where everything is predictable, who would have thought a beauty could astonish Elora the Enchantress?"

    
Croesus lays his paw on Elora's lap.

    
"Too bad you're so cowardly.
 
You missed one hell of an experience."

    
Croesus tucks his head under his paw, and Elora scratches his ear fondly.
    

     "There she was huffing and puffing, moaning and groaning.
 
Then between clenched jaws she asked me to cast the same spell on her that I had used to transform Runyon from prince to beast.
 
She was magnificent!"
 
Elora hoots.

    
"I asked if she was absolutely certain because once cast, the spell was non-negotiable, whether the baby turned out to be Runyon's or the Beast's."

    
Croesus barks a startled woof.

    
"Didn't phase Beauty.
 
She looked me squarely in the eye and said,
Because I've learned on this quest that beauty is beastly it doesn't matter which one is the father, my choice would be the same.

    
"What will you call the child, I asked her.
 
She tucked in her chin with the onset of another spasm.
 
The answer is right under my nose
, she whispered.
 
I followed her eyes to the tattoo on her breast.
 
The letters had stretched from . . .RUN"
 
Elora lifts her fingers and writes in the air: "to . .
.
  
RUNE

    
"I cast the spell, with my personal addendum, and Rune was born.
 
I would have picked something more dramatic, with at least three syllables, but it fits, as all fairy tale names must.
 
Rune is her mother's magic charm, the first whisper of a mystical verse.
 
Are you ready to see our goddaughter?"

    
Croesus turns liquid eyes to the crystal ball.
 
Elora snaps her fingers and the ball reveals dawn breaking in the northernmost wood of the Grimm Forest.
 
Leaves of orange, yellow, and red flutter and drift from black-limbed oaks.
 
Moss beds and wild grapes are iced with frost.
 
A grey squirrel chatters through cheeks packed with hickory nuts.
 
A pair of mourning doves rouses from a nest in the ivy above the mouth of a cave.
 
Inside the cave, it is warm and dry.
 
The floor is swept clean but for a bed of straw piled in a wall recess and a hearth in the center, its ashes casting a soft red glow.

    
Croesus whines and cocks his head.

    
"They're just now stirring.
 
Look there, in the straw bed."

    
Beauty steps into the dawn, cradling baby Rune.
 
She is the image of her mother.
 
Chestnut curls cover the tiny body from head to toe and her bulging eyes are hazel in color.
 
Her nose is a miniature lavender cauliflower, not yet the deep purple of Beauty's, nor are the claws on her puppy-like hands and feet as black and curved as her mother's.

    
"What a beauty!" Elora exclaims.
 
"And Beauty will remain under my spell until a man loves her as the beast she now is."

    
Elora zooms in on the faces of mother and child.
 
Rune nuzzles Beauty's fur until she finds a nipple, and Croesus licks the glass affectionately.
 
As if tickled by his tongue, Rune smiles, displaying one row of milk teeth in her bright blue gums.

    
Elora catches herself in the middle of a sigh and shifts her eyes to Croesus who is stifling a wheezy laugh.
 
"Remember when we were watching Beauty in Runyon's Great Hall last Spring, and I told you love was not meant for beauty queens.
 
She proved me wrong."

    
Croesus chokes.

    
"Bricklebrit!
 
I can be wrong once in my life."

    
Elora catches the three gold coins and tosses them in the air.

    
Beauty kneels beside the mouth of her cave.
 
Cradling Rune in her left arm, she digs into the earth with the sharp talons of her right hand.
 
When the hole is as deep as her arm can reach, she lays her magic mirror at the bottom of the hole, replaces the dirt and stamps down firmly.
 
She lifts Rune and holds her before her own face a long moment before kissing her downy forehead and the sky opens and snow falls like unfurling bolts of lace.