Beauty, What Beast?

There was a couple who lived on the outskirts of town. They were homebodies, said the whispers that rolled around. No one had seen them together in more than two years.

The man was recognizable, that much was known. He was lean and lithe, hair cropped short. He worked the garden more often than not, but they only grew roses, which made the neighbors feel off.

“Stay away from them, they’re different from us.” Whispered the baker, “We don’t know what kind of people could they be.”

The baker’s daughter, a sprite of a girl, thought to herself on the matter of the gardener, and quietly decreed. “No one has asked, how would we know? Oh! I’ll bring them a loaf and ask of his partner!”

So she did just that, skipping up the hill. Knocked on the door, fresh bread wrapped in linen. The lithe man answered, his eyes pale blue. He fixed his glasses that had been knocked askew. Invited her in after he got over his surprise, and she entered, her questions a storm.

Inside was small, homey and warm. Pots hung from hooks on the ceiling, the walls had plants overgrown. A desk sat in the corner just off the kitchen side, laden with scattered papers, inks, and dyes. The only odd thing, and sure it was strange, was a small glass case with a rose in its cage.

“Please, have a seat.” He said with a motion towards the table.

The girl sat with a look of appraisal, setting her bread confidently aside. She jumped right into it, without preamble or chide.

“Sir, I have questions for you.” She said, crossing her arms.

He sat across from her, a laugh in his eyes. “As payment for the bread?”

“If you please,” She said, careful of her manners. “Where is your wife? Is she still in bed?”

The man blinked, surprised by her candor. He sat back and said plainly, “I have no wife, though I suppose rumors are just news in your small town life.”

“No wife? Then who do you live with?” She looked at the second chair, and pairs of shoes set by the door. If there was no other, then what were they for?

The man shrugged, glancing to the rose. “I live with my dear friend, the Hunter. He is out today. He walks the forest grounds. I stay home and tend to the garden while he makes his rounds.”

“Sir I don’t understand. Why live with a friend, and not a lover?” The girl asked, repeating a question she’d heard her father ask before.

The man shrugged; his gaze flicked to the door. “You tell me, oh wise little girl. You seem too young for love to discover.”

“...Okay fine, I know nothing of lovers.” The girl admitted, fidgeting with her dress. “I was just curious, I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

The man relaxed, a twinkle in his eye. “I have no doubt you meant your best, but perhaps more questions merit another loaf of bread.”

The girl nodded sagely, though she held up a finger. “One more question, please, and I promise I won’t linger.”

The man sighed and gave an assenting nod. The girl smiled, and pointed to the garden beyond.

“Why do you only grow roses?” She asked in a titter.

Oh the smile that lifted his cheeks was only slightly bitter.

“That is my curse, and the reason I live here.” He said. “You see, a sickness took my home, years ago. I still feel it, and sometimes it grows. Through the years I had highs and lows. Then, one day an old woman told me to tend to this rose, so that I might keep this sickness at bay. I suppose I grew fond of them, in a way.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” The little girl said. She hadn’t thought of the man being the one sick in bed. “You’re cursed still, and by who?”

“Ah, that was your last question.” The man said, his voice absent of bite. “You’ve had your fun. You must leave me to my plight. Now go on, little one.”

“Oh no, I can’t do that! We must set it right!” The girl cried.

The man frowned, his blue eyes starting to shimmer. Then there came a knock, and a hearty call of, “Dinner!”

Another man stepped into the room, laden with furs and bloody bags. He stopped short, his smile thinner. The girl just stared. Handsome as he was tall, the Hunter’s presence seemed to boom. He had marvelous hair, and his smile absorbed the leftover gloom.

“Ah, you spoke of your curse.” The Hunter said with a note of banter.

“It’s not my fault she made me blather!” The lithe man replied, crossing his arms.

“I can’t imagine you speaking more than one sentence at a time, you poor cursed beast.” The Hunter laughed, throat rumbling with bass. “Be thankful you are not deceased!”

The girl watched them, back and forth they chimed. Playing off the other as quick as a rhyme. She tilted her head, her confusion shown. “Wait, so is there a curse or no?”

The Hunter then smiled true, crows feet at his temples. “Yes dear one, but let me explain to you. My friend was cursed, this is true - though it has evolved into a riddle. He used to turn into a beast at night, filled with thirst. Now he just sits here, bemoaning his curse. As the hunter of my village, I was tasked to blood him new. But then we met, and I noticed his eyes were blue. I asked him a question, expecting nothing but the worst - and to my surprise, he burst into light, human through and through.”

“I vowed to keep an eye on him, should he ever change.” The Hunter grinned at his friend.

Blue eyes rolled, a voice with patience wearing thin. “It’s been ten years, how strange.”

“What did you ask to break the curse?” The girl asked in wonder.

The men exchanged a glance.

“That is a tale for another.” Said the Hunter.

The lithe man, (Beast, she called him) had a smile like mystery. “Perhaps a loaf of bread will earn you this history.”

Laughter filled the walls of their house, and the little girl finished her tea. She rose, bid her farewells, and let the men be. When her father asked where she had been, she grinned and had this to say:

“The gardener is indeed odd and strange, but the Hunter keeps him in line. He is a Beast, but prefers to eat bread, rather than human lives.”