Their Daughter Rose, By Allison Hunter-Frederick

The sun skipped through the window of my pink room. It tiptoed across my feet, knees, stomach, and pounced on my eyes.
　
I sat up and fingered the gilded bridal portrait on my nightstand. Mom had left and, as the curse dictated, Dad had turned back into a beast. My parents' smiles contrasted with the tears tangled in my lashes. I firmed my quivering chin. Grieving their dead marriage would not undo it.
　
My sheets waited to straighten and tuck themselves. My clothes strained to wrap and adorn me. I grinned and stood. "Okay, you impatient things!"
　
Outfits burst from my walk-in closet. Their glitter stung my puffy eyes. I couldn't decide whether to wear prim melon, snug gold, vivacious red, demure blue …I rested trembling fingers across my lips, sighed, and waved wearily. "You pick," I ordered, sinking back onto my bed.
　
Hangers collided, sleeves gashed, a dress embroidered with roses sauntered before me. I glared. "Very funny!"
　
I flung it at the portrait, whose frame was also engraved with roses. The wretched flowers were everywhere! They had laid the framework for my parents' nuptials thirteen years ago, in that a stolen rose had brought my mom to my dad. When their romance blossomed, they had immortalized roses by stylizing every room with them. They had further immortalized that thorny flower by bestowing its name upon me. Roses broad casted my parents' love, now dead.
　
The rejected dress retreated into the recesses of my closet. No other candidates came forward. I picked a lackluster lemon, the color of feigned cheer.
　
The dress floated to my arms, rippled as if struck by a breeze, and then crumpled to the floor. "Be that way!" I scolded.
　
I ripped off my pajamas, hauled on my dress, and stopped to brush off wrinkles. That's when I noticed the fuzz on my arms. I flicked at it. It didn't scurry.
　
I peered closer at my arm and noticed wispy fluff running up my forearm, over my elbow, and touching my shoulder. I blinked, studied my other arm, and frantically pulled up my dress to examine my calves, thighs, and belly.
My stomach caved, my knees weakened, and the room danced with rainbow spots. I clasped my bed post for support. "No, no, no," I moaned, wishing for the past to be undone or for magic to die.

* * *

I tramped up and down the spiral staircase. I didn't know what to do. Decades ago, a troll had turned Dad into a beast and told him the curse would only be overturned when a woman consented to marry him. When Mom fell for Dad, the spell lost power and transformed him back into a man. The spell returned when he received her divorce papers.
And today it had found me.
　
I slid my finger along the banister; then paused. My finger had left a streak. Dust was accumulating. Magic was deserting the castle.
　
And the curse was transforming me.
　
I sunk to the steps and screamed into the folds of my dress. For the past year, the castle had reeled with Mom's cries: "He doesn't love me. He loves his admirers. He doesn't need me. He needs them." At first I had listened, hands clutching and clawing my stomach, but I stopped when weeks stretched to months. For awhile, I buried myself under stout pillows and surrounded myself with floppy dolls. The day Mom left, the walls had whimpered like that of a motherless child. As I suppose the castle and I were.
　
I rushed now to the courtyard to shake away the memory. I gulped air. I watched twittering sparrows. Restlessness drove me back inside. I picked at grapes. I stared at growing shadows. And retreated to my room, where I wilted against a bedpost and sobbed.
　
Hot sun plodded over my canopy bed, vanity table, jeweled dresser, and trickled out the door. For the next seven days. During that time, I picked at copper trails on my skin as if scabs. And wandered like a sleep-walker.
　
In the kitchen, sunk in a dish rack, I found stained envelopes. In the great hall, scattered throughout china, I found shredded paper. In the curio room, I pulled a letter from underneath the upraised hoof of a marble horse: "Dearest Beauty, Please come back to me. I love you. I miss you. I will die without you."
　
I ran a hairbrush against my belly—and silky fur bowed to its bristles. The spell had not assaulted me with full power. I was becoming half beast like Dad, while remaining half beauty like Mom. My slow metamorphosis might provide time to reverse the curse. Neither realization consoled me, but I was forming a plan.
　
To revoke my half-curse, my parents must remarry. Yet the pen had become a weapon in my father's hand—spitting pity into my mother's face when it should have been laying petals at her feet. If he was to woo her home, he would need help. While he howled his sorrows at the moon, I channeled mine to paper: "Beauty, I rescue damsels because I can. But know that I will never love another. Only one woman loved me as the beast. And I will forever love only her."
　
I fetched truffles from the vacant kitchen and scurried up ten flights to Dad's study. An oak door creaked open for me. I passed smudged windows, cluttered desks, looming bookcases, and headed to the north corner. A scroll floor mirror stood against a faded wall. Over seven feet tall of solid gold flourishes and glass, it was the oldest thing in the castle. And the most magical. Mom had used the magical mirror often to reveal her family's activities. I hoped it would similarly oblige me.
　
I paused, intimidated at its imposing magnitude. My truffle melted. I leaned forward, whispered "Show me Mom" and dared a touch. The surface wrinkled and then dissolved to reveal a map. Shapes and colors muddied like paints, before rearranging. Mom's location revealed, I flew downstairs to send my forged letter courtesy of a sparrow, who lingered at the feeders before departing.
　
Before each dawn broke upon the subsequent days, I shrouded myself with a cape and snuck outside to clip a rose. I laid my collection of roses along my window sill to count the days. And as each morning burst upon sky, Dad leaned out of a tower window to exchange letters with birds. I tapped my toes and hummed a tune. My one letter may have re-ignited my parents' love.

* * *

Yet I remained the beast's accursed daughter. My patience dribbled away like wax from a candle. I draped heavy curtains across my window, grazing my dried roses, their petals tumbling to the floor. I crushed their remains underfoot. The days were becoming too numerous to count.
　
I straightened the curtains to hide cracks of light and spied my spinster tutor Shelley stumbling up a narrowed walkway. The garden was closing in on itself and on our home. Soon our existence would be forgotten, as Dad once had been.
　
I ran my hands through my greasy hair. Wild gnarls defeated me. I resigned myself to wearing a hooded cloak, yet again. It quivered when I approached. No doubt it would one day simply run away. "Stupid thing!" I barked and hauled it off its hanger.
　
Nothing was acting normal anymore. Even the front doors resisted me and I had to pry them open. Shelley's discomfort was obvious too. She stepped inside, but just barely.
　
"How did your assignments go?" she asked.
　
I pointed to a stack of papers on the table. "They're done." If lessons were to proceed, Shelley would need to relinquish her foot-in-the-door stance and come fully inside.
　
An itch irritated my scalp. I clenched my fists, willing it to stop. Shame and sweat oozed from my pores. I glared at her satin face, crisp curls, groomed nails. She was perfection. The itch burrowed deeper. I gave up and scratched, hard.
　
She grimaced and then requested, "Rose, be a lady. Come out of the shadows and curtsy."
　
I squirmed. My layered outfits might conceal my beastly body, but they wouldn't cover my stench of musk and vinegar.
　
A growl escaped me. My hands flew to my throat. My eyes widened. Had that growl come from me? But, what other sound would a beast make? I pulled my lips back into a sneer and leaped.
　
Shelley screamed and fled, vines nipping at her feet and wind ripping into her hair. The gate slammed her face…. Or so I smugly imagined.
　
I spun, swept assignments to the floor, and crouched amongst the debris. My head felt feverish. My skin sizzled. The curse's power was growing and I wanted to bury myself in the dungeon.
　
Only Dad seemed to aspire to hope. He now sent packages, courtesy of the only pelican who dared to venture anymore upon our grounds.
　
Then the deliveries stopped.

* * *

Mom was back! My letter had worked! And with her return, the sun had taken residence again in the castle. Its rays streamed through the central window, where my grandfather had etched my parents' bridal portrait. The crevices sang, tapestries danced, and my heart fluttered. The castle, my parents, and I were all anxious to undo the curse.
　
My parents hastened to invite a minister and Mom's family and to hold a small ceremony. We gathered in the Great Hall. I traced the edges of a bouquet of roses with my finger. The roses glowed with colors and their purple ribbons puffed with joy. Dad held Mom's hands in his paws. Curls of fur burst through his button holes and over his dark cuffs. Rubies sparkled in Mom's tiara. Lace flounced from her sleek satin gown.
　
The minister spoke, "Do you…?"
　
Mom said, "I do."
　
Dad said, "I do."
　
And Dad transformed. His arching claws retracted. His beastly mane melted away. His tawny face softened and lightened.
　
Our troubles were over. I was eager to appear human again. I slipped off my hood and wrestled out of my sweaters.
　
An itch attacked. My throat tightened. I stole a glance at Dad. All nastiness had left him. I lowered my eyes until my arms were in line of vision. Across my wrist wriggled a black speck.
　
I shrieked. I was still a beast. What's more, I had fleas!
　
I flung my bouquet at my parents.
　
Mom caught my hand. "Rose, what's wrong?"
　
"The curse!" I wailed, wrenching free.
　
Dad reassured, "The curse has been lifted."
　
"Not for me!"
　
Mom shook her pretty head. Dad raised his elegant brows. Mom spoke for both of them. "We don't understand. What's wrong?"
　
"Dad changed! I didn't!"
　
Mom glanced at Dad, bit her lip, and seemed certain of what to say. Then she chuckled.
　
I stomped. Tears spat from my face. "Why are you laughing? Being a beast isn't funny!"
　
Dad patted my shoulder. I recoiled as if burned. I didn't want to be touched, not now, not ever. I wanted to be hung at the gallows.
　
Mom pulled me into a hug. "Rose, you aren't a beast. The divorce was hard on you. It hurts us to see you this way."
　
I shoved off her hold and peeled away layers. "Mom, I'm covered in hair!"
　
Mom shook her head. "Where?"
　
I shoved my arms into her face. "Here! Look! Explain this!"
　
Mom's eyes grew somber. "Rose, you're twelve. You're becoming a woman, not a beast."
　
Becoming a woman? I yanked off my boots and flung them at the banquet table. Venison splattered a rose-appliqued tablecloth. "Mother, women don't look like me! I'm hideous!" I backed away and wrapped myself in my arms.
　
Mom leaned into Dad, cupped her chin in her hands, and whispered, "Rose, look at me. Am I a beast?" She reached out. A tear shimmered on her lashes. "Honey, please trust me, it's really not that bad."
　
I unfolded my arms, just a little.
　
Dad stepped forward, touched my fingers, and squeezed my hand. "I'm sorry, my daughter, that you had to go through this without me. I had no idea. You seemed fine. I saw you in the garden, you continued to receive your tutor, and…."
　
I averted my eyes. "Um, about my tutor…. I kind of growled at her when she last came."
　
"Growled?"
　
"And lunged. I thought I was a beast. Sorry."
　
Mom drew me into a full embrace again. "Rose, we could see you weren't taking care of yourself, but we thought you were just depressed. We had no idea…." Her voice trailed. "And when our guests leave, we'll make up for not being around to help you through this awkward phase. But first—" A grin tugged at her mouth and she plugged her nose.
　
"I shower."
*

According to Allison Hunter-Frederick, who lives in Nebraska, " I had a flash fiction story published in The Right-Eyed Deer the fall of 2009. I have written essays about friendship for an online family publication and educational plays about animal care for a local animal shelter. I also create a newsletter for my family."

The image is by John William Waterhouse.