text: (Inspired by Grimm Fairy Tales and Black Souls) Iron. That was what stuck with him the most. The smell. The taste. Red dripping from his claws, his fangs, so much crimson that it seemed to overcome his senses, blinding him with senseless fury. It was only when he saw her that he could calm down, when she cradled his head in her arms, whispered sweet nothings to him and told him that it would all be alright. They would always return in silence, as they slowly strode up the stairs to her room, closing the door with nary a word. The beast would drag himself to the wash, submerge himself in large copper basin filled with scalding water, try to wash the blood from his thick and matted fur. But the smell never faded, the taste never left his mouth. Everywhere and everything was just more blood. He’d dry himself off as well as he was able, sitting down in a large ornate leather chair as he watched her sleep. She’d always wake up, sleepily rising from the bed as she took his hand, against his protests. He’d feebly resist as she dragged him back to their resting place, lying her head against his chest as he stared at the ceiling in shame. He wasn’t fit to be here with her. Fit to share a bed with this girl who had given him so much. No maid should share their bed with a Beast. The people knew to avoid the castle, and the roads that surrounded it. Everyone knew the tale of the savage creature that walked the roads, tearing apart all in its path. And yet braver caravans and merchants still tried to cross it, eager to save time and money on investments and sales. Such a caravan, guarded by hired mercenaries and armed soldiers braved that road one fateful night, accompanied by the merchant and his family. Yet what is mortal weaponry against the Beast? What is the armaments of man against the Fangs of God? He descended upon them like a flurry of claws and fangs, his devastating jaws crunching through steel plate like it was made of paper, his sharpened talons slicing through iron blades like it was naught but the toys of children. One by one, the men fell, screaming as the Beast descended upon them, muffled gurgles as he tore into their throats and soft flesh, feasting on their entrails. The taste sickened him, and yet he was compelled to eat, compelled to fill his mouth with blood and offal until his belly swelled, roaring in rage and agony all the while. A red haze obscured his vision as he burst into the carriage, tearing through soft flesh as everything was hidden behind a film of delirium. They were naught but shapes in the red, faceless and soundless. And as he lunged for the last, his bloodlust at his peak, he stared her in the eyes, frozen. The baby looked at him with curiosity, her eyes bright and wide, innocence unconcerned by the sight of her dismembered mother, her brutalized father. She cooed with delight as her fingers brushed the Beast’s soft fur, her hands gripping it and pulling hard. The Beast shivered, every muscle stuck with a tension that could not be unraveled. And then she smiled, causing The Beast to recoil with horror, falling backwards out of the carriage as he fell into a pool of red and guts. He whimpered as he saw the faces of the men he had massacred, his stomach churning as he fought the urge to vomit. He had to run. Had to escape. Had to be anywhere but here wh--- “Adam?” Her voice cut through the night, a soft melody erasing the darkness. The Beast turned his eyes to the girl, his Belle, as she took in the carnage, the devastation around him. He shambled to her, a moan breaking out from his throat, guilt overtaking him and threatening to break him to pieces. “What do you think you’re doing?” Her voice was neutral, her eyes barely showing emotion of any kind. But the Beast’s blood curdled at the words nonetheless, and he fell to his knees, prostrating himself before her and begging for forgiveness. For mercy. She knelt down then, her hand gently caressing his furred cheek, her eyes sweet and loving. And with that same voice that he had fallen in love with, she said this. “Finish the job.” The Beast almost choked, trying to maneuver his mouth around his own voice, thick and rusty from disuse. “Be....Be..” He sputtered, before stopping himself, and coughing thick blood from his throat. “Bel...Belle. Just....child. Baby.” The girls eyes flickered but an inch, registering the baby in its carriage for a mere moment, before flicking back to the Beast. And in her eyes, in that cold nothingness, he felt the crushing weight of his own failures. “What are you...Adam?” Her voice was steady, calm. But he could sense her displeasure. He curled into a ball, dug his claws into his arms and let the blood flow like a river from his wounds. He felt the burn as his cursed body restitched itself back together, still not allowed to die. “Do you think you can play at being a human? At being one of them? Do you think that your sympathy will endear them to you? That sparing one life will have them forget your shape...have them forget your existence?” He rocked back and forth, tears spilling from his eyes. He remembered the stones, the beatings, crawling in the streets as they screamed at him. “Look up.” He wanted to hide deeper into himself, so deep that no one would ever find him again. But he couldn’t. He was always here. He was always himself. “Look. Up.” And he did, compelled by that soft voice. And he saw no fear, no hatred. Nothing but love, and perhaps even envy. He reached his hand out for her, talons still dripping with red fluid, and she let him rest it against her cheek with no hesitation. “You’ll never be human enough Adam. Never human enough for them to love you.” The Beast sat still for a mere moment, before raising his head and howling in agreement. He would never be one of them. She nuzzled her cheek against his, and he felt so safe in her warmth. In her embrace. “But I love you for what you are, instead of hating you for what you are not. Don’t you know that?” The Beast nodded, his head lowered. She had saved him. He knew that. He owed her everything. She gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead, before standing up and bringing him to his feet. “So then. Be the Beast I love.” He trembled then, once, before his body trembled no more. He turned back to the child, cooing ignorantly in its blankets...and did what had to be done. He sat there then, turned away as Belle pulled the most valuable trinkets from the gore, hands casually picking priceless baubles from pools of blood. She gently removed a emerald encrusted locket from the mothers neck, smiling at its gleam and shine. The Beast dared not look, could not bear to look at the carnage he had wrought. But a small sigh of happiness grabbed his attention, and he turned towards the sound like a moth to the flame. For it was this he killed for, this he would die for. The sight of the smiling girl amidst the corpses, a stunning visage made only more beautiful by the tragedy surrounding it. She did not lose that smile as she slowly swayed towards him, leaning in to kiss him and run her hands through his hair. He was breathless in her presence, powerless before this tiny girl that held him like he was naught but a child. “My Beast...” she said with a burning affection in her eyes and a grin on her lips. “My Beast. My Animal. My Killer.” Each word should have stung, but they were uttered with such love, such adoration, that the Beast could do nothing but smile, almost dazed by the weight of devotion he now felt. “You have done well.” And with those words, his reason for existence was cemented, and with it, his eternal prison in her arms.