La Rosa

Inspired by Beauty and the Beast

I reach for the trembling rose, so delicate a touch could send the petals fluttering to the

ground. I break the stem, accidentally pricking myself on one of the thorns. I wince and put my

finger in my mouth.

A giant, furry hand grabs my wrist, and I stare up into the yellow eyes of the Beast. The

Beast who was told to live behind this rose hedge. The Beast who was once a man. The Beast I

hadn’t believed in. Its eyes narrow.

“A flower thief,” it says. Its voice is husky, and its breath bathes my face in a cloud of

vile air. “You’re the flower thief. Been stealing my roses for a month now.”

I nod.

It shoves its face right up to mine. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m, uh, sorry? I didn’t think that anyone lived here, and-”

“No one lives here!” The Beast laughs. “Do roses usually grow untended?”

I swallowed and shook my head.

The Beast cracks its knuckles. “Well? Who is she?”

“Uh- she?”

“It’s always a she. Young men don’t pick roses for themselves, you know. So who is

she?”

My eyes flit to the ground. ““She’s… Her name is Rosalind.”

 The Beast chortles. “How fitting! A rose for Rosalind!” It stops laughing suddenly.

“Well? Take me to her.”

I step back. “What?”

“You heard me. Let’s see if fair Rosalind is fair enough to warrant flower theft!” The

Beast winks at me. “I was a boy once, you know. I understand love.”

I don’t think about arguing. “What if…” I said, glancing at the Beast’s sharp claws,

“She… isn’t pretty enough?”

The Beast smiles, which looks more like a snarl. “We’ll see.”

I look down at the rose, still clutched in my fist. Its petals shudder with every tiny breeze.

“Alright,” I said. “This way.”

I lead the Beast down the wide old road bordered by the rose hedges. We walk in silence

as hedges and road give way to rolling hills and a very new, very thin trail. We walk by a

cozy-looking cottage, and, right beside it, one that’s only half-built.

The Beast points. “There? Is that where we’re going?”

I shake my head. “That’s where her parents live. She used to live there, though.” I stop

and stare at the framework of the other house.

The Beast points. “And that house?”

My eyes roam the wooden skeleton. “Me and Rosalind,” I say, after a while. “That’s our

house. I’m building it.”

“Ah!” The Beast grins. “You didn’t tell me you’re engaged to the girl. May you be the

happiest couple on the earth. Of course, I’m sure you already are.” He laughs, then, growing

sober, he ponders the empty structure. “But there’s something I don’t understand.”

“What?”
 “It seems abandoned,” he says. “The timbers aren’t new anymore. They’ve been sitting

outside a while.”

“Yes,” I say. “I haven’t worked on it much lately. There’s been little need.”

The Beast looks at me askance, and seems about to ask another question, but I turn away.

We walk faster now. The wind picks up, making my eyes water. I don’t glance back at the

forgotten cottage. After a few minutes of silence, we come to a little wood, of trees not fifteen

seasons old.

The Beast grunts as he pushes his way through the branches. “Where does your betrothed

live? Up a tree? Who lives in the middle of a tangled mess when there’s a whole wide-open

meadow right there?”

“You live in a castle overgrown by wild, thorny rosebushes,” I say quietly.

The Beast falls silent now, not so much because I silenced him with my witty retort, but

because he now sees our destination. I give him a weak smile.

“What do you think?” I can barely hear my own voice.

The Beast opens his mouth to speak, but says nothing. His eyes dart between my face and

the carved letters on the stone.

“Here she is,” I say. “Rosalind. Is she pretty enough?” I kneel and place the rose gently in

front of the tombstone.

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