"Keeps her word," the villagers said; "Beauty and honour go hand in hand."
So when her father struck
a bargain to trade his life for hers, she walked proudly to the ruined gates in her
tattered skirts and fraying shoes, not wanting to elude that devilish pact lest
her father's name be shamed. The Beast was large like a lion with a voice
that could frighten the gods.
Every night he'd watch her dine, then plead with her on bended knees
to marry him, to love him. Her
refusal was always her final word - "A promise I cannot honour," she explained
to his bowed shaggy head. But
in time she thought she almost could - on days of amiable sunlit rambles
and nights of fireside talks. Her
needs were always seen to, her desires always met; her affection grew
to fraternal love, and yet
excuses always sprung to mind. The family visit was really a pretext for
leaving and settling the matter by default. But the
Beast exacted his own sworn oaths: "Return in three days or I will die."
To refuse to choose means there's still a choice, so
every day she wavered and chose - wavered and chose - and wished it all a dream.
The complications of love, the truth of the heart;
lies she would dare to say were not lies at all threatening to flow from her lips.
Three days passed and still she tarried,
leaving time to decide. But - "Honour, not beauty is endowed in me.
Beauty lies in honour, so Honour shall I be."
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