Beauty
Once upon a darkened time there lived a beautiful young woman with luminous olive skin and raven dark hair that flowed like silk down her slender back. Her eyes were green and shone like summer's morning grass kissed by beads of dew and illuminated by those first clean sun rays. Her mouth was full and red that smiled a smile that beckoned every eye to her command. There was nothing that was not exceptional about Beauty. Her nose, her cheekbones, her chin all seemed sculpted to perfection by the Greek marble masters of old.
But still there was something, something that seemed to be missing in the way her haunted look scanned over everything she saw. There seemed to be a hunger she could not fill. There seemed to be a thirst she could not quench, an emptiness she could not alleviate. And though her walk was graceful it was also ghostly as if floating in eternity never grounded, never rested. But no one could have guessed the distress that beauty went through. Surely a woman such as her, by virtue of being incomparable, could achieve that which everyone searches for; LOVE.
Love, that ever so elusive bond that makes existence more than just animal survival. The epitome of all emotions, decisions and relationships. The reason we cultivate ourselves, deepen our souls, enrich our minds, and make our hearts ever so noble to conquer that one person to share our being with. Surely Beauty is bombarded by suitors who wish to love, dote and consume her with devotion. Why then did she roam round and round like the light of a lighthouse on a dark and stormy night looking for that ship that never survived the ocean's storm?
No one in the village knew her story, even as they were entranced by it. There were only rumors, speculations, murmurs of her lonely existence and whispers of her strange reality and the possible reasons of her shadow being her only companion.
Not that she did not associate herself with her neighbors. Beauty was found at most social events, gatherings, festivities. She conversed, mingled, laughed and danced along with her fellow villagers. She sat, ate and drank alongside them having witty conversation and was generally enjoyed in any company she placed herself in. But still it was like a cloud of quiet hollowness surrounded her person and was acutely noticeable by everyone that enjoyed her company, and this inspired both pity and wonder.
There were other mysteries as well. She had no apparent history. Where did she come from? Who was her family? In what was she employed? Her background seemed as ungraspable as the wind. The only known facts were that she was known by everyone but not intimate with anyone. She moved into the village, into a manor home that sat on the highest hilltop surrounded by dark forests of tangled trees and hidden secrets that overlooked the rest of the village. She did not stay long in one place, maybe for a year or two, maybe for a season. Long enough to belong and be accepted, but never long enough to grow roots or consequence.
And most importantly were the quiet disappearances of people that surrounded her where ever she resided. Never scandalous, never violent, never connected directly with her personally just coincidental that people would tend to disappear in the villages in which she lived. Young people, old people, male & female, rich and poor, as well as people of status and those of no consequence alike seemed to dissolve into thin air never to be seen again.
Was she a witch? Was she a demon? Was she death? Did she trap souls? Or was this simply coincidence? No one thought so, but nothing fit. Her person although mysterious and lonely looking, was also simple, down to earth, quiet and vibrant all at once. She did not hide in her manor like a forgotten spirit. She invited people over for tea and smiled and laughed with them and they did not all automatically disappear. They came out enchanted telling of her lovely home and sunny disposition. She was a regular citizen who went grocery shopping and window shopping as most women love to do. She was open and conversational with those that passed her by. There was nothing in her personality which she hid, just that air about her that seemed strange but not anything that could be pinpointed. No evidence to connect her, no malice to accuse her. So people were content to let their thoughts remain at the back of their consciousness and just enjoy her ghostly yet cheerful presence.
But, to some this was not enough. For different reasons their curiosities or obsessions became catastrophic. And only they knew the true depth of Beauty's mystery, unfortunately by the time they realized their folly it was too late for them to warn the world.
It always begins, for these people, with a feeling, even a feeling as mild as curiosity, others with crushes, admirations, infatuations, lusty attractions all could become entrapments. Still for some it was envy, or a sense of competitiveness that became their downfall.
Anything that made you get too close for too long assured your demise. For most people never suspected that although there was something mildly strange about Beauty she was sure to be deadly. As beautiful and innocent as the Angel's Trumpet flower, and equally as poisonous.
Obviously many men were trapped either by genuine infatuation of her beauty never realizing what was going on deep beneath her skin. Others by more crass licentious feelings wanting to have her like so many trophies on their man wall of achievements, never caring about the venom deep within.
Women alike though were trapped, motivated by similar feelings. Wanting to be near her and acquiring popularity by association, using Beauty as a stool to a higher status. Or worse trying to rival mere mortal beauty to Beauty's ethereal quality until this obsession became their undoing.
For once you knew Her story you were forever bound by it until you became an inescapable part of it. And Beauty, being who she is, knowing what she knows, was all too eager to share it with those who got to close. And once she began to tell it her sad emotion captivated your ears and made you stay to learn, that which no one else knew, and would never know by you for by the end of the tale you became part of what you wanted so much but never knew you would not want.
Her voice began, sounding melodious but far away, almost detached. I am the daughter of a most dreadful looking woman but she was complicated and interesting. What she so completely lacked in beauty she made up for in character.She begat 10 beautiful daughters, I being the youngest and of the lot the ugly duckling. Not only were they all wondrously beautiful but they were full of grace and virtue, humor and goodness, and a kind intelligence. Because I was the youngest and the vilest of looks amongst them all, they all doted on me, and loved me with their pity, but never was I able to overcome my inadequacies in comparison to them. For you see I did not always look like this. My olive skin was washed out, my black hair stringy and oily, my eyes were dull and flat, my lips were thin and discolored. There was nothing alluring about me. My life was full of shame and grief. Why was I the only one of the lot to be born without a single graceful trait? I was nothing but a thistle among roses. How could I compare? People would see our family together and look at me with pity. All my sisters made wonderful matches, happy marriages and charming babies and I was left alone. My mother would constantly warn me of my vanity and how it would ruin me. She repeated over and over that youth and beauty were both perennial as the time that takes it away and never comes back. But as she aged her ugliness grew into beauty and did not waste away. She aged beautifully like those grand gothic cathedrals that give way to old mystical ruins that are portrayed and for ever held and revered in postcards. As an old woman she was awe inspiring. My self loathing and anger grew and I retreated into myself.
On the last day of my mother's life, saddened by my unhappiness, she called me into her bed chamber one last time. My beautiful daughter she said, I will give you a gift but you must know the dire consequence that comes with this gift. She ever so gravely pulled out a tiny hollow cocoon made of glass that had hung around her very neck. If beauty is what you want, with this gift beauty is what you can have. But know that as this cocoon is made of glass and hollow so shall you be. You will be transformed from the worm you think you are into a magnificent creature, but you will be giving up your substance for ever. You will look like a beautiful butterfly but never will you fly. You will have the advantage of incomparable looks but you will never be satisfied by them. Is this my dear daughter what you want? Will you give up who you are for who you think you want to be?
At the time I could not comprehend her questions and did not contemplate the consequences. I only thought of the many possibilities that beauty could bring to make me happy. I could finally be loved. How could I not want that? And what was so bad about losing myself as I knew me? I was no one, a lonely ogre in a family of unicorns. I quickly snatched the delicate cocoon from her frail hand. Clearly disappointed she instructed, You will swallow this cocoon in our hall of mirrors and you will see and be happy with your transformation, but my daughter, be aware you will for ever be trapped, and never be complete for you will lose your soul in your vanity.
She died with those words on her lips and with tears in her eyes, but for once she had seen hope in mine. I did not mourn, nor wait I was too anxious in my selfishness and quickly ran to the hall of mirrors and looked one last time at the face of ugliness. What was that warning my mother had said? I scrutinized myself from top to bottom and saw nothing I agreed with. I could not see past all that was not skin deep. Without looking any deeper I swallowed the cocoon and instantly I knew of my mistake. I felt it as the magic shrank up my heart from a ripe fruit to a shriveled core. I could not love or feel love no matter how hard I tried. I felt my soul shatter into a million pieces of specs of light to become absorbed into the mirrors that now seemed to condemn me. I know longer had knowledge of the true me but the one last memory of my dying mother and my lonely existence as the ugly duckling among swans. Nothing good could I remember or even contemplate. No simple joys of fragrant flowers. No intense passions of love and anger. And though I will always eternally beautiful there is naught but emptiness inside of me. I am but a hollow shell such that collects dust and spider thread. I am a living crypt that contains a body but no soul.
And because I can never have my own back I go from place to place sucking those souls that can be pulled from bodies who have shallow substance to weak to hold on to them. And I am filled for awhile until they too fade from me, because they will never be me. I am Beauty and my curse is to forever be only skin deep trapping any soul who is equally as shallow driven by the superficial emotions that will eventually make you mine.
And poof you've disappeared.