#theme: beauty and the beast

[brokenxmachine]

My music is for Phoenix. Only she can sing it. Anyone else who tries, dies!

PHANTOM OF THE PARADISE (1974) dir. Brian De Palma.

[kooki914]

"I never thought you were bad. I like monsters..."

Some illustrations I did for an upcoming video I'm workin on

[softkiseu]

tale as old as time

song as old as rhyme

beauty and the beast

[singulariitysims]

🍒

[gravityglitch-blog]

My contribution to @beauty-beast-week, organized by @firawren, for Day 3.

The prompt was Lavender (relaxation, sleep, baths, summer, scents...)

I imagine this taking place in the movie's timeline, between the "Human Again" sequence and the famous waltz.

INK AND MOONLIGHT

Be careful what you wish for, Belle thought to herself as she idly drew patterns in the frost on the library window panes.

All her life, she had felt different. She'd never considered herself better or worse than anyone else. She was simply...apart.

While everyone around her was down to earth, she was an incurable dreamer. Her mother had been like that, according to her faded memory. Her father, too. She'd spent most of her life sighing over the pages of fairy tales and wishing something fantastical would happen in her own life.

It didn't get much more fantastical than life with a mythic beast in an enchanted castle filled with living, breathing housewares.

How long had she been here now? A few weeks? A few months? Magic had a way of playing with your sense of time.

She sat curled up in a corner of one of the massive library's many window seats. At her back, flames cheerfully crackled in the fireplace, keeping her warm this winter's night and providing a soft glow to read by. She took another sip of the lavender tea Mrs. Potts had been so kind to provide and tried again to focus on the book in her hands. Normally this was no trouble. But tonight, she was distracted by thoughts of the dreams she'd been having.

It was the same dream, every night since she'd been in the castle. She was lost in a beautiful, unfamiliar forest. It was silent as death, and equally endless. She'd start out walking, then running in search of a path, anything to lead her out of there.

And then the man would appear before her.

She could never make out much about him.

His figure was always blurred, like she were trying to see him through a veil of water. She could make out a few details. Tall. Copper hair. The only thing really clear about him were his eyes, the purest blue she'd ever seen.

Her dream self would always ask, "Who are you? Can you help me?"

"I would give anything to tell you who I am," the man would reply, his voice soft and sad. "But I can only help you back to the castle."

She would pull away. "I don't want to go back there. I want to go home."

"I know," the stranger would say. "And I know you have no reason to trust me. But please believe when I say, you have nothing to fear from the castle or anyone in it."

Then he would hold out his hand to her.

She always wanted to ask more questions.

But somehow, in that one heartbeat, her fears would calm. She would reach out...and she would wake up.

It wasn't even enough to call a nightmare, but it left her unsettled all the same.

She wrapped her hands around her teacup to better absorb its warmth. Belle giggled lightly as she felt the teacup snoring against her palms. At least someone was getting a good night's sleep.

A flicker of shadow caught the edge of her vision. She looked up and saw Beast in one of the archways leading to another book-filled chamber. Though her fear of him had mostly dissolved after that night he'd rescued her from the wolves, she still found him a paradox.

There was strength and power in every line of him, and he could move through this castle quick and noiseless as the shadows themselves. Right now, he looked like a child who had been caught staying up past his bedtime.

"You can't sleep, either?" she asked.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," his deep voice rumbled.

"You're not," Belle assured him. "It gets so quiet around here at night, I...I'd be glad of the company for awhile, if you don't mind."

He nodded, and she thought she glimpsed a shy smile, but his expressions were often difficult to read. He took up the other corner of the window seat, farthest from her. He gazed out the window at the gently falling snow, seeming hesitant to look at her. The silence was broken only by the quiet sound of his breath and her heartbeat. Belle studied his reflection in the glass, the only way she felt she could safely look at him for more than a few moments without being rude. She'd been terrified of him at first sight, she had to admit. The setting and circumstances hadn't helped, her father locked in a dungeon while she bargained for his freedom. Later, when she'd tried to escape and run right into the jaws of the wolf pack, she'd witnessed the sheer ferocity and wildness he kept contained. Looking at him now...there was a strange grace about him. She could imagine him as a creature of myth, an otherworldly guardian of some secret or forbidden world. Belle gave herself a mental shake. No wonder the people back home called her a funny girl.

"What are you reading?" Beast asked finally.

In answer, she held out the book to him. Carefully he took it from her and leafed through a few pages. One heavy eyebrow went up. "Vampires? Are you trying to give yourself nightmares?"

Belle shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed. "What can I say? I've always found stories of the night fascinating."

He gave a rough snort, his version of a laugh. "No wonder you fit right in here."

She tilted her head. "How do you mean?"

"Can you really not feel it? The magic of this place embraces you like it's been waiting for you all its life."

Unsure what to say to that, she smoothed out non-existent wrinkles in her soft purple dress. Hoping to smooth out the awkward silence as well, she smiled gently at him. "And what about you?"

"What about me?"

She gestured at the caverns of books around them. "You're in here nearly as often as I am. What are your favorite kind of stories?"

He turned to look at her then, and this time she was certain of the smile. "You were the one that reminded me how much I enjoy reading. After so long, I'd nearly forgotten how. I don't think I've even thanked you yet for helping me remember."

"You don't have to thank me. I was happy to do it."

He nodded once, then returned to her question. "When I was young, it was adventure stories. Pirates and treasure hunting."

Belle's smile grew wider, her mind conjuring the image of a miniature Beast embarking on imaginary quests across the high seas. "And what about now?"

He drew in a deep breath, as if gathering up his courage. "Would you like to hear it?"

"You want to read to me?"

"It's the least I can do, after you brought it back to me."

"I'd love to hear it!"

He glided over to a shelf nearby and pulled out a green leather-bound volume, more worn-looking than the others in the library. He rested the book on the windowsill, now kneeling on the seat so he could open the book for her. Belle gasped as the pages spread out to reveal a map of the sky, constellations lovingly drawn and named in delicate strokes of ink. Most stunning of all were the illustrations in the center, the sun and moon frozen in a celestial dance. She gently set her sleeping teacup back on his tray, tucking a napkin around him like a blanket, so she could give her full attention to Beast and his story. Taking only the very edge of the page between his claws, he turned to the beginning of the story. Here the ink spun into an icy landscape, not unlike the scene outside their window. The sky in this picture had been replaced by delicately scrawled words. In his low, soft baritone, he began to read.

"Once upon a time there was a poor husbandman who had many children and little to give them in the way either of food or clothing. They were all pretty, but the prettiest of all was the youngest daughter, who was so beautiful that there were no bounds to her beauty."

She thought he glanced at her here, but surely it was her imagination.

Stop being silly, she chided herself.

"So once", he continued, "it was late on a Thursday evening in autumn, and wild weather outside, terribly dark, and raining so heavily and blowing so hard that the walls of the cottage shook again--they were all sitting together by the fireside, when suddenly some one rapped three times against the window-pane."

So went the story of a girl swept away from her mundane world on the back of a white bear, who was truly a prince in disguise, her true love. They were parted by a mistake realized too late. But so strong was their love, that the girl was undaunted, riding the Four Winds until she could rescue her prince.

Belle wanted so desperately to hear the ending. But the lavender tea was working its' magic, and Beast's voice and presence was so warm, that she fell asleep upon her folded arms.

___

Beast heard her first snore before he could read out happily ever after. He suppressed a laugh with all his strength. She had an adorable snore. Moving quietly, he put the book back in its place. Now he faced a dilemma. He didn't want to wake Belle, but he couldn't exactly leave her here, either. Praying that this wouldn't be pushing their newborn friendship too far, he carefully gathered her into his arms until he was carrying her bridal-style. His heart almost stopped when she stirred, but she only pushed her face further into his broad shoulder. "Warm," she mumbled dreamily.

He would have given anything to live in that moment forever. But time never stops, not even within the walls of an enchanted castle.

Beast glided out of the library and up the stairs to Belle's room. He could already hear whispers from a few insomniac servants. There'd be gossip among them by morning. The door to Belle's room kindly (and silently) opened itself for them. He delicately laid her down on her bed. He thought that she clung to his shirt for a moment before settling onto her pillows, but of course that had to be his imagination.

Don't be stupid, he scolded himself.

He pulled the blankets over her, and allowed himself the indulgence of brushing a rogue lock of hair away from her eyes. He made it to her doorway before looking back at her once more. "Sweet dreams, my princess."

He knew he had no right to call her this.

She might never return his feelings. 

Even if she did, a free spirit like Belle would never be owned by anyone, and that was part of what he loved about her.

But he couldn't help it. To him, she was a princess, no matter what happened next.

He softly closed the door and left her to her dreaming.

And dream she did. But this time, instead of the endless ominous forest, Belle dreamt of ink and moonlight and a gentle thundercloud weaving stories at her shoulder.

[melanciu]

I can’t be your love..

cause I’m afraid, I’ll ruin your life.

[meekosthemeparkphotos]

Belle Topiary

[boyfriendyke]

there r a lot of things about the myth of psyche and eros that makes me a little insane but one of them has always been the tasks from aphrodite and the unfairness of it. they're not intended to be possible. they're so obviously not meant to be possible, and psyche isn't fucking hercules, you know, she's not a demigod or whatever, she's mortal and these aren't mortal tasks!! it's why psyche has to be helped with each one, fucking by like ants and river gods and shit. and so like. idk. i know ppl see psyche and eros as like a story about love and shit which obviously it is but as a kid psyche and eros always felt like a story about being able to accept help

[griseldabanks]

Maybelle and the Beast

My contribution to the @inklings-challenge Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge. This was my back-up idea for last year, so I was excited to have an excuse to finally write it out! Beauty and the Beast is my favorite fairy tale, and I have a feeling I may revisit this particular version again in the future, because I could definitely turn this into a novel ;) I'll admit to taking a lot of inspiration from Robin McKinley's retellings of this fairy tale.

Maybelle stared at the tall, imposing mahogany door. She felt just as reluctant to open it as if it had been the barred portal to a dungeon—like the cold stone chamber she'd explored early on in her stay here, which she expected had been a dungeon once but was now a wine cellar.

More to stall for time than anything else, Maybelle brushed off her rust red skirt and straightened her collar. It was a nervous habit, but in a way it also served to remind her of why she was here, because of who had given her these clothes. Days, weeks, months in this huge, empty mansion, alone except for one companion. The companion who had slammed this very door not half an hour ago.

Taking a deep breath, Maybelle knocked firmly on the door.

“Go 'way,” a muffled voice growled out to her.

Letting out her breath again in an impatient huff, Maybelle crossed her arms. “Are you still sulking, Agnes?”

“I am not sulking,” the voice insisted sulkily.

“Right. You're lying in bed at three in the afternoon, glaring a hole in the ceiling, for your health.”

After a heavy silence, a loud click told her the key had turned in the hole. Taking that as an invitation, Maybelle opened the door and stepped inside.

The heavy drapes had been pulled closed, leaving the bedroom in a stuffy half-light. The only illumination came from the embers of the fire dying in the fireplace. She could barely even make out the silhouette of a large bulk lying in the huge four-poster. It was like stepping into a sickroom.

Rolling her eyes at the drama of it all, Maybelle closed the door with a snap and made a beeline for the window closest to the fireplace. She pulled the curtains aside, letting a band of lazy afternoon sunlight stretch across the carpet, revealing the twisting patterns of vines and roses. After a moment's consideration, Maybelle decided not to open the curtains of the other window nearest the bed. Best not to annoy Agnes any further with a sunbeam in her eyes. She would probably just wave her hand and make the curtains close, then stick together so Maybelle couldn't open them again. Instead, Maybelle contented herself with throwing the window open and letting in the delicious scents of flowers and the buzzing of bees from the gardens.

“There,” she said, drawing in a deep breath of the fresh smell of spring. “Much better.”

With a grunt, the huge lump on the bed rolled over.

Maybelle walked up to the foot of the bed and stood there with her hands on her hips, just waiting. How strange, to remember how frightened she had been the first time she'd ventured into this room. Or how her knees had nearly given out the first time she'd dared to meet the gaze of the terrible Beast who was to be her captor.

It had been months since she'd ceased to be the Beast, and became instead...simply Agnes.

“Well?” Maybelle said, when it became clear Agnes wasn't about to break the silence. “Aren't we going to at least talk about this?”

The long tail lying on top of the blue bedspread flicked irritably, like a huge cat's. “What's to talk about?” Agnes retorted, her voice grumbling like a motorcar in her massive chest. “Clearly, you don't care what happens to me, as long as you get to go have fun without me.”

Closing her eyes for a moment, Maybelle sent up a silent prayer for patience. “Well, for starters,” she said, her voice coming out more sharply than she'd intended, “you called me an awful lot of horrid names, and I thought perhaps you might want to apologize.”

A long, pregnant pause. Finally, with a long-suffering groan from the bed, Agnes rolled over onto her back, her arms tucked up against her chest almost like a dog waiting for a belly rub. The long, black skirt did little to hide her bowed legs ending in sharp claws, and from this angle, her long saber teeth and curled goat-like horns were no longer hidden in her mountain of pillows.

Agnes sighed in resignation. “Sorry for calling you a selfish, bird-brained floozy.”

Maybelle nodded. “Apology accepted. And...I'm sorry too. For calling you a heartless, hairy pig.”

Their eyes met across the room. Agnes let out a snort, followed by a loud guffaw, and suddenly Maybelle found herself laughing as well. The tight coil of anger and bitterness loosened in her chest as she tipped her head back and let her higher-pitched laughter harmonize with Agnes' deep, hefty chuckles.

Still giggling, Maybelle crossed over and flopped onto the huge bed beside Agnes. She felt so tiny in this bed, like a doll. And yet, even though she was sure Agnes could snap her like a twig if she so desired, Maybelle didn't feel a shred of fear to lie a mere foot away from her.

For a couple minutes, they merely lay there, staring up into the canopy over the four-poster. Maybelle had just realized the stars embroidered there formed constellations and was looking for Orion when Agnes broke the silence.

“You were right, you know.” Her voice was a low, sad rumble like a locomotive rushing past in the night. “I am a pig.”

“Oh, no!” Maybelle raised herself on one elbow, looking over in alarm. “Please, forget those awful things I said. It was very wrong of me to call you that.”

Agnes turned her head aside, but Maybelle thought she caught the sight of a tear glistening in one eye. “You were only speaking the truth. Like you always do. I am heartless. Because I care more about not being alone than I do about you getting a chance to see your family. Even when all you ask is to go to your sister's wedding...I'm too selfish to let you go.”

Slowly, Maybelle lowered herself to her pillow again. She wasn't quite sure what to say, so she spoke slowly, picking her words carefully. “I wasn't thinking of you either. I'm sorry, Agnes. I know...I mean, I can imagine how lonely it must get here, in this huge mansion all alone. But it would only be for the weekend. Just enough to meet Edward and see Adeline off. I'd be back before you could miss me too much.”

“You...would come back?”

Agnes' voice sounded so hesitant and tremulous, Maybelle looked over in surprise, but she couldn't make out her friend's expression past the horn and the unruly mane of hair. “Of course I'll come back. That's part of the deal.”

The silence seemed to congeal between them. Neither of them had mentioned the deal Agnes and Maybelle's father had worked out, not since...Maybelle couldn't even remember. During the past several months, it had become easy to forget how all of this began. When Maybelle had first arrived at the mansion, she'd shut thoughts of home out of her mind as much as possible, to make her dreadful fate a little more bearable. If she weren't constantly thinking of the little cottage or trying to imagine what her father and sisters were up to, perhaps she could carve a small measure of contentment out of her exile. It was a small price to pay for her father's life, after all.

But it had been months since Maybelle had seriously believed that Agnes would have eaten her father. Not after she'd seen the delicate way Agnes handled the gardening tools when she tended to her enchanted rose bushes. Not after the way she'd cradled that finch's body in her enormous hands, huge tears rolling down her hairy face as she muttered spell after spell that fizzled out, unable to bring the tiny animal back to life.

Not after scores upon scores of cozy evenings by the fire, laughing together as Maybelle tried to teach Agnes how to knit with two iron pokers, or taking turns reading from one of the books in the huge library.

For the first time, Maybelle tried to imagine what life must have been like for Agnes in all the years before her father had shown up on the doorstep. Sitting alone in front of a guttering fire. Pacing the dark, dusty hallways, with nothing to hear but the echoes of her own footsteps. Wandering the grounds, able to turn the seasons at a word and the weather at a glance, but with nothing but the birds and bees to listen to her words. A library that magically seemed to provide exactly the book she wanted to read, but all the stories of friendship and adventure only serving to mock her solitude.

“I promise I'll come back,” Maybelle said firmly. “Deal or no deal. I won't leave you alone forever.”

A strange, strangled sound escaped Agnes, quickly disguised in a clearing of her throat. “Well,” she said gruffly, “good. But if you don't come back in three days, I'll die.”

Maybelle rolled her eyes. Always so dramatic.

-----

It was raining when Maybelle returned to the mansion. Since it was midsummer out in the rest of the world, she hadn't thought to pack a coat, so she just ducked her head and hurried up the gravel walk to the great front doors. This wasn't a summer rain, either; the chilly breeze cut right through the thin sleeves of the flower-patterned dress Violette had made for her.

The front doors seemed heavier than usual. Normally, they swung open at the first touch of her hand, but this time Maybelle had to throw her shoulder against one to open it. Perhaps Agnes had left a window open somewhere and there was a draft. Though that seemed strange; surely Agnes would have either closed the window or shifted the weather instead of letting all this cold rain blow in.

Maybelle turned back to glance out the door. It looked like Agnes had fully committed to a dreary late November today. The bare branches of the trees clacked together while the wind howled through them, cold raindrops splashing in puddles that turned the walkways to mud. It made her wonder if the rain had kept up the whole time she'd been away.

Shivering, Maybelle heaved the front door closed again, picked up her bag, and started towards the stairs. “Agnes!” she called, her voice echoing around the huge entryway. “I'm home!”

She was halfway up the stairs, struggling with her free hand to unpin her hair and wring out some of the water, when she realized the lamps were dark. Her feet slowed to a stop in the lush carpeting, and she frowned up at the huge chandelier that hung over the open space. Every time she'd set foot in this hall—or anywhere else in the house, for that matter—candles lit themselves and lamps burst to life. At first, she'd found it frightening, especially when she would walk down a long, straight corridor with the candles flaring up in front of her and winking out behind her, leaving her in a bubble of illumination.

But after all these months, she'd grown used to such things. Doors opening at a touch, lamps lighting on their own, plates of food and cups of tea appearing on tables right when she wanted them, a bath drawn and waiting for her without even the hint of a servant in sight. It was all part of the magic of this place. Agnes' magic.

In the cold darkness and silence, Maybelle suddenly remembered what Agnes had said before her trip. If you don't come back in three days, I'll die.

A chill ran down her spine that had nothing to do with her soaked dress. Surely Agnes had just been exaggerating, the way she so often did. Like that time she'd said she felt like she'd been alone in this mansion for a hundred years. Or when she said she lived under a curse.

But still...where was she? After all the fuss she'd made when Maybelle had first asked to leave, why wasn't she waiting for her? Was she sulking in her room again?

“Agnes!” Maybelle called again, slowly climbing the rest of the stairs. “I'm back! Where are you?”

Nothing but silence to welcome her.

Her footsteps slowed as she reached the top of the stairs and turned to the right, heading for her room. The corridor was wide enough that there wasn't much danger of bumping into things, but it was all so eerie without candles lighting her way. She paused at the corner, where a tall window offered a bit of cold illumination.

Shivering, Maybelle looked out at the darkening grounds, still lashed by the driving rain. The rosebushes looked like they were taking a beating, magic or no magic. Even as she watched, the wind stripped leaves off the branches, and most of the brightly-colored petals were already gone. What on earth was Agnes thinking? Even in her most fickle moods, she would usually relent if she realized it would endanger her precious roses....

Maybelle frowned. What was that dark lump in the middle of the path? She hadn't noticed it as she rushed up the front drive, but from this higher vantage point, she could see it clearly. Was it a tarp caught under a wheelbarrow, knocked onto its side in all this wind?

No. Those weren't the handles of a wheelbarrow. They were horns. Two horns, curled like a goat's, rising from a big hairy head lying in the mud....

Dropping everything, Maybelle grabbed her dripping skirts and raced back down the corridor. She hopped up onto the banister as she'd done so many times before and slid expertly to the bottom. Laughing as Agnes tried to imitate her and toppled over the side in a heap.

She ran to the front door and heaved it open, letting go as the howling wind gusted in and slammed it back against the wall. “Last one inside's a rotten egg!”

The rain almost seemed to be falling horizontally, the wind was so strong. Holding up an arm to shield her face, Maybelle splashed along the muddy path as fast as she could. Walking along the path, crunching through the snow, leaving behind a neat row of shoe prints and paw prints side-by-side.

“Agnes!” Maybelle screamed, the wind stealing her voice, as she turned down an aisle between the rosebushes. “You were wrong when you said there was nothing beautiful about you, Agnes. Just look at your roses!”

There she lay, like a mound of dirt, one arm flung around a rosebush as if to protect it, the other curled tight against her chest. She wasn't moving.

“Agnes?” Maybelle dropped to her knees in a puddle by Agnes' side. Throwing her weight against Agnes' huge shoulder, she managed to roll her onto her back. But how would she ever drag her up into the house?

A weak groan escaped Agnes' lips, and her eyelids fluttered, then slid open. “May...belle?”

Hot tears stung Maybelle's eyes. “Thank goodness!” she cried, grasping Agnes' hand in both of hers. “I thought you were....”

Agnes slowly opened her hand, and Maybelle saw that it was cupped around a small, bedraggled red rose. Most of the petals were gone, and those that remained looked wilted.

“Last one,” Agnes grunted. “Not much...time now.”

“It's all right,” Maybelle said, trying to give her an encouraging smile. “We can replant. Once you're feeling a little stronger, maybe you can turn the weather back to spring and—“

“No.” A shudder ran through Agnes' whole body, and her face twisted in a horrible grimace of pain. “No starting over. No...No use.”

“What are you talking about?” Maybelle patted her friend's hand. “Of course we can start over. We can always start over.”

“But...we sh-shouldn't.” Agnes' voice grew fainter by the minute, and Maybelle had to lean closer to hear. “Just...go back home...Maybelle.”

Icy fingers of dread closed around Maybelle's heart. “What? No! I made a promise, remember? I'm to stay here in my father's place—“

“I release you.” Her big amber eyes rolled to meet Maybelle's, bloodshot and exhausted, but crystal clear. “It was...wrong. I...was wrong. To make you stay...against your will. So...I...re...lease...you....”

With that final whisper, her eyes slid closed, and her head lolled back onto the ground. A shiver, like a tiny electric pulse, ran through Maybelle's whole body, and she knew that some sort of spell had just ended.

“No, Agnes!” Frantically, Maybelle chafed Agnes' hands, patted her cheeks, loosened her collar. “Agnes, you don't understand! I'm not here against my will! We're friends, Agnes! I want to be here!”

The huge beast didn't move. This wasn't like the times Agnes sulked and refused to talk to Maybelle. She couldn't even tell if Agnes was breathing anymore.

Desperate to do something, Maybelle tried to heave Agnes into her arms, but the most she could manage was to cradle Agnes' head in her lap. Tears mingled with rainwater on her furry cheeks.

What if she were dead already? What would Maybelle do then? Go back to her family? But there would be no more strolling through the gardens in the evening, no more reading by firelight, no more long conversations or teaching each other games or trying to braid each other's hair or teaching Agnes how to dance or listening to her wonderful singing voice or laughing at each other's silly jokes or....

“Don't be stupid, Agnes!” Maybelle sobbed. “You're my best friend. The best friend I've ever had. No one knows me like you do. No one cares like you do. If I knew this would happen to you, I never would have gone away.”

Maybelle rested her cheek against Agnes' forehead, in between the horns, and rocked back and forth, holding her best friend close. “I'm sorry, Agnes...I'm sorry.... I never wanted to lose you. I just...I just wanted to keep being your friend. Always. Forever.” A painful sob ripped out of her chest as her best friend's body lay cold and still in her arms. “I love you, Agnes.”

Faintly, Maybelle was aware that the wind had died down, and raindrops no longer pounded down on her head and shoulders. The realization of what that meant only made her cry harder. Her fingers tangled in Agnes' mane of hair as she mumbled over and over again, “I love you, Agnes...I love you....”

“Love you too.”

Maybelle looked up at those gruff words, then gave a great start as she realized she held a complete stranger in her arms.

The woman she held was large, with broad shoulders and a squarish jaw. She was no great beauty, especially not with disheveled brown hair straggling all over the place or her body swimming in Agnes' oversized dress, but there was something comfortable and familiar about....

Wait. “Ag...nes?”

Moving stiffly, the woman held her own hands up in front of her face and turned them around, as if she'd never seen them before. Slowly, a wondering smile crossed her face, and Maybelle noticed this woman's front teeth protruded slightly.

Not too unlike the huge fangs that had curved from Agnes' lips.

Then she raised her eyes to meet Maybelle's, and there was no doubt. Those were the amber-brown eyes of her best friend.

“Agnes!”

They threw their arms around each other, and they were crying, but they were also laughing, and Agnes was trying to tell her something about a fairy and a flower and a curse, but Maybelle was too distracted by how small Agnes was in her arms. How high Agnes' voice was.

“How?” she gulped, pulling back and holding Agnes at arms' length. “How did this happen?”

“It's all you, silly!” Agnes laughed, swiping her sleeve over Maybelle's cheeks to dry her tears. She still moved carefully, as if afraid of accidentally swiping Maybelle with nonexistent claws. “True love breaks any curse, don't you know that?”

“True love?” Maybelle sniffled.

Tears spilled out of Agnes' beautiful amber eyes and rolled down her round, rosy cheeks. “What love could be truer than this?” she said with a shaky laugh. “That you'd still want to be friends with someone as beastly as me?”

“Oh, you're not as bad as all that.”

Agnes raised her eyebrows. “Really? Even after all those nasty things I said to scare you on your first night here? Or when I threw a chair at you and screamed when you went exploring in the west wing?”

“Well....” Maybelle didn't know how to deny it without completely lying, so she hastily changed the subject. “I don't regret anything, though. I don't regret coming here. I don't regret deciding to be your friend.”

With a watery chuckle, Agnes rested their foreheads together. “I don't regret it either.”

[peculiarbeauty]

i so so want to be friends with all of you who play dreamlight valley. <3 i've been struggling to find time in order to visit you guys and your valleys , but if you have dreamlight please please know that i would LOVE so much to visit you !!

[literallycogsworth]

How I feel after running into one of the actors from my schools Batb production today (it was the guy who played Cogsworth (there was a rumour that I had a crush on him and now it’s just awkward and I run away from him everywhere))

[midnightmah07]

I keep thinking of character themes for my OCs and if anyone is a fan of BTS and/or played BTS world, Jimin's theme (Cake Waltz) is exactly what I imagine would play whenever Daisy showed up in the game😭😭😭 it's just so her–

[groundbreakingdot872]

Ever think about the fact that Uther fell in love with a corpse?

That Catrina was dead, had already been dead for weeks, when the troll strutted into court wearing her face

And speaking of the origins of their plan- the troll had likely scavenged the estate of Tregor after the invasion minutes after the event, kicking bodies out the way on her instinctual hunt gold

Instead of finding anything valuable, which the bandits had already taken, she found pretty personal belongings, too lesser for a thief... and the lady that they belonged too.

Brutally murdered maybe, but intact enough to be recreated, and impersonated.

Finding her manservant’s body fallen nearby made the idea too easy to conceive, a "Jonas" in hand and the personal items of Catrina ruthlessly ripped away, the plan wealth beyond their imagining was already in motion

And then in the aftermath, of the whole horrid, gruesome, embarrassing affair, when the rumors had died down enough…

Uther must’ve gone quietly, in the early hours of the morning, to visit Catrina’s grave - the real Catrina

Laid flowers, and shed a few private tears over the woman he had never met, but had strong feelings for, perhaps love. Her physique and voice had enchanted him, in more ways than one, and temporarily given him a happy out from the sins of the past

Though it must've unsettled him, that he had fallen for the figment of a woman, not even a ghost, and pledged his entire Kingdom in a heartbeat over a pleasant if pitying face

Although I'm sure the irony, of beloveds coming back to the present, wearing marred faces with a masked intent for vengeance over ghosts of his evils, must have eluded him...

[lenoreamidala]

belle's outfits (pt. 1)

[facadep]

A cute commission of a Leona x S.I. ship <3 for @bb-kawa

[potatothemouse]

More Halloween art. Decided that the royals will all have a specific theme for Halloween every year. Decided to go simple and do princess theme.