The Subtle Beauty - A Celtic Beauty & the Beast retelling

CHAPTER 10: Rise of the Phoenix

CHAPTER TEN

Rise of the Phoenix

Glory watched numbly as the summer fields grew ripe in autumn’s glow. She watched the harvest come in and life gradually leave the world as winter approached. Leaves fluttered from trees in a confetti of burning colors, leaving their foundations barren and bony. The blue sky faded to gray. Soft orange light began to fill homes and businesses daily. Cold, white dust fell from the sky, blanketing barren hill and sunken barrow. Barrel-chested, bearded men began felling Yule logs, pulling them behind with children gaily astride. The castle was decorated festively, but it brought Glory no joy. While Ophelia tried to show empathy, the rest of Glory’s sisters could not understand her sorrow. Why could she not rejoice in being free of all contracts with a potential husband? Normally, Glory loved Yuletide, but this year the only solace she wrought from it was that winter outside was as cold and bleak as she felt inside. At the Winter Ball, she pushed the food around on her plate, then sat by her father as she watched her sisters dance with their mates. When they adjourned to exchange gifts, Glory bolted to her room and collapsed upon her bed. The icy wind howled against the castle, and Glory could not help but think that it sounded like Eoghan’s lonely song. She yearned to hear it again. Yet all she heard was the rush of spirits haunting her. Glory cursed them in her heart.

“Curse you, Eoghan. Curse your song and your soul!” Glory wept upon her bed. “Curse this pain you make me feel. Curse the joy your death has taken from me. Curse the life I must endure without you.”

The wind roared against the castle ominously. Glory remembered glaring into the sunlight, so angry with Eoghan as he laughed at her, It is far too late for curses, Princess.

Glory climbed into bed, listening to winter’s song and pining for Eoghan until sleep finally found her.

Spring crept in like the budding of tiny flowers peeking through receding snow. The castle once again began bustling with final preparations for Portia’s wedding. Glory went about the daily demands with no more zest for life than a wraith. She mechanically did whatever was asked of her. The days bore little difference between each other, inasmuch that Glory could not tell anyone the name of the day or the hour of it. When approached by her father regarding celebratory preparation for Glory’s sixteenth birthday, she merely requested to be left alone, for she felt the world dead to her and she dead to the world. Balthazaar’s brow creased, and the look in his eyes waxed heavy for her, but Glory would not have his comfort. The following week, Glory found a package on her dresser, bound in ivory silk. The note attached was from her father.

“A gift on your sixteenth birthday. I had hoped that somehow I could help you preserve Eoghan’s memory. Please do not do anything rash, my love.”

Glory unbound the material, and a single, polished, gleaming talon rolled out. It fell at glory’s feet. A part of Eoghan was in the room with her. Glory stared blankly at it, lying in the sunlight that streamed through her bedroom windows. She wondered how her father could be so cruel and thoughtless. Hesitantly, she bent over and carefully picked up the talon. The point was dagger sharp, naturally equipped for capturing prey and tearing flesh. Glory’s grip tightened, and she pressed the talon to her breast. She could end this pain now. She could be with Eoghan in paradise. She could take her life just to spite the gift.

So what was stopping her?

Hot tears streamed down her face.  Carefully she slid the talon between her skin and dress, feeling it cut into her ribs a little.  She wore it close to her heart, secreted away there, every day thereafter.

One late summer morning, Glory awoke to a clamor. She sat up in bed and listened.

“…But Portia, you must!”