Belle is a maid living in service of a handsome prince who she falls madly in love with. Jealous of all the other women and angry at his refusal to notice her she curses him and turns him into a hideous beast. For years they remain together in the c...
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Thirteen candles circle the glass case, their arrangement set out with the intent purpose to perform a powerful spell. The witch who is using them has her eyes closed and her hands raised in the air.
She takes a deep breath before whispering the words, "J'invoque les sorcières d'autrefois. Les mères liées à la Terre qui parcouraient autrefois ces terres bénies. S'il vous plaît, donnez-moi la force dont j'ai besoin pour réparer mon sort."
She patiently waits for her request to be granted, but nothing happens. The surge of power she wanted never came. Opening her eyes she gazes up toward the heavens, "S'il-te-plait je t'en prie. Donne-moi la force... donne-moi la force." Once again, nothing happens. Sulking into her chair she knew her attempt was useless.
Her cold eyes stare long and hard at the dying petal that was now being twirled by her fingers. Ever since she felt the effect of the petal falling she scoured the multitude of books she kept in the back of the library and her office. She was trying to find a way to reattach it and fix the spell. But no matter what book she read, old or new, foreign or written by local witches, they all said the same thing: Once a spell has been placed nothing can change it, not even the witch who cast it.
She thought she would try and beat the system, but she couldn't. Her spell was breaking and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Screaming she slams her hands against the table which sends the petals flying into the air. She glares at it as it floats back down to the table, landing in front of her.
"How could this happen?" she asks herself, her hands flying up and tugging at her long, dark hair.
Her attention shifts from the rotting petal to the still blood-red rose resting comfortably under the frost-like glass casing. She could already see that the underbelly of another petal was starting to break away from the rest of the flower. Small yellow sparks flicker ever so slightly at the point the petal meets the spot above the thorny stem.
Once a spell has been placed nothing can change it, not even the witch who cast it.
She shakes her head and slams her fists against the table like a child throwing a tantrum. The loud bangs echo through the room, again and again, and again with each hit until eventually she ran out of energy to continue.
"This can't be happening. Not now, not ever. How could this happen? How could this happen?" She sinks into a nearby chair and covers her head in her hands.
"How could what happen?" a man's voice comes from the doorway—it's Maurie.
She jumps up from her seat and quickly moves her body so that she is blocking the rose and its fallen petal.
Maurie remains silent with his hands folded in front of him as he waits for an answer to his question. She ponders if she should answer him, after all, if he found out about the rose he would surely tell the Beast, and she didn't need him getting his hopes up, or worse finding a way to make more petals fall and break his curse. However, despite the cons of asking him, he is the only other person in the house who knows witchcraft almost as well as she does.
