Mrs. Beast Read Free Page A

damage with a snap of her fingers.   When Beauty descended the Grand Staircase, every inch the fairy tale, princess bride, steam shot from Violet's and Daisy's ears.   A black cloud formed over their heads and followed them as they staggered with blind rage to the palace steps.   There a voice spoke from the cloud:
         I know your hearts and the malice they contain.   You shall become statues while retaining your ability to think beneath the stone that encompasses you. You will stand at the portal of your sister's palace because I can think of no better punishment to impose than to witness her happiness.   I will allow you to return to your original shape only when you recognize your faults, but I fear that you'll remain statues forever.   Pride, anger, gluttony and laziness can all be corrected, but a miracle is needed to convert a wicked and envious heart, you rotten rascals.
         "Surely, they've suffered enough," Beauty murmurs.   “Perhaps Elora may be able to transform you too.” She kisses their granite cheeks and, if they could, the sisters would smirk with satisfaction as Beauty turns to take her leave of the castle, the prince, and happily ever after.
     
    *       *       *
     
         "What do you think, hound?   Have they suffered enough?"   Elora arches an ebony eyebrow.   Croesus creeps out from under the bed and shakes his head decisively.
         "You're doggoned right they have not.   Not nearly enough for the hundreds of pinches and slaps they gave Beauty. At least now she's ducking out for a worthy cause unlike the last time when she offered herself to the Beast to save her neurotic family. Do you remember that? Would you care to see a replay?”
         Croesus trots to her side and Elora snaps her fingers over the crystal ball.
         Beauty's father appears within, preparing for a journey to the city. Violet and Daisy are tugging at his sleeves, yattering in his ears, demanding he bring back jewels and gowns. Marcel turns to Beauty and asks what he may bring her from his journey . A rose, please , she answers.
         Elora snaps again and the crystal reveals Marcel   heading home, penniless. His ships had sunk in a storm at sea, and although creditors had ravaged him, he had purchased a blue gown for Violet and a pink gown for Daisy. At the moment he remembered Beauty’s simple request of a rose, a snowstorm blew in from out of nowhere.
         "A dandy of a storm, I must admit," Elora chuckles.   "Mother Nature herself couldn't have done better.   Look, there's Marcel when he spied the Beast's castle, sat at the Beast's table, gobbled up the Beast's food, slept in the Beast's bed . . .   and the following morning, bold as brass, picked the Beast's roses."
         Croesus raises his hackles as a buffalo-sized head thrust from the bushes with a hair-raising roar.
         "Now there's a beast and a half!"   Elora hoots.
         Croesus bares his teeth and barks.   Elora pats his round head, and together they watch as the Beast berates Marcel for being an ingrate and a thief, then tells him to prepare for death.   Marcel pleads for his mercy, saying the rose was not for his pleasure, but one of his daughters had asked for a rose.
         "Smooth move, Judas, way to crumble," Elora snorts.   Croesus huffs in empathy and is rewarded with a Pup-Peroni.   Elora zooms in on the Beast's face.   A string of saliva breaks off his gruesome leer. I'll spare your life on the condition that one of your daughters voluntarily takes your place.   If they each refuse, I'll find you and devour you and your daughters.
         Elora and Croesus watch Marcel boo-hoo his way home, Violet and Daisy rush outside, greedy for presents, and Beauty smile with relief at his arrival.   Marcel turns on the tears and holds out the branch of roses he pilfered: Beauty, take these roses; they will cost your poor father dearly.
         Elora freeze-frames the scene as