Disclaimer: I do not intend to infringe on anyone's rights here. I don't own any of the words, nor the Prologue to Disney's Beauty and the Beast. I don't own anything.

I hear the storyteller. He is sitting by the huge stone fireplace, relishing the rapt attention of his audience. The young ones like stories like this--a Prince or Princess, a shining castle, adventure. Of course, here, they must struggle to survive--it is a trial finding enough to eat--so I suppose that stories of palaces of plenty must be told.

Although he had everything his heart desired,
The Prince was spoiled, selfish, and unkind.

Ahhh... the thick of it. The set up. I wish that it really had been so simple. Of course, the story changes over time--the storyteller makes minor "corrections" to suit the audience. Eventually, of course, the no one can recognize the truth, but the storytellers are hardly concerned with such a petty concern as truth, aren't they?

But then, one winter's night,
An old beggar woman came to the castle

It was spring, actually. Early spring--just before the mists released the land to clear mornings. I was dressed as a beggar--had traded my gown of gossamer gold and moonlight silver for one of stench, dust and mud grey wool. Patched wool at that.

And offered him a single Rose In return for shelter from the bitter cold.

The rose has always been sacred to us--so that part is true. Of course, the logical or the gardeners know that a rose will very very rarely bloom in the winter. But the thrall of the storyteller holds true here as well. After all, with the "Once upon a time", all disbelief is suspended.

Repulsed by her haggard appearance,
The Prince sneered at the gift,
And turned the old woman away.

Repulsed? Why, I think not, storyteller! I tried most desperately to make my appearance look haggard and worn. I grayed my hair with ash, formed a hideous wart with a daub of clay and padded the dress. I worked my Arts to cover my bearing, hide my fair skin, and sag my skin. But he was hardly repulsed.

He had been expecting me.

But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances,
For Beauty is found within.

Behold the moral message of the story--for those too young or too slow to grasp it. And to get it out of the way so that the drama may carry on.

Actually, I shouldn't be so bitter. He did turn me away--because that is what he had been told he must do. After all, he was a prince and the royal lines were well known to be visited by all sorts of witches, faeries, Fair Folk and enchantresses. It practically came with the crown. He could either do the obvious right thing, or turn me away and be rewarded with a marvelous adventure and "happily ever after".

He was a political genius. His father will be forgotten in the next generation--but his spirit will live on through a maddening tale as long as there are children to listen to it.

And when he dismissed her again,
The old woman's ugliness melted away To reveal a beautiful Enchantress.

Of course, I was obliged to reveal myself. It's not like I had much choice. To cover the Truth never changes it. I was not strong enough to maintain the guise much longer--particularly when there was no point.

He recognized me from the start.

And so we must play this charade to the end.

The Prince tried to apologize, but it was too late,
For she had seen that there was no love in his heart.

Him? Apologize? I cannot say that any of them have apologized. At least, not with their hearts. Let us not fool ourselves.

He was expecting me. I was expecting him. Do you really think a crown prince would answer his own doorbell on any night? Let alone a night of purported winter chills? Would any reasonable person when they could instead send an underling and stay wrapped up in their warm furs and robes in their rooms?

And as punishment,
She transformed him into a hideous beast,
And placed a powerful spell on the castle,
And all who lived there.

I suppose that part is correct. There was a spell--my heart wasn't in making him hideous.My beast was actually somewhat handsome in the way a beautiful dog is handsome. It was practically obligatory to enchant the castle--to give the servants some form of adventure as they patiently waited for their freedom.

I am sounding bitter again.

It was hardly his fault that he knew me and was taking the opportunity that I offered. Besides, if he had offered me shelter and charity, what could I have offered him? He would have faded away with only an old woman's thanks. Instead, he has a whole village's children enraptured.

Ashamed of his monstrous form,
The beast concealed himself inside his castle,
With a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world.

Hardly concealed away. Again, the storyteller embellishes this part. Of course, you cannot enchant an entire castle without someone noticing. And there seems to always be a shepherd or third son--or a seventh son's seventh son--who is watching, waiting. This may be his big chance to slip into his own adventure. And so they wait, watching the castles high above them.

The Rose she had offered,
Was truly an enchanted rose,
Which would bloom for many years.

This is a new twist. The rose that I gave him was hardly enchanted--merely a rose plucked from my garden. I suppose that this is one more layer to insulate his audience from the bare bones truth. Of course, in this grubby village, having a rose--a plant with no food value, which is, at best, temperamental in this climate--is probably as magical to them as being visited by an Enchantress.

If he could learn to love another,
And earn her love in return By the time the last petal fell,
Then the spell would be broken.

Ahh... so the rose is explained. And the little girls gasp. Each of them is wide-eyed and sighs a little bit. The little boys grumble a little. They want to see a great dragon slain, a mighty scourge wiped out with some clever trickery and a mighty quest.

If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast For all time.

I can practically hear the drum roll here. The younger ones' eyes widen in suspense. Of course, it is supposed to be a terrible fate and I suppose that here it is worse than for the princes and princesses of the world. Here there would be little mercy--the beast would be trapped and lashed to a millstone or plow. Stronger than a man, the beast would be forced into labor and to serve those in the village as they are forced to serve the nobles who are forced to serve the royalty.

As the years passed,
He fell into despair, and lost all hope,
For who could ever learn to love...a Beast?

Of course, there is a heroine who the beastly Prince will fall in love with. And she will fall in love with him. These stories always end happily with a kiss or wedding or whatnot.

It would hardly do to disappoint the audience.

The little girls tonight will dream of being swept off their feet by a Beast who will become a prince. The little boys will dream of being the mighty beast. Undoubtedly, they will change the story a little--put in a mad fight or some mighty quest. Mighty words and mighty deeds, for which they will be rewarded with a kingdom of their own and, for those who are old enough to want it, a pretty princess to kiss.

None of them dream of being the fairy. None of the dream of being the sorcerer. They do not even question what became of the enchantress at the end of the story--what she thought of the whole business. She makes her entrance, does her bit and leaves--sliding out and in like a cuckoo bird in the clock--until some other story needs her to make a crucial appearance.

The little boys want to be the third son--or the seventh son's seventh son--who stumbles upon a high adventure. Perhaps a shepherd who defeats a mighty troll or stops an ogre from devouring everything in sight. They want to be rewarded with a kingdom and the trappings. Then, they may step into the vast tapestry of history.

The little girls, of course, do not want to be the princesses. The princesses in the stories are not interesting--only chattel to be passed from grateful king to a shepherd or random commoner. No, if they were princesses--they want to be oppressed princesses. They want to be forced to scrub floors or sleep for a hundred years or tend geese or forced to hide their royalty under a tattered coat. They want adventure, too.

So, here I am, the enchantress who wanders the land, teaching princes and princesses things their queenly mothers and kingly fathers should have. I am the unwilling villain who disrupts the orderliness of the days and nights of the rich and lucky.

I want to be a little girl. I want to play with a rag doll in the sunshine. I want to have a simple life--tending the land and watching the seasons pass along after each other. I want to sit at the stone fireplace and listen to the storyteller tell me stories of foreign lands and miraculous things and my mother sits nearby, dozing over her darning. I want to bear my own children and tell them stories of old women who transform into enchantresses.