Not A Fairy Tale

as promised, her is a snippet from my Beauty and the Beast inspired story. It's simply the introduction, but I'm sort of in love with it anyway. I don't know if anyone cares, but whatever.

In all good fairy tales there is a castle. And there is one in this story as well. It sits right past the horizon where it cannot be seen. Its stone walls are old and covered in grasping vines. The grounds too are overrun with thorns and on its borders there sit a few unwary roses. The windows are dark, for the castle does not disclose its secrets.
In all decent fairy tales there is a girl, a girl who is beautiful and intelligent, kind and unwittingly brave. And there is always a man, a prince, a hero. In any good and lovely fairy tale there is a man and a girl and there is generally a rose, a rose to represent love.
But this is not a fairy tale. The rose is nothing but a dying plant covered in thorns, sinister and shadowed. And there is no man. Only a beast.
There was a time once so very long ago that no one can really remember it, not even the oldest and most ancient textbooks. And in that time there were people who could just barely recall a time when a castle stood on the horizon. But even then they didn't know the tale.
It is far too old a time that I speak of, too long ago for any scholar or historian to teach. But that time existed and the castle existed. Every part of the tale is as true as memory and as false as lies. It is neither here nor there and it most certainly did not happen once upon a time.
Every good fairy tale begins with that most familiar of fairy tale phrases. It is the phrase that any fine fairy tale must being with, just as any respectable fairy tale must end with another familiar three word phrase. But this is not a good fairy tale. It is not a fairy tale at all.

It obviously needs a little work, but I still like it.


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