Long ago, in a land cloaked in perpetual twilight, there was a kingdom unlike any other. Its people, once known for their joy and warmth, now whispered only of despair. The towering spires of the castle stood silent, their once-brilliant banners faded to tatters. This was the Kingdom of Thornhaven, and its ruler—a prince now forgotten—had vanished into legend.
The curse had come on a night filled with celebration. The halls of Thornhaven Castle had been brimming with laughter as nobles from neighboring lands gathered for the prince's twenty-first birthday. But as the moon reached its zenith, the doors had burst open, and a woman cloaked in midnight shadows entered. Her beauty was otherworldly, yet her voice carried a chill that froze the merriment.
"I am Morganna," she had declared, her eyes flashing like shards of ice. "And I bring a gift befitting your arrogance, Your Highness."
The prince, Adrian, had stepped forward, unafraid. "I need no gifts from strangers. Leave now, before I have you escorted out."
But Morganna had only laughed, a sound that seemed to echo in every corner of the grand hall. With a wave of her hand, a dark wind swept through the room, extinguishing every light and leaving the crowd in darkness. When the torches flared back to life, the prince was no longer there. In his place stood a monstrous creature—a beast with the body of a lion, the horns of a ram, and eyes that glowed with sorrow.
"Your vanity and pride have earned you this fate," Morganna had whispered. "Until someone loves you for the man you are inside, you shall remain as you appear now—a beast, unworthy of the throne."
The curse did not stop with Adrian. As the townsfolk woke the next day, they found their fields barren, their rivers sluggish with mud. Thornhaven became a place of fear, its people trapped by a blight that only worsened with time. The once-vibrant kingdom faded into ruin, its name erased from maps and songs.
Now, years later, the Beast still roamed the castle. Time had twisted his hope into despair, his kindness into rage. He prowled the halls alone, save for the enchanted servants who had shared in his curse. The chandeliers, once lit by the touch of magic, now hung like skeletal remains. The paintings of ancestors seemed to mock him, their eyes following his every move.
In the heart of the castle, the Beast sat in his library, staring at the one object he could never destroy—a single rose, suspended in a glass dome. Its petals glowed faintly, falling one by one as the years passed. When the last petal fell, his fate would be sealed.
"Your Majesty?" a voice called softly.
The Beast growled, his claws flexing against the wooden arm of his chair. "What is it, Lumiere?"
A candelabra shuffled forward, its golden arms holding flickering flames. Lumiere, once the castle's maître d', spoke with practiced cheer that barely concealed his unease. "There's been... movement in the forest."
The Beast's ears twitched. "Hunters?"
"Not quite," Lumiere said. "A young woman. She seems... lost."
The Beast rose, his massive frame casting a shadow over the room. He moved to the window, peering out into the night. Sure enough, a figure was moving through the snow-covered woods below, clutching a satchel close to her chest.
"She's heading for the gates," Lumiere added.
"Then let her freeze," the Beast said, turning away.
But Lumiere hesitated. "She carries books, sire. Perhaps she is—"
"I don't care," the Beast snarled, his voice echoing. "No one can help me now."
Far from Thornhaven, in the bustling town of Eldermoor, Ella swept the ashes from the hearth, her hands blistered and her dress stained with soot. Her stepsisters, Drusilla and Anastasia, lounged nearby, draped in silks and surrounded by platters of sugared fruits.
"Make sure the floors sparkle," Drusilla sneered. "We can't have Prince Cedric stepping into a filthy home when he arrives."
Ella paused, her hand tightening around the broom. "Prince Cedric?"
Anastasia smirked. "Didn't you hear? He's holding a ball to choose his bride. And, naturally, he'll stop by our estate to meet us beforehand. We need to make an impression."
Ella's heart sank. She had heard whispers of the ball, but her stepmother had forbidden her from attending. "Will I... be allowed to meet him?" she asked cautiously.
Drusilla and Anastasia burst into laughter. "You? Meet the prince?" Drusilla scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. You'll stay here, scrubbing floors and dreaming your silly dreams."
Ella bit her lip, swallowing the retort that threatened to escape. Her stepmother had always made it clear—she was nothing more than a servant in her own home. But as the sisters continued to mock her, Ella felt a flicker of defiance.
That night, as the household slept, Ella slipped out to the garden. She knelt among the roses, her fingers brushing the petals as she whispered to herself.
"I don't know if anyone can hear me," she said softly. "But if there's any magic left in the world... please, help me find a way out of here."
As she spoke, a faint light shimmered in the distance. Ella turned, her breath catching as she saw the silhouette of a woman cloaked in silver, standing at the edge of the garden.
"Who are you?" Ella asked, her voice trembling.
The woman stepped forward, her eyes gleaming like stars. "Someone who believes in second chances," she said. "But magic alone cannot change your fate. You must be willing to fight for it."
Ella nodded, determination hardening her expression. "I'll do whatever it takes."
The woman smiled, and in her hand, a single rose appeared—its petals a deep crimson, its stem encased in glass.
"Then take this," she said. "And find the one who holds the other half of its power. Together, you may yet break the chains that bind you both."
As Ella reached for the rose, the world seemed to shift around her. The wind carried the scent of snow and pine, and in the distance, the shadow of Thornhaven Castle loomed.