Tracing the outline of her face from a photograph . . . I am transported back in time, to the winter of my senior year. The soft aroma of a white rose against the hard wind was a comforting contradiction. I could feel the bulge of the small box in my coat pocket and the sweat began to grow more noticeable upon my forehead. I close my animal like eyes, breathing in the scent of the rose, to regain the confidence I had arrived with. As my eyelids flutter open, my breath is knocked out of my chest and my vision is filled with the definition of beauty. Her creamy skin is luminous and complimented perfectly by the flowing white dress that was blowing carelessly in the wind along with her caramel hair. I prowl cautiously toward the angel in front of me and as I come to a stop, I take her innocently smooth hand in my beastly, clawed one. Slowly, I bring it to my lipless mouth and then get down on one knee upon the frozen ground. As I pull out the white rose from behind my hunched back, her beautiful hands fly to her gorgeous face and crystal tears fall down her silken cheeks. With a look of absolute and pure wonder, she accepts the roses graciously. I reach into my shabby pocket with my grotesque hand and pull out the small, square box. I open it. The small diamond, that I had used all of my savings to afford, glitters softly in the moonlight, a reflection of her eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

Not a word is spoken as she wraps her porcelain arms around my monstrous neck, her delicate fingers twining themselves in my hair. She presses her sweet, rose petal lips to my mouth.

“Yes,” she whispers softly in her melodious voice to my hideous figure. As that word escapes her, I feel a heat surging up inside me, building up pressure and waiting to explode. It becomes too much and I let out an animalistic howl to the moon, while she backs away cautiously from me; her blue eyes wide, not with fear, but with concern. The pressure erupts and the fire enters my soul, while I am lifted into the air, suspended in its blistering cold as snow begins to drift down slowly towards her. As I feel my life seeping out of me, my limbs weakening, I take one last look at her and summon up the last of my strength to mutter two words:

“Remember love.”

I fall to the ground, and realize that what I had thought was snow, was really petals from white roses. With their scent winding itself around me and shivering with the feeling of unknown, I black out.







___


I trace the outline of her face from a photograph with my human fingers. It has been fifty years since the night she has broken my curse and I have regained my true form, and it has been fifteen slow, painful years since she has passed away. I have not forgotten. Tracing the outline of her face from a photograph . . . I remember love.