Beauty by Sarah Pinborough

in the distance, one not without its own adventures, and as they drew closer both Rumplestiltskin and his daughter were in awe of the height of the edifice. There were only two windows they could see, one halfway up and another far away at the very top that would no doubt be lost from sight in the misty days of winter.
    There was no visible door and after exploring the perimeter and seeing no way in Rumplestiltskin called up to the window in the hope that the witch would hear him and come down. He shouted himself hoarse, but there was no response. He began to think that perhaps this was a wild goose chase and the witch was long gone or dead within the impenetrable walls. He sat on a rock, ready to give up, and then his daughter shouted for him, begging the witch to show them mercy and hear their plight.
    A door, previously invisible, swung open in the smooth curved wall. The witch smiled and invited them in. Rumplestiltskin was not sure what he had been expecting, but she was unchanged – an ordinary middle-aged woman. As they followed her up the winding stairs inside, however, he caught glimpses of artefacts and objects that were hundreds of years old. She noticed his glance and smiled.
    ‘A witch’s years are different to a man’s. I’ve stopped counting them.’
    She fed them a hearty broth, settled Rumplestiltskin’s daughter down on a soft couch to sleep, and then listened to his tale of Beauty and the Beast. The witch was thoughtful after that. She hadn’t been out in the world since the king had summoned her, before Beauty’s birth, and after hearing his tale she was glad of it.
    ‘A water witch’s daughter,’ she mused, ‘should only be born from a water bed. This trouble is one anyone could have seen coming.’
    She sat by the fire for a while and watched Rumplestiltskin’s daughter sleep, as if that sight brought her some clarity or peace, and then made her decision.
    ‘Can you help?’ Rumplestiltskin asked. ‘I fear for our land if the Beast can’t be controlled.’
    ‘Come with me,’ she told him. They climbed two more flights of stairs until they came to a room with several locks. ‘I have something for you.’
    It was full of spinning wheels and spindles of different shapes and sizes and Rumplestiltskin’s eyes widened. ‘Spindles. Beauty’s curse.’ The witch smiled. ‘They are each bewitched or blessed or cursed, depending on how you use them.’ She walked between them, her fingers lovingly caressing the wood of each until her hand settled on one. ‘I cannot change her nature,’ she said, eventually. ‘She is who she is, and no magic is strong enough to change that. But I can save your kingdom from her inevitable tyranny.’
    Rumplestiltskin stared at her. ‘How?’ he asked, his mouth drying. He knew the answer before she spoke and his heart was heavy with the decision he would have to make.
    ‘I can give you something which will kill her, should you feel that is your only recourse.’ She turned to Rumplestiltskin and in the candlelight he was sure he could see hundreds of years of life in her eyes and a dead heart beating inside her. No good came from magic, his conscience screamed, and he trembled slightly. She looked so very ordinary but in her soul she was a crone. No good could come from a crone. ‘This,’ she said, and lifted one of her precious spindles.
    ‘How does it work?’ he asked, after swallowing hard. Ever since Domino he had known that one day a decision would have to be made about Beauty. And somewhere in his soul, and in his love for the king, he’d known it would be his decision to make. ‘And will it be painless?’ He paused. ‘We all love her, you see.’ He wondered if he was justifying his actions to himself or to her. ‘Hopefully, I will never have to use it.’
    ‘I will need it returning,’ she said. ‘Especially if you decide some less extreme action is called for.’ She carefully lifted it and handed it to him. ‘One prick of her finger