Let me clarify something: I never asked to be cursed, I didn’t enjoy being a giant, furry monster, and I certainly didn’t volunteer to live in a creepy castle with chatty furniture. But here I am. I’m the Beast—formerly Prince Adam. And as for this so-called ‘tragic story of redemption’? It’s been seriously exaggerated.

So, how does it all start? There I was, living in my castle. A little luxurious? Okay, I admit it, it was a slightly over-the-top castle, and I'm probably doing something regal, like counting my riches or passing judgment on the peasants. You know, typical prince stuff. Then, one day, this old lady knocked on my door. She said, ‘Oh, I’m cold, can I have some shelter?’ Look, I was a prince. Small talk wasn’t exactly in the job description. So, I said, ‘No thanks, lady, I’m good.’ Who knew she was an undercover sorceress with a grudge and the sense of humor of a wet towel? Next thing I knew, I’m sporting horns, claws, and a pelt that would make a yeti jealous.

And as if that weren’t bad enough, I have this enchanted rose ticking down like a floral death clock. I was supposed to find true love before the last petal fell, or I’d be stuck like this forever. Yeah, because nothing says romance like, ‘Hey, wanna date the giant man-bear-pig before my flower dies?’ Meanwhile, I am shedding fur everywhere—places fur really shouldn’t be. And, as usual, Cogsworth, my literal walking clock, was reminding me every five minutes how little time I had left. Thanks for the pep talk, buddy. Real helpful.

Here’s the twist, my entire staff was cursed too. Because, hey, why ruin just one life when you can ruin everyone’s? I have a teapot nagging me about table manners like I’m still five, and Lumière, the candelabra, flirts with everything that moves. His accent’s so thick that I can’t tell if he’s offering me dinner or challenging me to a duel. Either way, subtitles would be helpful. It’s gloomy, cold, and if you listen carefully, you can hear the walls whispering things like ‘You deserve this’ in Latin. Very welcoming.

Then one day, Maurice showed up. An old inventor who wandered into my castle like it was a country inn. Why? Who knows? Maybe he was drawn to the eerie, crumbling architecture and the howling wolves. For reasons only known to the gods of bad decisions, he decided my haunted death trap is a good place to crash for the night. Sure, Maurice, come on in. Ignore the gargoyles, the wolves, and the fact that my castle looked like a Haunted Castle. Naturally, he started messing with my things. So, I did the rational thing: lock him in the dungeon. I mean, that’s fair, right? Break into someone’s castle, get a free stay in the dungeon—it’s just good hospitality.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Then Belle shows up—Maurice’s daughter. She’s got that whole bookish, strong-willed thing going on. She storms in, demanding her father’s release, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s thought this through. This isn’t exactly the kind of place for visitors. But we made a deal—her freedom for his—and just like that, I had a guest. A woman. An actual human woman. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a real conversation with anyone who wasn’t cursed into a household object. My social skills? Let’s just say they were a little rusty. Lumière, being Lumière, thought the best way to smooth things over was with a musical dinner show. Yeah, because nothing says ‘Welcome to my creepy castle’ like dancing cutlery.

I tried something a little more subtle. ‘Hey, Belle, wanna check out my library?’ And, surprise, she was into it. Finally, I thought, a win! We started spending more time together, taking walks through the garden, reading, talking...well, she talked, I grumbled and tried not to break things with my giant claws. It was weird. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I wasn’t just some cursed monster. There was this moment where she looked at me, really looked at me, and it wasn’t with fear or pity. It was...something else. Maybe curiosity. Maybe she was just really into fixer-uppers. I didn’t know. But for the first time, I actually hoped this ‘true love’ thing might not be total garbage.

Of course, just when things were going well, she found the rose. Naturally, I had left the single most important object in my cursed life sitting there in a glass case, like I was showing it off at a yard sale. Why not slap on a sign that says, ‘Please, touch the cursed object’? Genius, Adam. Genius.

Anyway, Belle asked to visit her father, and I couldn’t exactly say no. So, she left, and wouldn’t you know it? Enter Gaston, the human embodiment of a protein shake. This guy’s biceps had biceps. He whipped the town into a torch-wielding mob because apparently, that’s how you deal with all of life’s problems when you’re a hyper-macho woodsman. He wanted to kill me. Really, Gaston? I’m the biggest problem in your life? Maybe start with your unchecked narcissism.

So, there was a fight. In the rain, of course, because every dramatic showdown requires a thunderstorm. We grappled on the castle’s rooftop like it was the climax of some overly produced action movie. Gaston had the strength advantage, I’ll give him that, but, well, gravity’s a harsher critic than I am. He made one false move, slipped, and fell to his doom. Honestly, it was the smartest thing he did all day.

I was left standing there, bleeding and exhausted, thinking, ‘Well, this is it. At least I’ll die with epic lightning effects.’ But then, there was Belle. She showed up, said those magic words—‘I love you’—and suddenly, I started glowing. The next thing I knew, I was human again. Not bad, right? Gotta say, I cleaned up well after all that.

Moral of the story? Don’t judge a beast by his cover—unless that cover is growling at you and covered in fur, of course. Oh, and if an old lady offers you a rose, just let her in. All of this could’ve been avoided with basic hospitality.

The end.