Rouge

If Tom talks, he really only wants to talk about two things: my Beauty and how Mother is evil. A terrible person, Belle. A vile bitch queen.

If Tom talks, he really only wants to talk about two things: my Beauty and how Mother is evil. A terrible person, Belle. A vile bitch queen.

“No, Belle.” And the words are like a slap. My face stings with it. For a minute, Mother looks cruel. It feels like her beauty was only a disguise. This thin, hard mouth, these flashing eyes, this jaw of stone—this is the truth of her face

“What sort of journey?” I ask.

She looks at me like what a question. “The only journey that matters in the end, Daughter of Noelle.”

“Retinol?” I whisper.

“The soul. A journey of the soul, of course.”

“What sort of journey?” I ask.

She looks at me like what a question. “The only journey that matters in the end, Daughter of Noelle.”

“Retinol?” I whisper.

“The soul. A journey of the soul, of course.”

But she did go the way of roses.”

She’s beautiful in a way that destroys me a little.

She’s beautiful in a way that destroys me a little.

Belle, do you ever look in the mirror and hate? she asked me once on the phone.

And the jars. Red jars and bottles in every room, how did I not notice them all before? Lining the walls of her bedroom.