We only look with our eyes,

and not with our souls.

That was the moral of this story before.

As the last petal falls,

sinking, sinking down more.

 

But what if the beauty was the beast?

What if we are actually in need to know much more?

Was the beauty all alone?

Day after day, the villagers ignored.

Was she the beast for those pages she turns?

 

You see, she wasn't covered in hair,

or with sharp fangs.

But this provencial life was

dark, cold, and meaningless instead.

 

What she admired most was a rose.

Divine with red and gold.

So what if the prince went to the village,

but as someone else in disguise?

And this is where our story unfolds.