A night that made the stars burn sharp and bright as knives. My oldest sister was born at straight-up midnight, on a night so clear and cold it snatched the breath. Two problems, to be precise: my older sisters, who displayed such extraordinary Beauty that they were famous for miles around. There were problems with this decision, though nobody realized it at the time. For she was the one who decreed I would be known as Belle, a name that means Beauty in the land of my birth. But, though it was my father who decided the entirety of what I would be called, it was my mother who sealed my fate and set my tale in motion.
After my father’s mother and my mother’s mother, in that order.
Which means I should probably back up and introduce myself.Īnnabelle Evangeline Delaurier. It will come as no surprise that it is, of course, my story. I suppose you could say that finding out just what a pair of eyes can do, and what they can’t, is what the story I’m about to tell you is really all about. That sounds more like the way things actually work, doesn’t it? It’s as plain as the noses on our small b faces.
Our Beauty-or, more precisely, our lack thereof-has already been established. In other words, Beauty with a capital B.Īnd what it means, as far as I can see, is that those of us whose looks aren’t of the capital B variety can pretty much stop holding our breaths, stop waiting for the right eyes to show up and gaze upon us. A girl who is considered drop-dead gorgeous in a town by the sea may find herself completely overlooked in a village the next county over.Įven so, beauty is in the eye of the beholder doesn’t quite work, does it?īecause there’s something missing, and I can even tell you what: the belief we all harbor in our secret heart of hearts that beauty stands alone. I’ll even grant you that beauty isn’t universal. A way for every face to be beautiful, if only you wait for the right pair of eyes.
I’VE HEARD IT SAID-AND my guess is you have too-that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
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