The Beastly Bride

She picked them up to admire, but one

fell from her hand. Gently, she put

the others down, saying, “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Just then the sun sank behind the hill,

and the toads grew into large, gray shadows.

Thinking it a trick of the fading light, she blinked,

and when she opened her eyes, three stout

men in moss green garb and caps the color

of rust stood before her, with sacks

on their backs from which spilled a green light.

One of the men bowed to her and said,

“Thank you for putting us down so gently.”

“I thank you, too,” said another, crinkling

his face in a smile. “And for your kindness,

we’ll make you radiant as the sun.”

“Harrumph,” croaked the third, glowering at her.

“You’ve hurt my leg with your carelessness,

maybe broken it. If the sun ever shines on you,

you’ll turn into a serpent!”

“Oh, please,” she begged, “I didn’t mean

to hurt you. Maybe I could set your leg.

Let me see.” She reached for him,

but he limped away, his leg dragging.

The other two waved to her and said,

“Stay out of the sun, and all will be well,”

as they disappeared into the shadows.

She ran home and lived in the shade

and the dark, giving forth her own light.

Because she shone with a rosy glow,

she was called Rosina,

but her sister Lydia called her lazy.

“I have to work in the field in the sun,”

said Lydia. “Why won’t she?

This story of toads and little old men

is just an excuse.”

“But look how she shines,”

said their mother. “There must be something to it.”

“Humph,” said Lydia. “You always liked her best.”

To keep peace in the family, Rosina worked

in the field at night, planting and weeding

by moon and starlight.

Early one morning, before sunup, a prince

who was out hunting saw her in the field

and was drawn by the light that spilled from her.

When they talked, her radiance lit fires

within him, and he asked her to marry him.

Rosina wanted to wait until she knew him better,

but Lydia jeered, “He’s a prince. Do you think

he’ll wait for you to make up your mind?”

Her mother said, “It’s been such a struggle

since your father died, but do what you think best,”

so Rosina accepted, provided

she could live in the dark.

On her wedding day, she was taken,

under veils and parasols, to a royal carriage

whose windows were draped with black cloth.

Her mother and sister climbed in,

and they set off. “It’s stuffy in here,”

said Lydia, and she opened the window a crack.

A sliver of sunlight streamed in.

When it struck Rosina, her limbs

shriveled up, her skin grew scales,

and she slithered out the window,

hissing.

At first she longed for all she had lost.

She crept to the edge of her family’s field,

and waited for a glimpse of her mother or sister.

When Lydia saw her, she threw a stone,

screaming, “Ugh — a snake!”

Rosina fled to the woods, where she learned

to crawl without feet, to reach with the whole

of herself, to smell the air

with her flickering tongue.

Then she went to the prince’s palace,

and climbed the castle wall, peering

in windows, her tongue seeking his scent,

until she found the room where he sat

longing for his lost bride.

She slithered over the sill, and when he saw her,

he jumped up and slammed the window.

Rosina drew back just in time and fell

to the ground. Bruised and sore,

she crawled off and hid in a cave.

The prince sent fifty knights on horseback,

fifty huntsmen, and a hundred hounds

to search for her. The woods rang

with the blowing of bugles and the baying of dogs.

Rosina heard it all and stayed in her cave,

safe from spears, hooves, and teeth.

She came to love the grasses, the mud,

and her strong, sinuous body.

And she loved the sun!

She would coil on the rocks

and bask until she was warm,

supple, and moved like water.

When the fifty knights and fifty huntsmen

returned with their hundred hounds,

they reported they couldn’t find Rosina.

The prince moped around the palace

until his parents lost patience. “She was just

a farmer’s daughter,” they said, and convinced him

to marry a foreign princess.

She came reluctantly from a land she loved

where she’d run barefoot in field and forest.

She used to slip away from the court

and climb a tall pine at the edge

of the woods. She’d feel its rough bark

under her hands, and its pitch would stick

to her feet and fingers. From its top

she could see the nests of hawks

and watch them soaring, swooping

down on their prey, and bringing it back

to feed their babies.

She longed for their wings

when she was told she’d be wed

to a stranger. She ran

to the woods, but her father’s guards

caught her and brought her back.

She was hustled on board a ship

and wept as she stood on deck

watching her homeland grow small

in the distance.

As the palace prepared for the wedding feast,

Rosina, coiled around a tree branch,

saw the carts rumble in,

laden with food and finery,

and something in her stirred.

She crept to the edge of a meadow

and hid in a woodpile where she could watch

the comings and goings at the castle.

She fell asleep there,

and when she awoke, she was being thrust,

along with the kindling, into the oven.

It was like diving into the sun.

The heat crackled

around her, and she grew

so warm she flowed,

molten, into a new shape.

The oven door opened.

She heard a scream and stepped,

naked and radiant, a woman

again, from the fire.

The prince, hearing the cook shriek,

came running. “Rosina!” he cried

and embraced her, but she stood,

cool in his arms,

and said, “Who are you?”

He told her how she’d disappeared

on their wedding day, how his men had searched

for her and never found her, how his parents

had urged him to marry a foreign princess,

how he’d finally given in, how today

was the wedding, how the oven

she’d stepped out of was to cook

the marriage feast, and how,

now she was here, rosy and

sweet in his arms, he’d

call it off

and marry her.

“Wait,” she said. “Don’t you even want

to know where I’ve been?”

“Uh, yes,” he said. “Where have you been?”

“I’ve slithered under rocks, nestled

in the earth’s belly, basked in the sun.

I’m not sure. ” Just then the princess

who’d been waiting, stiff in brocade,

to meet the stranger she was to marry,

walked in. She saw the prince talking

to a naked, radiant woman.

“Who are you?” she gasped.

“Are you an angel?”

“No,” said Rosina. “I’m a woman, but

I’ve been a snake.”

“You have?” said the princess.

“What was it like?”

“It was cold,” said Rosina,

“cold and dark in the cave at night,

but in the morning the sun would heat the rocks

and I’d lie there soaking up warmth through my skin,

and when I was limber and loose and warm,

I’d move over the earth like a wave.”

The two women walked off, talking,

and the prince stood there,

looking after them.

There was no wedding that day.

The princess and Rosina left the palace together.

No one knows where they went,

but there are rumors

of two shining women

who live in the heart

of the forest.