you. ¿Entiendes? But if you’re prepared you can trick them in turn, harness their power and use it to soar as far and high as you wish.
So Bea lingered in the shadows, waiting for the whispers. She closed her eyes and steeled herself. In the silence Bea mumbled an incantation, imagining her ribs stretching and thickening across her chest, enclosing her heart until the bone was solid enough to withstand any bullet, yet supple enough to swallow any strike. Bea strengthened herself until she could filter the whispers—spit out their intent and soak up their power—until she found that she was indeed able to do anything, both in that world and this.
When Bea returned home to her mamá, she recounted stories of what she’d done, then always asked for a story in return.
“Tell me,” Bea said, though she’d heard it a thousand times before; though she could speak every word in her sleep, still she asked. “Tell me my story.”
“Strictly speaking it should be your sister’s story,” Cleo said, as she always did. “Since this Beauty is a water spirit, like Liyana. But I believe one day she’ll write you a story—she’ll think is her own until she’ll realize it’s not—so everything will even out.”
“I don’t care,” Bea said. “I love this one most and so it’s mine.”
“¡Bien! Close your eyes, niña,” Cleo said. “And I’ll begin.”
Bea smiled and did as she was told.
“There was once a baby girl born so uncommonly beautiful that her mamá named her Beauty,” Cleo began. “As Beauty grew, it became clear that her temperament matched her name, for she was as kind and true as she was beautiful. As she grew, her sweetness and loveliness only grew too. Long before she came of age, every prince wanted her for his wife. At sixteen, Beauty was keen to marry, for, though she was loved by everyone, still she felt consumed by a sense of longing, though she didn’t know for what.
“‘True love is what you want,’ her mamá said. ‘For, while it is pleasing to be loved by a great many people, true happiness lies in being loved completely by only one.’
“Being a dutiful daughter, Beauty heeded her mamá’s words and married the prince who seemed to love her more than any other. She knew she would come to love him in turn because it would surely be easy to love someone who adored you so completely. Fortunately, Beauty found that, in this at least, she was right. She delighted in being a wife, mother, and queen.
“She helped her newly crowned husband rule his people with a firm and fair hand and their kingdom prospered. Their children grew, married, and had children of their own. However, as the years passed, Beauty again began to feel the longing for something she couldn’t quite place. And she noticed that strangers no longer gazed upon her open-mouthed or spoke of her radiance in reverent tones.
“So Beauty had every mirror in the castle covered with thick velvet cloths and forbade the servants to polish any window or silver plate too well, so she’d never again have to catch sight of her reflection.
“The following year, on her seventieth birthday, a wizard arrived uninvited to the palace celebrations, demanding to meet the queen. At first, Beauty was scared since the wizard had a fearsome reputation, being known throughout the kingdom as the Beast. But she found, once they began talking, that she rather liked him.
“‘I have a gift for you, my queen,’ he said. ‘An invitation.’
“‘Yes?’ Beauty asked, no longer fearful but intrigued.
“‘I invite you,’ the wizard said, ‘to pretend, for a year, that you are me.’
“The queen frowned. ‘What sort of a gift is that?’ she said. ‘I think I’d prefer everlasting happiness or eternal youth, please, since I suspect you’re in a position to afford me both those things.’
“‘Oh, but, Your Majesty, the gift I’m offering is far better than either,’ the wizard promised. ‘Trust me.’
“The queen did not believe him for an instant but found, curiously, that she did indeed trust him, though she couldn’t say why. So she accepted the wizard’s invitation and began to act as he did, with a few minor modifications.
“Beauty stopped saying yes when she wanted to say no, stopped smiling at someone when she wanted to slap them, stopped staying silent when she needed to shout. She stood on parapets and screamed into the wind, so loud and long that the villagers began fearing dragons. Sometimes the strength of her voice brought