Belle is beautiful because she has transcended all definitions of beauty as she herself broke her beauty into shards when her beauty fulfilled its highest purpose on earth. Find out what I mean by this!

Her yellow dress shimmered with luster and refulgence when the stars were starting to ceremoniously loom in the dusk-clad evening sky. Everything about her carried a tinge of svelte grace as she walked with a plaintive heart whilst the dooming night crept into her long raven hair. Just as the bright white stars contrasted majestically against the black night sky, her tears stately dappled her countenance against the frame of her long raven hair. Every tear gatecrashed another hidden trail of thoughts within her that luridly unmasked new layers of her hidden feminine beauty. A beauty far beyond her decorative but confining ball gown. She felt her beauty, her tragedy, her destiny. She had felt the unease throughout the entire evening and her overtly regaling the others with her charm only compounded the drabness inside her during the festivities of the evening. She was admired for her beauty. She felt the roving eyes of so many people on her. She was veiled before. She knew she could veil her beauty but only to unveil a different beauty. To her all beauty was bound to be unfree, veiled or unveiled, because the world has never been a free place. But beauty was also bound to be free, because beauty was the essence of the entire universe. Her eyes were telltales of a beauty that can never, ever be hidden. Her beauty which was vividly gauged by all others this evening was but a shard of a shattered mirror no longer pliable to beauty. At least this shard was no longer responsive to their concept of beauty. But it seems it is always the shard which whets deep interest and curiosity. A piece of a larger picture creeps into your subconsciousness urging your desire to see all. This shard becomes a puzzle which you so eagerly want to solve. 

They were complimenting her eyes, the fire in which was accentuated by her shining yellow dress. They were complimenting her smile. It was genuine because each twitch of her lips seemed to plead loyalty to her hidden story, causing her heart to beat. They were seeing shards of her story and it was the story itself which was beautiful, tragic, deep and which served as the herald for her physical appearance. It seemed her story filled the entire room and the people were not yet ready for her story. She had to get out, she had to disperse the illusion of beauty she had created in the festive room. She did not want to share her story. She did not want to divulge her secret. Every time when a man looked into her eyes she was afraid that he would see love in her eyes. She was afraid that he would see beauty in her eyes emanating from her deep love. Her love was beautiful but sealed. She just knew that no one could break the seal of her love how deep the look might be or how deep their efforts might be. But he would stir her love a little and then another layer of beauty would lay bare before the eyes of the world.  They world would just see the beauty but never would they see the seal which hid the beauty. The seal which was put there by God when her love became true love and finally reached its highest possible level on earth. And a love that staved off the fetters of the vain earth was always aloof in a full room where dresses define beauty. She knew they were not ready for her beauty, for her story, for her love. Even if her love was sealed in her eyes and in her words, the seal itself was the very shard from the shattered mirror broken by true love. Thus, true love broke the very definition of beauty but still this empty shard was too shining for the world and was mistaken for beauty because the world just cared for beauty. The protective seal is her tragedy as she knows that her seal was worshipped by the world. And in women without any seal, their bodies were worshipped by the world. 

The hall was dimly lit by romantic candles that cast a velvety glow upon the faces of the guests, rendering them unreal like wistful visions of hollowness. Her eyes glided to the beautiful French windows. Her beauty longed to merge with the unconfined distance of the night sky and to escape the demarcation of beauty drawn by their minds who even lacked the existence of a mirror for beauty. Their eyes nonchalantly yearned for beauty but without a mirror beauty is equal to stone. But with a mirror, beauty is checked painfully inside, for now beauty is within you and you must refine it until it becomes the ruby red of your blood. If beauty is to be mirrored within you, then this beauty becomes a part of you and that is why she was veiled. However, the souls of so many people lacked this mirror for beauty. For them, with or without veil, she would perforce become a beautiful stone, they bowed before. She would never be a part of their existence. They would never ever see through her. They would never share a bond. And in the mirrors of the few refined people she simply did not want to become the ruby of their blood and she was not willing to impart the seal of her love to anyone.  As there is a difference between having a mirror and not having a mirror, there is also a difference between having a mirror and having a broken mirror. Her mirror broke when true love claimed the definition of beauty and the beauty gave in. Her internal reflection of beauty forever melted into the thorns of a beautiful rose once her true love touched beauty and surpassed the only definition of beauty by breaking the mirror to shards. Just as the thorns seal the beauty of a rose, the internal shards of her broken mirror forever sealed the story of her mysterious beauty. The world might see the rose, the thorns, her sacred seal but they could never break the seal and find her beauty. Her beauty had no more definition. The shards could never be put together to the demarcated and limited beauty the world loved to worship. They were all prevaricating the truth of her beauty by nestling her vicariously in the pits of their limited vision. It seemed their eyes were painstakingly longing for the beautiful shard of hers to befittingly sting them up from their numb and hollow lives. Lives that were brimming to the edge with the wine of deadpan beauty. 

The beautiful stone and the contoured reflection of beauty had erringly enticed the guests of this festive gathering making a prisoner of Belle. She faced the bitter truth: Beauty is bound to be unfree because the world has never been a free place. 

Her only freedom were her sashaying shards impersonating the guests’ broken lives. Lives that were shackled to her unfathomable beauty. 

A man crossed the hall and approached her. He looked in her eyes and said: `You are beautiful.´ She looked in his eyes and said: 

`What was broken, 

Leave unspoken, 

Lest word might turn, 

Love again burn, 

Not to endure, 

In love’s tenure, 

What was broken, 

Can’t be broken.´ 

Tears wetted Belle’s large, deep, brown eyes as she left the festive hall to feel the painful breathing of her beauty.