Beauty and the Beast

No one turned the monster. It grew up in love, to the joy of my mother. It walked in dim courtyards and caught a bream a couple of times, because it simply could not fight. It was scary only in appearance. He looked like a jerk, and a wing was coming out of his back. Yes, there was no equal to the monster anywhere.
The monster strode into the castle and wondered if it was possible to get a deputy to the castle for all sorts of boring daily tasks.
I'm tired of the palace to the point of trembling in my paws.
The coachman spat: I wish I had your problems.
Violets, chrysanthemums, and peonies grew in the garden (not the gardener, but the creator). The monster didn't like flowers.
Unfortunately, they weren't worth the pain.
The monster wanted adventures, like zeppelins, levers, propellers, night songs, moonlight dancing. To have an intimate conversation with the gods.
At least the monster was completely satisfied with the reflection in the amalgam.
No one forced the beauty.
Whatever one may say, the Beauty is a jerk. In the evenings, she played the French horn on the wharf to the native ships.
She swore masterfully, like hell, rushed forward, went too far. I also liked violets, daisies, gladioli, and so on. The tulips didn't stop you from screaming on the roofs all night, and carrying a sharp knife in your boot, rattling wrenches. The stars glittered like crumpled foil. The Beauty easily struck chords, squinted into the mirrors: she got a muzzle, but she scared her enemies a lot.
The story should have an ending, especially while the characters are gathered. The beauty climbed into the garden, having argued. She was drunk, of course. But her step was light, her eye was sharp. The garden was fragrant with oranges. There were assassins, robbers, and even a Musketeer in the family tree, who sadly did not live to see gray hair.
But (to fall
into the abyss — what I see) a scarlet flower, piece-by-piece, red-book, under a hood, blissfully alone, shamelessly teasing the Beauty. The monster, sensing something, was sitting next to him in the pose of Don Quixote, who was not given a horse.
***
The monster calls the bride "squaw." The sun comes to them in the morning. She laughs wonderfully in an embrace, she is sad, however, nothing either.
He would give her velvet and poplin. She gave him a large set of screwdrivers. And what is not the reason for the latest reports — the Monster bought a Zeppelin. And the handrails are rubbed — just shine (The Monster is biased against shiny).
And the castle is rented by piglets. They can reach the neighboring fairy tale through the forest.
/ Carved Pipe /

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