The Second Case: Beauty and the Beast — A Gothic Retelling of Mystery and Forgiveness

In a land ruled by frost and shadow, every whisper of wind carried a secret, and every step crunched on a graveyard of ice.
This was where Polkadot, the fearless Fantasy Investigator and Journalist, and her loyal assistant, Thug, arrived for their second great case—one steeped in myth, loss, and haunting legacies.

Before them lay an expanse of ice-coated forest, a castle piercing the grey sky like a spear of despair. The world around them—trees, grass, even the sky—was glass-like, coated in white frost, a still winter grave. From atop a cliff, the frozen landscape stretched endlessly, a silver graveyard of beauty lost to time.

Polkadot pulled her navy coat tighter, her breath freezing in the air. Thug, a small winged creature covered in trembling brown fur, clung to her side, his ears drooping and whiskers stiff with frost.

“M-M-Mam,” Thug chattered, his voice barely cutting through the cold. “Is th-that the c-castle?”

Polkadot squinted at the looming silhouette in the distance, its dark spires threatening the sky.

“Yes, Thug. That’s the one. The villagers pointed us here… though not without hesitation.”

Their journey had been long, hindered by suspicious glares and silent lips. Locals feared the castle, calling it cursed. But Polkadot was never one to heed warnings of superstition—not when a case beckoned.

They made their way through the open iron gates, into a garden that must once have been magnificent—if not for the ice, the deathly stillness, the roses petrified in frost.

The Tomb of Time

“Look, Mam!” Thug pointed, his glowing palms revealing a sight half-buried under snow: two graves resting side by side. A solitary gravestone bore the inscription:

“Tale as old as time,
Song as old as rhyme.”

Polkadot’s heart skipped. She knew the legend well—Beauty and the Beast—but something felt off, darker, like a verse left unsung.

The castle door was heavy, unwilling to budge, until a gust of wind pushed a nearby window open. Without hesitation, the pair climbed inside, engulfed in shadow.

“Light, Thug,” Polkadot commanded.

Thug’s furry paws glowed, revealing a cavernous entrance hall, the shattered remains of a chandelier glittering like starlight on marble floors. Two grand staircases spiraled upward into darkness.

Polkadot led the way to the Ballroom, its grandeur veiled by decay. The great glass window framed the icy garden, a mournful reminder of what was lost.

The Beast Appears

Suddenly, a deep voice shattered the quiet:

“Get out of my castle!”

A monstrous form emerged from the darkness—a hulking Beast, his horns sharp, his fists massive. He was the very image of the legend’s cursed prince, but his eyes burned not with rage, but sorrow.

Polkadot stood firm.

“Greetings. I am Polkadot, investigator of mysteries, and I do not leave until my cases are solved… or the dead are freed.”

The Beast growled, demanding their exit. But Polkadot remained, her gaze unwavering.

“And you are?” she asked coolly.

The Beast hesitated, then sighed deeply. His form shifted, fur retracting, claws vanishing, until a man stood where the Beast had been—a man ragged and broken.

“Benjamin. Just Benjamin. I am no Prince.”

His shame was palpable. Yet, Polkadot sensed another presence—a ghostly figure by the window: a woman holding a translucent rose, her eyes imploring for help.

“Your mother,” Polkadot whispered.
Benjamin’s eyes widened, though he saw nothing.

“Why is everything frozen, Benjamin?”

“Because of me,” he said bitterly. “My parents are dead because of me.”

But the ghost shook her head in silent denial.

“Tell me what happened,” Polkadot urged.

Benjamin confessed his last words to his mother had been spoken in anger—“I hate you”—before she died. The grief of those words had frozen his world in both heart and season.

But Polkadot knew there was more. She examined the Ballroom shelves and discovered two jeweled goblets, still faintly scented with poison.

“They didn’t die by grief, Benjamin. They were murdered.”

Benjamin staggered back, his voice cracking in disbelief.

“No enemies. My parents had no enemies!”

“Think harder. Someone who would stop at nothing for revenge… Gaston’s family, perhaps?”

Benjamin’s eyes widened in horror.

“Gil… my closest friend. He was the son of Gaston. He… worked here. Lived here.”

But Gil was not a friend. He was Gaston Junior, the son of the man who tried to kill the Beast—Benjamin’s father—decades ago. He had poisoned the goblets while disguised as a friend.

The ghost nodded in solemn affirmation.

“Your grief blinded you to the truth. But your mother forgives you,” Polkadot said, her voice softening.

Through Polkadot, Belle’s spirit spoke:

“Ben, my love, it was never your fault. Let us rest, and let the castle live again.”

Benjamin sobbed, the ice around his heart finally cracking. As tears streamed down his cheeks, the frozen castle began to thaw. Sunlight pierced the clouds, and the garden’s frost began to melt away, petal by petal.

“Thank you,” Benjamin whispered.
“It is my duty,” Polkadot replied. “I free souls. And the truth has freed yours.”

She and Thug left the castle, the sky ahead glowing with the first sunrise the castle had seen in years.

“Mam,” Thug asked, “how did a beautiful woman love a hideous beast?”

Polkadot smiled faintly.

“A hideous beast loves a hideous beast, Thug. Benjamin’s family carried the curse of the werewolf. A love of beasts, by beasts.”

And with that, the investigator and her assistant vanished into the morning light, the case solved, and another mystery ready to find them.

Moral of the Story

The past holds the truths that the present must face. Forgiveness, self-acceptance, and the courage to uncover hidden truths can thaw even the coldest of hearts.