The Red Queen

They said she was beautiful because she loved books.

But they never said what kind of books.

In the real village of Villeneuve, France, in 1745, there was a young woman named Isabeau de La Fontaine, the daughter of a bankrupt nobleman. While others whispered that she was odd, she spent her nights studying forbidden texts smuggled from the Sorbonne — grimoires on anatomy, alchemy, and metamorphosis.

Her father was indebted to a cruel count who was rumored to hunt peasants in his estate’s labyrinthine gardens. When the count disappeared, his mansion fell silent. Months later, villagers saw candlelight flickering behind its windows again — and Isabeau moving in.

They said she’d tamed the Beast.

But the truth was worse.

When French soldiers finally entered the estate after the Revolution, they found the walls carved with Latin prayers for redemption — and the remains of a massive, malformed skeleton chained to the floor.

Beside it, a diary in Isabeau’s hand:

“He was not cursed. He was created.”

And the final line — half burned, half legible — read:

“Beauty is the only thing worth killing for.”