“Come, come.” I pat the sofa beside me and Aria cuddles into my side.
“Okay, here we go. You comfortable?”
“Yes, Papa,” she says.
“Okay then. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful songbird. The most beautiful songbird in all the land.”
“You forgot the most important part,” Aria interrupts me.
“I have not forgotten. You just need to learn patience, my Aria. Now hush and let your Papa tell the story.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
“The beautiful songbird looked just like you. With long raven hair and pale blue eyes. Her skin was porcelain, and she could have been an angel who fell from the sky.”
“Soooooo pretty,” Aria adds.
“Yes, she was. And this beautiful songbird had the voice of an angel too. But sometimes, she did not always know this to be true. She was filled with doubt by all the villagers who told her she did not sing so well as she thought.”
“They were sooooo mean,” Aria contributes.
“Yes, they were mean. But the meanest of all was the beast that she crossed paths with one fateful day. He thought her so beautiful that he decided he should have her for himself. But it was not to covet her like the songbird she was. The beast had set out to hurt the songbird.”
“But why, Papa?” Aria asks. “Why would he want to do that?”
“I have told you this story many times,” I say.
She grins.
“I know, but not for a while now.”
“Okay,” I concede. “Well the Beast, he was cold-hearted, Aria. Not like you. He did not care for others. He had no compassion. His heart was filled with hate and a thirst for revenge. Because the songbird’s father had tricked him once. And because he was scarred and ugly. He decided that it was easier to have his revenge than to accept what was.”
“So he did not think the songbird could love him?” Aria asks.
“No,” I answer. “He did not. For he was a beast after all.”
“But sometimes, maybe, a songbird could love a beast anyway,” Aria says thoughtfully. “Right, Papa?”
“Yes.” I smile. “You are so smart, Aria. And this is precisely what happened. In spite of his terrible ways, the songbird fell in love with the beast, anyway.”
Aria wiggles her feet beside me nervously in anticipation for the part that she remembers next.
“But it was not to be. For there was a terrible, terrible illness that took…”
“Papa!” Aria covers her ears and screeches. “Don’t say this part.”
I poke her in the tummy, and she smiles.
“But this is the story, Aria. Do you want to hear it or not?”
“I do, but skip to the best part.”
“Patience,” I mumble. “You must learn patience, my Aria.”
“Okay,” she yawns. “Then let’s finish the story tomorrow night.”
She closes her eyes and snuggles against me, and I do not have the heart to move her. Instead, I stroke her hair beneath my palm and marvel over the little girl that Isabella and I created.