In a quiet town nestled between thick forests, there lived a young girl named Amara. She was known for her plain looks—neither ugly nor particularly beautiful. Amara often gazed at her reflection in the mirror, dreaming of a face that would make heads turn and hearts skip a beat. She envied the girls who basked in admiration and longed for the kind of beauty that could change her life.
One cold evening, as she strolled through the forest path, she stumbled upon an old shop she had never seen before. The sign above the door read Madame Velvet’s Beauty Emporium. Inside, the air smelled of lavender and something faintly metallic. Behind the counter stood a tall, elegant woman with porcelain skin and piercing emerald eyes.
“Come in, dear,” the woman beckoned, her voice smooth as silk. “What brings you here?”
Amara hesitated, then whispered, “I want to be beautiful.”
Madame Velvet smiled knowingly. “Beauty comes at a cost,” she said, reaching under the counter to pull out a golden vial. It shimmered in the dim light, its contents swirling like liquid gold.
“This potion will give you the face of your dreams,” she explained, “but you must be certain—it cannot be undone.”
Desperation outweighed caution, and Amara agreed. Madame Velvet handed her a mirror. “Drink, and see your new self.”
Amara tipped the vial to her lips. The liquid burned as it slid down her throat. She gasped, dropping the vial as her reflection in the mirror began to shift. Her eyes grew larger, her lips fuller, her skin flawless. She was stunning—a vision of perfection.
But before she could rejoice, a sharp pain sliced through her face. She screamed as her skin tightened and her features contorted. The mirror cracked, and when she looked again, her reflection was gone.
Panicked, she touched her face—it was smooth, like polished stone. She rushed to the shopkeeper. “What have you done to me?”
Madame Velvet tilted her head. “You wanted beauty, and now you have it. But beauty is not what you think it is.”
Amara fled the shop, covering her face. Back in town, she realized people no longer looked at her with admiration but with fear. Her once-beautiful face was a blank, featureless canvas—a horror that turned heads for all the wrong reasons.
Haunted by her vanity, Amara became a recluse. The townspeople spoke of her in hushed tones, warning others of the dangers of seeking beauty at any cost.
The shop, of course, vanished the next day, as if it had never existed. And in the silence of her room, Amara sat staring into a cracked mirror, her face reflecting nothing but regret.
Amara’s isolation deepened as the days turned into weeks. She couldn’t bear the horrified stares of others, nor the muffled whispers that trailed behind her wherever she went. Her blank, featureless face was a constant reminder of her fateful decision.
Desperate to undo her mistake, she scoured books on folklore and magic, searching for anything that could restore her face. One late night, amidst the pages of an ancient tome, she read of a ritual to summon Madame Velvet. The instructions were cryptic but clear—offer something of immense personal value at midnight under a new moon.
Amara clutched a small music box given to her by her late mother—the only possession that still connected her to a happier time. As the new moon rose, she stood in the center of the forest clearing, the music box in her trembling hands. She opened it, letting its haunting melody drift into the air.
The wind stilled. Shadows stretched unnaturally. From the darkness emerged Madame Velvet, her piercing emerald eyes gleaming.
“You called, child?” Madame Velvet asked, her voice carrying an edge of amusement.
Amara dropped to her knees. “Please, I beg you. Undo this curse. Take anything you want, but give me back my face!”
Madame Velvet studied her, a flicker of pity crossing her perfect features. “You misunderstand, my dear. I did not curse you. You asked for beauty, and I gave it to you. But beauty is fleeting, subjective—a reflection of one’s soul. Yours was tainted by greed and envy, and now the world sees you as you truly are.”
Tears streamed down Amara’s featureless face. “Then how can I fix it? Tell me what to do!”
The witch’s expression hardened. “To reclaim your face, you must find inner beauty—kindness, humility, selflessness. When your soul shines bright, so too will your reflection. But beware, the journey will not be easy, and the scars of your choices will linger.”
With that, Madame Velvet vanished, leaving Amara alone in the clearing.
From that night onward, Amara resolved to change. She began helping those in need, offering kindness to the very people she once envied. Over time, something remarkable began to happen—she felt lighter, her steps surer. Though her reflection remained blank, the townsfolk started treating her differently, drawn to her warmth and newfound grace.
Years passed, and one day, while helping a child in need, she caught her reflection in a puddle. For the first time, she saw faint outlines of her features—her eyes, her smile. Though not the face she once dreamed of, it was hers, and it radiated a beauty far deeper than skin.
Amara never sought Madame Velvet again. She had learned that true beauty isn’t something you take—it’s something you give.