Because Of Her Beauty


Because of her beauty, Amanda was an awful lot pointed out in the town. Some humans were angry because she would not go out with them or be their buddy; others were scathing of her and made up stories simply because they were jealous; they believed they knew about things they may not understand. She became a smooth target for the gossipmongers. But Amanda paid no attention to the gossip. In truth, she became barely aware of it. Her most effective difficulty changed into paintings difficult to assist her lazy family. She was the handiest one inside the residence who could get a task. Her right appears to have helped because the interviewer, male or female, immediately fell in love with her at every interview. Still, she became additionally courteous, professional, and keen to do the job. It is now not her beauty that made Amanda unique but her choice to please. She saw only humans’ wishes, and they had a fierce desire to satisfy them: if they needed a receptionist, she might do it; if they needed a cleaner, she would do this too; if they wanted someone to assist an incontinent antique guy, she would be the first to volunteer. She would wrap a headband around her golden locks, roll her sleeves, and get to work.

The reality changed, and regardless of her beauty, which might have made her useless and proud, Amanda became happy to do mundane jobs for very little money and in no way stopped working. In the quiet of every day, she returned to her home exhausted. Her mom might be looking at TV, her father under the influence of alcohol, her elder sister preparing herself for her next date, her center sister engrossed in a stylish novel, and her brother, sullen, idle, swinging his legs over the arm of the couch. His eyes would be the first to catch hers as she walked in. She became constantly angry at home because she became exhausted while the rest idled away the hours.


“Did they pay you?” her mom could ask.

“Yes,” she would respond, her blue eyes flashing with reproach, and he or she might throw her wages down onto the desk. It would be sufficient to pinnacle up the strength and the gas, the buying, or a part of the rent, and the next day she could be out again to earn more. She saved the complete circle of relatives. But she never complained. She confirmed her anger and frustration, but she also confirmed her love and provided them undying help; she labored till she became geared up to drop, but she in no way complained.


Then, sooner or later, she got a call. She becomes the center of doing Mrs. Marshall’s laundry. The voice at the alternative ceases changed into unusual. It changed into the voice of a gentle vintage guy who became the proprietor of the Mill View Hotel. She knew the Mill View. It becomes a rundown antique establishment placed using the river’s speeding waters that run through her town. She didn’t assume anybody stayed there anymore. However, the antique guy informed her he had a task vacancy and wanted her to return for an interview. She should hear the urgency in his voice and discern his want. Instantly, she tried to assist him. “Of route,” she replied and arranged a suitable time.

She arrived at the resort the next day, simply after lunch, and for some moments stood before it, gripped through a growing terror at the sight of the neglected and left-out old construction earlier than her. There have been turrets, one at every give up, and a huge old sloping roof with a maximum of its tiles missing. The limitless windows stared again at her like indignant eyes, their worn-out frames blistered via years of unsympathetic climate. Her first intuition was to return to the primary gate and leave. But she was no longer a quitter. She had promised to attend an interview, and they would no longer be taken away. Conjuring up fake enthusiasm, she made her way with a bit of luck to the doorway steps. A kickback rushed through her veins as she entered the huge timber of the front door, which had been left ajar. Although each muscle in her frame became geared up to show and run, she compelled herself to step gingerly toward the reception table, which she may want to make out within the gloom, included in a sensitive array of cobwebs and dirt.

On the table, next to an old-fashioned PC, changed into a bell. She picked up the bell and shook it. As the sound of the bell died away in a haunted echo that ran up and down a worn-out timber staircase that commenced inside the nook of the foyer and disappeared excessively above her head, she heard the method of someone, no longer footsteps but the squeak of wheels.

“Welcome to my hotel,” said a vintage guy in a wheelchair.

He became even older than she had imagined. His frame turned into a lost interior, a saggy antique healthy, and his face had more wrinkles than a child rhino. His eyes had been dim lighting fixtures wrapped in sagging cloaks of pores and skin, crimson and uncooked with the years. He approached Amanda out of the darkness and stopped while he changed into a little more than a backyard away from her. The thin mild from the lobby’s home windows rested on his face, and he discovered an expression of disturbing hope. It was not an unkind face, Amanda’s idea, and changed into at the least relieved to be in the presence of every other person.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. His voice was as thin as he was. However, he compelled it out with the determination of a younger bull.

“Not in any respect,” she spoke back politely, doing her first-rate now not to show any problem.

“Many don’t even show up for the interview, you understand. I can’t recognize why.”

“I would not assist you to down, sir,” Amanda said.

“I realize that.”

There turned into a moment of silence between them as he studied her.

“You are more beautiful even than the reviews recommend.”


“Oh, you understand. The rumors. Everyone in town gossips about the path. This time, they have been now not wrong.”

Amanda’s notion of this changed into an odd manner to begin an interview, but now, not wishing to purpose offense, she smiled and thanked the antique man for his praise. “My call is Andrew Constantinou. I am Greek. I hail from a small island in the Aegean. My ancestors had been heroes of the Trojan War, no doubt related to the superb hero Paris himself.” Amanda had not heard of the Trojan War or Paris and waited patiently for the antique guy to get to the factor.

“But wherein are my manners? Let us enter the lounge, and Demetria can fetch us a few teas. Ring the bell again, might you?” Amanda obliged, rang the bell, and waited with Andrew Constantinou until a miserable searching hag who should have been in her seventies arrived in a gradual shuffle. She turned into wearing black from head to toe and made no try to greet Amanda, even though Amanda placed on her friendliest smile.

“This is my daughter, Demetria,” the antique man explained. “She has been part of this esteemed establishment all her existence. In truth, she was born right here just weeks after I sold the place. Demetria, fetch us a few teas. Bring it thru to the front room wherein I shall be interviewing with this delightful younger girl.”

Demetria nodded and shuffled off. The antique man drove the wheelchair off and led Amanda into the lounge. The lounge, too, it seemed, had seen better days. The vintage leather-based couches have been ripped, and the bookcases that covered the walls have been so dusty you could not examine the ebook covers. The carpet, which once ought to be a pleasure to walk on, was now sticky with grime, and its once complex pattern was all but diminished to not anything.

“Please, Mr. Constant… ”

“Call me Andrew, please.”


“Yes, my dear?”

“I remember you have a function vacant right here?”

“I do.”

“Forgive me for saying so; you no longer seem to have any guests.”

“You are brilliant and stunning,” stated the antique man. “I can recognize how arriving at the center of the day as you have got, you would possibly get that impression. But you are incorrect. We have several vital visitors, some regular clients who have been here for years. They are discerning people and expect the highest standards.”


“Really?” Amanda requested, looking around once more at the overall ailment.

“Are you amazed?”

“Yes,” she said.

“But why so? Don’t you understand that we’ve got recognition for excellence recognized right around the sector?”

“But… ”

“Shall we continue with the interview?”

Amanda was taken into consideration for the position. She had never walked far away from an interview earlier than in her existence and never grew to take down any jobs she was provided; it went against her nature to accomplish that. But as she looked at the old guy and the drab resort which were his lifestyles’ work, she thought about poor decrepit Demetria who even now become shuffling lower back closer to them sporting a silver tray, seemingly finding even that easy venture a burden, and as she surveyed her decayed environment, she could not assist wondering that something was amiss. Before Amanda could respond, Demetria positioned the tray of teacups at the vintage coffee table among them.

“Please be seated,” commanded the old guy, and Amanda obliged. “Demetria, depart us.” After any other moment of silence, throughout which Amanda endured to go searching the room, and the old guy watched her with an ever-greater intrusive glare, she made up her thoughts to depart. The vintage man stopped her by grabbing her hand as she tried to skip. “Please,” he stated. “I can see how this must all appear pretty odd to you. But wait at the least until you’ve heard what the activity’s miles include.” “I think I already know. I can see you want a cleaner. But to be sincere, Mr. Constant… Er, Andrew, I suppose you’ll want a whole group of professionals to get this place searching again.”

“I’m now not searching out a cleanser.”

“Well then, if you want a person to look after you, I might be pretty satisfied to do that, but I do not suppose it’d be very hygienic to be a carer in this environment. You could get the area wiped clean up first.” “I do not want a carer.”Well, I can cook dinner for you and your guests. However, I daren’t appear in the kitchen because if the rest of the motel is anything to go by way of, I would imagine the kitchen is a fitness danger.” “Demetria does all of the cooking.” “Then it should be a painter and decorator you need. Or a person to restore the roof. I’m not certified to do any of these jobs!” “Please listen, Amanda.” “Yes. Of path.” She settled herself to go into reverse again. She felt a bit happier now that she got the few matters off her chest. She should see no reason for not wanting to look at what the activity changed into that needed to be carried out simply because the old guy had requested. “Do the tale of Paris and the Trojan War?” “No, not sincerely. I wasn’t excellent at records.”

“No count number. We descended from Paris when I started, which became my little shaggy dog story. But there may be an unhappy fact behind the whimsicality of my announcement. Upstairs in one of the rooms sits a young guy, indeed known as Paris. He is Demetria’s grandson and my high-quality grandson. He has been in that room for almost two decades and by no means comes out. He suffers from a difficult intellectual circumstance. Demetria’s daughter, his mother, became known as Helen after the beautiful Helen of Troy. She named her son Paris after the man who abducted the original Helen, stealing her from her husband Menelaus and inflicting the Trojan War. Many notions that Helen naming her son Paris changed into an unwell-cautioned flow, a terrible omen if you want, and so it has proved to be. Little Paris became a vibrant and curious younger boy who loved to spend all day studying in his room. His favorite ebook was the Iliad, with the aid of Homer. However, he cherished the entirety of Greek mythology. Since he became named Paris, he doted on the myths surrounding the authentic Paris and perhaps even, in his younger mind, diagnosed himself with the incredible demi-god.

“When our Paris became ten years antique, his mom Helen, a completely stunning woman in her right and quite deserving of her call, turned into killed in a vehicle twist of fate. His father, an inconstant guy, paralyzed with grief, left us and has never been seen or heard of considering. Paris in no way recovered from the surprise. He locked himself away in that room upstairs and has lived each minute of his lifestyle there. Demetria tends to his every want as she has carried out for every single day of the past 20 years. We have consulted medical doctors and physicians in every country. Since money is no object, we’ve had to enter some of the great clinical brains around the globe. No one has been able to provide you with a solution until now.

“A lot-reputable German psychologist, Doctor Hausmann, has advised a likely treatment. He has come up with a concept concerning Paris’ circumstances. So full of myths and legends became our little boy’s head, the health practitioner declared that he had substituted his very own lifestyle for the actual Paris lifestyle. He interpreted the lack of his mother and father in this way: he believed his father to be King Menelaus, Helen of Troy’s husband. He placed the disappearance of his poor mother down to the truth that Menelaus had again reclaimed his kidnapped bride. In this way, Paris has been able to deny the fact of his mom’s death but believes that she will be able to return in the future. Until that day comes, he has imposed this merciless incarceration upon himself, both bodily and mentally. If that is indeed the case, then Doctor Hausmann’s solution is a simple one. We should discover the most lovely female in the country and introduce her to Paris as the returning Helen. Only in this way, with the aid of reconnecting with the unique myth and getting inside the fairy storyland inside my younger super-grandson’s head, will he be able to mend his wondering and return to the actual world again.”

Amanda listened very carefully as the antique man told his tale. She controlled and followed most of it. However, she neglected the importance of the ultimate sentence. “And how can you find this individual to be Helen?” she requested, with a fascinating combination of modesty and naivety. “Why my pricey, we have discovered her. She is you!”

Amanda had simply by no means concept of herself as lovely. She had been privy to the eye others gave her all her life. However, she did not put this all the way down to the captivating greatness of her smile, the outstanding sparkle of her eyes, or her skin’s clean, milky complexion. Her family had never made a fuss about such matters. In truth, none of them had ever referred to as her lovely, happy to allow her to make the most of her competencies as a cleanser, a carer, and a cook to earn cash for them so they may idle their time away.

So, while Andrew Constantinou counseled she might be the answer to his perfect grandson’s hassle, it took some time for it to sink in. When it ultimately did, she shook her head and made a panic-troubled fuss, saying they had made a big mistake. She knew nothing about the Trojan War or how it started and failed to see how she ought to help a weirdo who had locked himself away for two decades. Yes, she became determined to assist; however, this changed a long way, some distance past whatever she had stumbled upon earlier, and they no longer supposed she was the right character for the process.

The vintage guy listened to her tirade. However, they refused to permit her to leave, grabbing her hand again as she tried to skip. “Please, be affected, person. Don’t rush to any hasty conclusions. All you need to do is introduce yourself to Paris. You can go away if you get no response; no extra may be said about it. But I will give you one hundred kilos in your time. It will take no more than ten minutes. Please.”

Finally, she turned into indeed persuaded to go and meet Paris. However, it was not the cash that did it. There was something inside the old guy’s pleading eyes that moved her. She became usually inclined to assist, and it dawned on her at last that she was this sad and annoying guy’s best hope, so help she must.

She braced herself for whatever she became in all likelihood to find in that closed bedroom, something freak of nature had advanced there in that fearfully enclosed space during the last two decades, and nodded her assent. The vintage man smiled fortunately and referred to as Demetria once more.

Accompanied by Demetria, shuffling up in advance, Amanda took the steps to the vintage building’s first floor. On the manner, they surpassed a neatly dressed gentleman wearing a monocle coming oppositely, every other senior citizen, who took off his hat in cheerful greeting. He stated it became a captivating day for a stroll and that he looked forward to Demetria’s meal, which turned out to be served later that night. Amanda was surprised that there were visitors residing in shoddy situations. She wondered why no one complained: approximately the dust at the window panes, the cobwebs hanging down from the ceiling, or the scent that rose from the uncleaned carpet. Perhaps, she thought, they had grown used to it and failed to recognize it any higher.

They went up a 2d flight. It took some time because the old hag Demetria changed so slowly. All the way, she had a sad face and no longer spoke to Amanda in any respect. Amanda didn’t want thoughts. She knew in lifestyles you had been sure to satisfy folks who refused to be cheerful, who within the beyond had suffered some calamity or loss. Possibly, Demetria had suffered more than the maximum.

On the second floor, there were fewer rooms and infrequent lighting fixtures. Demetria stopped outdoors at the door at the bottom of the hall. She beckoned Amanda to head in. Amanda took a deep breath and knocked at the door. There was no response. Demetria nudged her, egging her directly to open the door. Amanda took a firm grip of a large brass knob and grew to become it. The door clicked open.

Inside, it changed into something very darkish, plenty darker than the rest of the construction. It becomes so dark that Amanda ought to see shapes handiest: the body of a bed, the formation of a cloth cabinet, the form of a chair. Sitting on the bed and looking at the drawn curtains of a window seemed to be the form of a person. He had his lower back to them and failed to flow. Demetria walked in and went to stand beside him. She positioned a hand on his shoulder and did her fine to maintain her sobs again as she stated:

“Paris, you, my good-looking young boy. You have a vacationer.” She spoke to him as though she came to talk to a small boy, now not a grown man. He did not reply, so she threw open the curtains, announcing: “Don’t you want to look who has come to go to?”

As light flooded the room, Paris turned to see who his traveler was probably. The solar came out from behind a cloud just at that second and illuminated Amanda’s face, giving it a golden glow. Paris took some time to modify his play of light, and for a second, he stared at Amanda without a response. Amanda stared back. She becomes stunned. It was as though she were asleep all her existence and had been jogged wakeful at once. Something rose internally from the vicinity of her belly and made her senses sick. Hot blood rushed to her cheeks, and she blushed fiercely. She stared awkwardly at the man’s face. He became so handsome he took her breath away. He turned into moderate in construct, and in his way, he displayed a gentleness that would best be related to a person who extraordinarily typed. This turned out no longer what she had been waiting for. He regarded pale and drawn; otherwise, he showed no outward signal of his lifelong incarceration, no anger, no bitterness, no regret. She felt awkward because she no longer understood what to do with herself. She turned unexpectedly alive to many new sensations that she had never seen before.

“I’m… I’m Amanda,” she stuttered, feeling she had to mention something to break the silence. “Helen?” Paris stated. “You’re returned?” His voice had the excellent of a notable singer, sure and confident. This, too, becomes a wonder. He unexpectedly regarded so excited and happy that Amanda didn’t sense it changed into a right to disappoint him. “Yes,” she stated. “I’m lower back.” “Oh, Helen! I’ve been waiting for goodbye for you.” Amanda could only reply in this manner: “And I was looking forward to you.”

In a way, she had. It seemed she was ready for all her lifestyles for this second. As she watched them, Demetria felt a smile creep up on her. She could not recollect the closing time she had smiled. As she studied the look of joy on her grandson’s face and the look of love that had overtaken Amanda’s, she realized she was beginning to experience a smidgeon of happiness, something she had no longer felt because of that tragic day of her daughter’s death. The health practitioner has been right. This was just what Paris needed. Paris had not proven emotion because of that tragic day, too. Now he changed into filled to the brim with emotion. Tears cascaded down his cheeks, and he moved to rise and go to his vacationer. He took her hands and looked at her with unbounded pleasure.

“My lifestyles. My desire. My dream. You are back.”

Amanda struggled to manipulate her feelings, too. He became taller than he had seemed even as seated, and as his eyes drilled into her, analyzing each inch of her, she felt the energy of his presence like a superb appeal. It changed into as though she had determined her cause for a dwelling. She allowed herself to be pulled into his fingers and became glad to stay there. She did not query the awareness of pretending to be someone she no longer became nor ask what could manifest while Paris’ hypnotic state was damaged. All she ought to see become the surprise of being part of the lovely myth of Paris and Helen reunited and glad always.

As Demetria surpassed them, content material to go away alone for some time, she spoke her first phrases to Amanda. “This motel is part of the dowry for the female who marries my grandson.” At these words, Amanda determined something else about herself. She changed into ambition. All the hours of difficult painting have been mainly up to something. Perhaps deep inside, she had believed it’d result in something like this. She became confident now that she should alternate the whole lot and make it precisely as she desired.

That night, Amanda skipped domestic with a piece of brand new music in her coronary heart. “How did the interview pass for the job on the lodge?” her brother requested. “Good information!” she cried, and they all appeared up. “You’ve all been given jobs at the motel. Dad, you will be running behind the bar. Mum, you will be serving meals. And you men… ” she became to her sisters and brother, who looked up at her with unreserved worry. “You shall be liable for the refurbishment.”