So my first story on Fanfiction. I hope you darling reviewers enjoy reading it. Please don't be afraid to tell me what you think, I am pretty sure I can handle it. The first chapter is a lot like the movie…it does differ somewhat though. Beauty is sort of like a darker inspired tale of Beauty and the Beast. Please let me know what you think!
I own nothing from Beauty and the Beast and I envy the writer who thought of such a tale.
This story is rated T because…it should be.
The fire was warm. At least that is what the children who gathered around it all thought. So many small naïve minds gathered around the fire, excited for the tale about to be unwoven by the storyteller. Rosy cheeks and cold noses were contagious that blustery night for the small children, but nothing would stop these offspring from this annual day and the tradition of a story.
Silence spread throughout the small, packed crowd as the one person they were all waiting for shuffled to her seat. The elderly woman smiled at all the eager faces. Her many cloaks wrapped tightly around her to seal out the cold. She chuckled quietly, feeling just as eager to share her story.
"I welcome you children and take it you are all eager to hear this most enchanting story."
Her voice was greeted by excited nods and grunts of the children.
Leaning into the crowd of little listeners, Miss Elizabeth Chaffee began her tale.
"It began on a night, not so different from this evening…"
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He was running. Running from his past, running from the threatened future. Who would have thought to appear at the door of such an intriguing castle would have caused such a disaster. She did not seem so bad. She was kind, and then she changed, into a most monstrous and hideous creature, eager to kill.
He ran because of a rose. The woods had beautiful roses. Victor passed them everyday. Today he felt like he should pick one, just one. It was the reddest, the ripest rose on the stem. To him, it was a small token of the love he and his wife shared. Oh to hold such beauty again! Now it was a regret he would take to his grave.
It is an instinct to avoid that which wishes to harm oneself. It is choice to figure out what to do when you happen to be in such a situation. If one is faced with an unknown demon, eager to pursue you, one most of the times succumbs to such beast and grants the wish of persecution.
That is what poor Victor Amaury did, and regretted it to no end.
The tailor heard her pounding feet chase after him. He knew to stop would mean death, and to continue would only prolong its fore coming. The breathing and rumbling behind him was what kept the poor man running through the bramble, through the woods, towards the nearest town. He could not think, only run.
A loud snap of a low hanging branch caused the old man to flinch for a brief moment and turn.
He did not see the twig ensnared in the powdery snow until it was too late. The man fell into the snowfall, the rose he held fell to the ground. Paralyzed in fear, he witnessed this demon take a mighty leap upon him.
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Claude paced around in the small cottage. Running a frustrated and panicked hand through his auburn hair, the young man sighed. His father, Victor, should have been home by now. His day trips did not last this long, ever. The son continued his monotone walk wondering what could have happened.
The weather may have slowed him down, or perhaps he stopped at a friends…but these were not like his father. Claude groaned in frustration. It was hard living with just Victor and himself. Many of the townspeople tended to think him weird. A young man such as he should be married, not living at home.
Claude told them he did not wish this, and yet, this only concluded their suspicions of a terrible blasphemy he may be committing. Now certain blasphemies were far out of the question for the dear lad, but many snide and sneering townsmen tended to think he was more like the ladies than any man should be.
Claude was not overly flamboyant, nor was he in any way a social creature. Being more secluded and quiet increased this aroused suspicion.
Now Claude felt many times romantic towards the females of the town, but many had ten suitors, so it seemed. This itself was madness, and he was much less competitive than those bulky brutes in town.
Victor should have been home. The elderly man was in a dangerous situation being out this late. He could be freezing to death, or attacked by wolves. For all Claude knew, his father could be dead.
Pacing would do nothing. Claude grabbed his cloak and rushed out the door. The sudden chill took away his breath as he felt the instant foretelling of a harsh winter.
The path towards the woods was already snow covered, and Claude had to trudge through the conditions. Looking up towards the woodland line, he felt a shudder go up his spine.
The woods never seemed to like him. Since the time as a young lad, when he lost his way in them up until this very day. Claude laughed softly to himself; his mother had been his savior that day. He still could remember her sweet voice in his ear.
His father always said he had her green eyes. Claude prayed this was true for he wished to see her again, knowing that only when he was at heavens gates could this be true. Oh how he wished the sickness would not have claimed her life.
It seemed that his mother's death affected Victor more so than himself. The poor man moved not but a week after her burial, claiming he found a better paying job, but Claude knew that his father was hurting inside deeper than the young man could ever imagine.
Pulling his cloak tighter around his face, Claude continued to near the trees. So tall and dark they were, taunting the boy with their age and wisdom. It seemed to Claude that the trees had very souls, waiting to devour his own as he walked by.
How could the forest be so eerie? Claude's curious side seemed to take hold as he wondered why was the forest like this? What caused it?
He had heard rumors of a curse that happened long ago.
"Where are you off to lad?"
Claude jumped out of his thoughts, sharply turning to see his neighbor Jean looking at him. The scruffy and elderly man lit the lantern dangling below the sign for his shop as he eyed Claude suspiciously.
"Victor hasn't returned…I'm searching for him."
"Best leave the searching for the morning boy; the forest is no place to be at night. You don't know what lurks there." The old man replied warily.
Claude looked to the trees hesitantly. Perhaps Jean was right, maybe he should wait until morning, but then again, Victor was missing, and the weather seemed to continuously grow colder. If his father was out there and dying, Claude had to find him.
"I'll take my chances Jean."
With a final farewell to the elderly man, Claude set his path to the trees, and with a hesitant air, walked into their covering.
The wind instantly died down, and the chill, though still faint was less intense as the number of pines and spruces blocked the cold. Claude followed the little manmade path, feeling as though something was upset at his entering.
It only took moments before the young man was flinching at every rustle, jumping at every cracking branch. He kept telling himself it was the snow breaking the branches, the wind rusting the bramble, but was this really true?
Claude quickened his walking as the low grumble of a creature was audibly heard. He turned sharply, trying to clear his mind of the panic seemingly overcoming it.
Dread nearly overcame him as he saw the faint and quick blur of a shadow from behind him. Now more than ever Claude racked his brain, trying to think of the legend that came with these woods.
Nothing came to him but the name of the castle hidden amongst the woodland. Cerise castle, a beautiful building long ago, but no one had seen it for years.
A sudden crash caused Claude to turn, searching the enclosed area. The invisible demon pursuing him wished for him to panic, it was as if, it wanted him to, so it could begin its chase. This lead Claude to his conclusion, running was not his best choice, and Claude was no fool.
Whistling a tune, Claude continued on his way, feeling immensely better knowing that the pursuer would not harm him so long as he kept his head. The lad could not help but wonder if his father ran. Was Victor in danger?
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In the quiet Victor awoke, the pain in his ankle immense. Rolling up his pant leg, the tailor inspected the bruised joint. Groaning the older man realized the intensity of the wind had died down and had been replaced with the dark, dank walls of a dungeon. It seemed as though bruised joints were the worst of Victor's worries.
The familiar scuffling and squeaking of rats kept the father alert as he inscribed every minute detail of this room into his head. There were rusted chains in the corner, and water dripped from the cracks in the stone. The straw he sat upon must have been someone's attempt at a crudely constructed bed.
"H-hello?" he questioned into the darkness.
It was not surprising that only silence answered his calls, but Victor could not shake the feeling that someone or something was watching him.
He did not risk standing, so there he stayed, in the dank chill air of the dungeons, in an unknown castle. What did the tailor do? Who had he offended? The answer seemed to come sooner than Victor would have wished as the creaky and heavy door of the cell opened to reveal the monster of earlier.
"You are not welcome here!" it spat violently.
Victor shrunk back to the wall behind him, squinting to see a glimpse of the beast before him.
"Who are you?" he questioned timidly.
"That is none of you're concern. You are my prisoner now and forever more. To escape means certain death!" bellowed, in a deep and feminine voice.
"Doesn't a prisoner get to see the face of its captor?"
Whatever entered the darkness stepped into the lone beam of light. Victor felt all of his fears contract at once as he closed his eyes, regretting his question to no end. It was a demon that held him captive.
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The gloomy and frigid skies illuminated themselves from what seemed every corner of the forest. Claude was tiring quickly and beginning to feel as sleepy as a newborn babe. The young lad's path consisted of the dragging marks of his feet.
"Please father, reveal your hiding spot." He yelled to the woods. Oh how he hated these trees. Through the hour he trekked in the brush they seemed to laugh at him.
Stopping in the snow, Claude stared, shocked. In front of him stood the black iron gates of a run down castle. The castle itself was a work of gothic art. Dark stones built it as the small minute details of gargoyles and carvings lined its every wall.
Carefully, Claude opened the gates with an ear wrenching creak. It was easier than one would have thought. The gate seemed to open itself.
Walking down the path, Claude could not help but feel as though evil was closer now than ever.
Just as he was about to retreat the familiar sight of his fathers shoe revealed itself. Crouching and picking it up, the lad gazed up at the towers and snowfall. He had no doubt his father was in there, and he did not want to enter these gates of hell.
Mustering the courage, Claude entered this new terrain.
The castle was as dark inside as it was outside. Cobwebs hung everywhere in the entry hall and dust covered the once magnificent floors. The chandelier above him seemed to have been built from the dirt that clung to it. It was a sad demise for such a wondrous object.
With his imagination, Claude could almost see the ghosts of the past dancing 'cross the floors, as the musicians played at the foot of the stairs. With a castle like this, it seemed as though the happy days were bygone days. Claude almost pitied the walls. Oh the scenes the must have witnessed.
"Father?" He yelled, "Father?"
He wandered towards a door below the balcony above the stairs. It was open, and beckoning to him. Claude could have sworn it was not open a moment ago.
Following the empty stairs, his footsteps echoed around the corridor. It seemed the spiraling stairway went on for ages.
"Father? Where are you?" he shouted, hearing his voice reverberate around the walls. He used a hand to steady himself as he heard a faint noise. Was that Victor?
"Victor?"
"Claude? My boy!" came the reply. Claude rushed to the end of the staircase, Oblivious to the dank dungeon scene he was in. He ran to where the coughing was heard.
"Father, what happened? I was concerned…what are you doing here?"
Waving his hand in a gesture that seemed to tell Claude to quiet down, he whispered to his son. "Claude, look, get out whilst you can. This castle is hell! It is no place for you. Go with the peace I will be with your mother soon!"
Claude felt as though he had been punched. "No father, I cannot leave you. You've taken ill, and it's too dank and cold in here for you." He reasoned.
Victor opened his mouth to speak, just as the torch down the hall slammed to the puddle beneath it with such weight the sconce itself shattered.
Claude felt his chest rise in panic, "What? Who- who goes there?"
"The mistress of this hellhole!" It whispered back harshly its dark silhouette nearing Claude.
Claude backed into the door blockading his father from him. "Please let my father go. He is a tailor, the town needs him."
"He trespassed and deserves to die! No one picks my roses and lives." With this sentence, Claude watched as a single rose fell to the cold stone floor.
"My father, he meant no harm! That is not him!" Claude turned to his father, who sat, silent as he reminisced upon the face that greeted him earlier.
"Harmless or not, he picked it, and will die!" she screamed, whatever she was, for the shadow did not seem human.
Claude stayed silent, thinking of how he could save his father. "What, what will be his sentence?" he pondered quietly.
The terrible being stood quiet before hissing, "Life here in my dungeons!"
Claude felt his heart sink. His father could not die for a rose! It was unfair, but was that not life? The next move Claude made surprised all in the room.
"Instead of himself living here. Take me. I'm young, strong. It will take longer for me to die."
"No Claude! I will not let you! There is more to this being than you know!" Victor yelled amongst deaf ears.
The shadow itself seemed to smirk, "Fine, it is a deal." Moving towards Victor's cell, this mysterious creature finally stepped into the dim lighting of the torch.
The red and orange light of the flames illuminated the pelt of an animal. Claude gasped in surprise. Dark hazel eyes glared at him. They were almost human. What was this witchcraft?
Dragging Victor out by the sharp teeth the bear-like mouth withheld, she dragged the lads father up the stairs with the speed of a leopard.
Claude stood in shock, "Wait! Where are you taking my father? You will not let me say farewell?" he yelled as reality slapped him hard upon the face.
It seemed like ages before the demon returned. Claude refused to lay out any emotion for this beast to read.
"Where will I be staying master?" he spat bitterly.
The beast glowered towards Claude, "Its Élodie, my name is Élodie, and since you will be abiding here in place of that pitiful man, I will allow you the comforts of a room. Follow me."
The authority in her voice caused Claude to instantly follow behind the creature. 'Élodie' had not even spoken of Victor. Was the man well? Did Claude's father live?
He grunted angrily as the shuffle of beast and man echoed among the stairwell. And to think this all happened because of a rose.
Now that you have read the first chapter, don't be frightened to review. I'd love to hear from the reader. Is my writing style to your palette? Is this story worth continuing? (Even though I'm continuing it no matter what is said.) Please let me know.