Twilight meets Beauty And The Beast and ends in a dark fairytale that shows the true depth of darkness and light in human nature and the transcendence of true love; inspired also by The Witch of Blackbird Pond, Midnight Secretary, Pride and Prejudice, and Wuthering Heights. AU. AH. Cannon pairings to the max.

Something new. Tell me what you think. Xoxo —ei

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

THIRST

Chapter one, Grim

England, circa 1687

"But, Father, why must you go?" I pleaded.

"Oh, Bella, please do not shed anymore tears or I will never be able to make myself leave at all," he cried, clasping his hands together.

"Then I must shed more and more tears!" I said fiercely, my eyes welling up on cue.

"Oh, Bella!" My younger sister, Jessica, snapped. "Let Father go! He will be back with us before long and we shall once again have all the fine clothes and jewels we owned when Mother was alive."

I bit my lip to quell the harsh words that were tumbling against my lips: that Jessica was being selfish, telling Father to go to collect his shipment of cloth and precious stones so that she could once again be the finest dressed lass in town, no matter what dangers at sea or on land he had to face.

My older sister, Angela, caught my eye and shook her head very slightly.

I took a deep breath and sighed as my anger faded.

We both constantly had to remind ourselves that it was not a sign of bad nature that Jessica's only apparent character trait was avarice. She was the youngest and had known nothing but wealth and comfort all her life. This bout of poverty we had endured after Mother's death had come as a shock to her.

Angela and I had been young, but still remembered the tiny cottage we had lived in before Jessica was born before Father's trading business had quite taken off. How happy we had been then!

Even Angela wanted Father to go, though she would never admit it, sweet thing that she was. But time was running out for her: she was already seventeen and though she had sparked interest in many of the fine young men in town, none of them had stepped forward to court her because she had no dowry because everyone knew Father had no money.

I was sixteen now, a marriageable age as well, but I was far less concerned with any of the self-absorbed idiots that roamed the village, all of whom were led by the repugnant philistine, Michael Newton who ran the licentious tavern in the middle of the square.

And, as for Jessica…Woe betide the man she chooses.

A sharp rap came upon the door, scattering my thoughts.

"Come in," Father called out.

Hesitantly, the door swung open.

"Ah, Benjamin. Come in. I was only bidding my daughters adieu."

Ben nodded at my Father in greeting and turned to the three of us rather stiffly. "Ladies," he muttered deferentially. "Jessica, Isabella…" He cleared his throat. "Angela." He bowed at each of us in turn.

At her name, both Ben and Angela's faces turned a brilliant crimson though she curtsied politely anyway.

Ben was cool-headed, trustworthy, and a shrewd merchant. He was well-learned, having been schooled in the capital. He was Father's trading partner and several years older than I, twenty-three this June, but I had known him all my life. He would be making the perilous journey to the port with him and for that I was glad.

But most importantly, Ben was madly in love with my elder sister.

Jessica merely tolerated him for she found his interests dull and his eagerness childlike. I favored him for he was far better behaved than any of the other young scoundrels in the town, but Angela—she simply adored him.

He often joined us for supper for he, too, had suffered terrible losses along with Father. Several years ago, their ships had begun to go missing en route to the east without explanation. Then, suddenly, Mother had died of consumption and it had taken Father, as well as the rest of us, a long time to come out of that slump.

Ben, however, was all alone. He was an Irishman whose family resided along the greenies' countryside and while Angela's singular spinning had allowed us to get by through hard times, he had nothing, no one.

His father was a pastor back in Ireland and, as his habit was, Ben loved read aloud to us from the scripture after supper. In this one thing we were all united: he loved to read out loud, and we were equally happy to listen. For all of us, the days were filled with hard labor, with little enough to satisfy the hunger of our spirits.

Though Jessica was a free spirit that could seldom be bade to sit still for more than a few minutes, even to her impatient spirits the beauty of his clear, sonorous voice wove a magic spell.

And one night such as this, I had chanced to glance around the sitting room as Ben spoke and I caught sight of Angela's face. She sat slightly in the shadow beside the hearth, her needles moving so automatically that she rarely glanced at her work.

A raging ember in the fire threw a brief light across her face and I saw a miraculous thing:

Those great listening eyes were fastened on the face of the young man bent over his book, eyes glistening with emotion and for one instant Angela's whole heart was revealed, a little secret smile on her lips. The flame that burned in her eyes had such purity, such complete selflessness, that everything I had ever known seemed dim in its light.

What must it be to care for someone like that?

And yet, though both their intentions were clear, they had never so much as spoken a word of it to each other, to myself, nor to our Father.

"Shall we depart, Goodman Swan?" Ben asked, his eyes still fixed shyly on Angela.

"Certainly. Give me just a moment more with my daughters."

Ben nodded at us again and went outside to ready the horses.

"Come before me, daughters. Before I leave, I ask you: what would you like me to bring back for you?"

Jessica's eyes brightened gaily. "Oh, please, Father! Please bring me back a lovely necklace and dress so that I may be envy of all the girls in town!"

"Of course, m'dear." Father smiled indulgently. "And for you, Angela?"

"I hope for little more than your safe and sound return to us, dear Father, except…"

"Yes?" He urged gently.

Angela's face turned very pink and her words were barely audible. "I wish for something to claim as my dowry so that I may not be a burden to you much longer."

His face turned downcast. "Of course, my dear daughter. I have not fulfilled my duties as a father until I prepare you for marriage, but I admit it is a loathsome task as I never wish to be rid of you." He kissed her forehead.

Finally, he turned to me.

I smiled.

"And for you, my belle, what do you wish for? Jewels? Dresses? Sugared plums?"

"Father, I wish for a rose."

-x-

"They will all be so disappointed," I mourned.

"Take heart. It was a perilous journey to come thus far. They will be gladdened to see you home and safe from harm," Ben said, though he, too, was visibly upset.

"I feel as though I have cursed you, Benjamin," I said heavily. "Even since my wife has passed, I have been plagued in business by bad luck and now I have infected you as well." I laid a hand on his shoulder. "I have had my fortunes so I am not saddened by the lot that has been cast for me, but you at least have a long life to look forward to you. It is time you start building a fortune, for how else will you support a wife and family? I fear that if you remain with me, you may be doomed to bachelorhood."

"No Charles, never," he said staunchly. "You have been like a Father to me, you took me into your home when everyone else called me a heretic for my beliefs."

"Ah, well." I sighed. "If the Devil is truly working Catholism to his ends, then I say 'tis a mighty queer thing for the devil to go working against himself!" I glanced around again to the deserted pier. "Let's be off then, there's no reason to linger. All our vessels have capsized or been seized to pay my debts. What a pity, there's nothing left."

With heavy hearts we turned our steeds homeward. I was terribly disappointed for the lack of profit, but more so that I would be returning to my daughters empty-handed.

Jessica had known nothing but want since her Mother's death and Angela's request had been so careworn. Still, it was Bella's promise that I was most loathe to dissatisfy.

A rose—That was all she had asked for, since they did not grow in our town as the soil was too poor. When Renee had been alive, she had made sure roses bloomed on our estate year round, having grown up around them in the south of France where she had been raised.

Bella reminded me most of my late wife. Physically, they resembled each other more than my other daughters did to their mother. They were both riddled with an unquenchable thirst for life, an undeniable taste in food and wine, and impeccable palate for literature.

I seldom saw Bella without a book or a tome, though the town's minister never tired of telling her that any book besides the Holy Book sowed the Devil's mischief. I recalled the scores of times I had seen my wife sitting by the window, a book lain open in her lap, our daughters clustered by her side as she read to them, her voice clear and bright and rapturous…

-x-

On the sixth day of our return voyage, Ben and I came to a large impasse on the final leg our journey. There had been a great storm and the well-worn path we had taken previously through the forest to our village was nowhere to be seen, presumably buried under fallen debris.

"Perhaps we should have sprinkled bread crumbs or moonstones," Ben joked feebly.

I sighed wearily. "Let us go on anyway. We'll find the correct path soon enough. It is the more traveled upon road."

"But Charles—" He threw out an arm to stop me. "Don't you remember what they say in town about this forest? Men have gone in and never come out!"

I laughed scornfully. "The only man that disappeared within was Goodman Crowley and he was only desperate to escape his wife, shrew that she is."

Ben followed me reluctantly, looking beleaguered as his eyes slid from one dark shadow to another.

"I tell you, Ben, I fear what to do next. How can I go home and face my daughters empty-handed? Jessica will be so disappointed." She had never really recovered from our sudden fall to poverty. "Bella will not make a fuss, but I know she will be hurt, too—but for Angela, I don't know what to do. She will be crushed."

"What about Angela?" Ben asked, his voice quavering in fear.

I shook my head sadly. "She asked me to bring her something for her dowry. And here I come, my homecoming as barren as a spinster! I have failed as a Father." The grim truth was that where a short time ago my children had been well provided for, there was now every likelihood of three spinsters in the Swan household.

"You needn't worry, Charles," Ben said reassuringly. "Angela has grown into a bonny lass. I'm sure her station won't prevent her from a courtship."

"She is already seventeen this year. I couldn't bear the shame if she—"

"Heard you that?" Ben interrupted me.

I had heard it.

A sharp snap had sounded somewhere in the gloomy copse of trees ahead of, but the brush was so thick I couldn't see its source.

I reined my horse to a stop, listening intently.

"Do you reckon it might be a pack of wolves?" He whispered.

Up above us, an owl hooted balefully.

And, for a moment, the wood was utterly silent.

Then, the night was wrent apart by noise: flock of birds erupted from the trees, shrieking in alarm, animals nesting in the trees scampered away, bleating in fear. These not the frenzied avian movements of fauna set into motion by a stray motion—these were prey fleeing from a predator.

And they were running away, directly toward us.

"Ben—RUN!" I shouted over the din.

And then, I heard something that chilled my blood. A low hiss was rising out of the wood, much quieter than the other sounds, but somehow it was all I could hear.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and now I was truly terrified. I had none of my wits about me, but I knew something was watching me, preying upon me, lurking in the inky darkness, waiting for me to run right into its jaws. I did not know how I knew, but I did know, more certainly than I had known. My instincts told me viscerally what I could not explain.

"ARGHHH!" Somewhere off to my left, I heard Ben scream.

Ben's horse screamed: it was a pure note of total fear that rang violently through the forest. It echoed in my head, fogging my mind and paralyzing me with terror. I heard a horrifying, animalistic sound like flesh being ripped apart.

"CHARLES!" I heard Ben call. His voice was receding as if he were running away on foot. He would never make it—

Suddenly, something came out of the gloom toward me. So blindingly fast that all I saw was its alabaster skin, shining, almost glowing in the moonlight, and a maw of fangs that shone razor sharp.

Suddenly, the stars and the moon disappeared, plunging my world into darkness.

-x-

In March, a fresh blizzard buried the town in drifts. The long days wore on, one as like another as the endless threads of the loom. Though the bitter cold did not abate, the daylight hours grew perceptibly longer. We lit the candles a bit later every afternoon.

And every day we sat up a bit later into the night, delaying out vigil in the hopes that finally Father would return.

It had been almost a month. He and Ben were supposed to have returned a week prior and there was no sight or word of either.

Angela was beside herself, working herself into a right state as she knit. If Father did not return, though I could not bear thinking that, she would have to provide for the family.

And Jessica—she had the nerve to wonder whether Father would remember her request.

I had just set the brass candlestick on the table one late afternoon, and we were moving the table nearer to the hearth in preparation for supper, when Jessica mused, "I hope Father remembers to bring me pearls. I know I asked for precious stones, but pearls do set off my hair off to an advantage."

I was already irritable because earlier Eric of York had stopped by the house. "Just for a visit and to chat," he had promised, though he keep bringing up the topic of Peter and Charlotte's wedding, as though speaking about the impending nuptials would persuade me to tie myself to him at that very instant. "I will return to see you," he had avowed. "I will take very good care of you and your family, Isabella."

I shuddered to think what that entailed.

So now, I opened my mouth, finally fed up and grateful for an excuse to vent my spleen, when a knock sounded at the door.

"See who it is, Jessica," said Angela absently.

Jessica stamped her foot in indignation. "I don't want to take my hands out of my shawl at this hour."

Angela shot me a pointed look and I satisfied myself with jerking the door open to glare at the trespasser. The bowl I held in my hands suddenly fell with a clatter.

A gaunt, ragged figure stood on the step, and as I shrank back as a man pushed his way through the door and halted on the threshold.

Jessica, wiping her hands on her apron, came forward, peering in the dim light. "Can it be—Ben?" She breathed tremulously.

The man did not even hear her. His eyes had gone straight to Angela where she sat by the hearth, and her own eyes stared back, enormous in her white face. Then with a hoarse, wordless sigh, Ben stumbled across the room, and went down on his knees with his head in her lap.

"Angela, will you marry me?"

Hope you enjoyed this! I wanted to try something with more freedom for creativity and also a little more darkness than my other fics. Also, I recently went to Disneyworld so I've been really getting back into all the fairytales and I wanted to mix the two.

BTW, in case you didn't get all that religious talk: during the 1600s, England took over Ireland and the English Protestants and the Irish Catholics hated each other. Ben is Irish, and he lives in an English town, which is why people called him a heretic.

Review, please!