Quick note: You know what's really awesome about Godzilla? He's a character that is completely open to interpretation. So, because of that, I got up the guts to do this. I've written a modern retelling of the romantic fairy tale, Beauty and the Beast, starring Miki as Beauty and GMK Godzilla as the Beast. GMK is the ugliest form of Godzilla I've ever seen, so he's perfect for this role. That means he can talk and acts human, and he sounds exactly like Josh Groban. This is important ;) Credits for some of the songs you'll see in the story go to Josh Groban as well. Also, Miki isn't psychic in this story.

Another quick note: This story features instances of chatspeak that are in-fic instances of AIM use. The story could not be written without them and they aren't excessive. Please keep that in mind.

****WARNINGS****
Swearing
Violence
Adult content
Godzilla as an "anthro"

This story could be a Lifetime movie without having to edit anything out, but IF ANY OF THE ABOVE WILL BOTHER YOU, BACK OUT NOW.

You've been WARNED.

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Beauty and the Beast

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Moonlight fell across glazed pearlescent eyes. A figure rose slowly, swayed and collapsed sideways onto a floor of black marble. Raspy breathing sounds echoed off the walls, occasionally punctuated by coughing. The source of the noise stared blankly at the open door leading outside. Reflected in the door's lacquer finish was the gray face of a monster. The lessons that face taught its owner were painful and lonely.

Up ahead, a plasma TV flickered with images of Tokyo Fashion Week. It was the only light in the room besides the moon, and soon, on that very catwalk, she would appear. He loved her enough to let her go. At least she didn't have to see this part. Death would mean freedom from this fifty year curse.

He closed his eyes to wait for the end. Maybe it was better this way.

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1. Cursed

He came into the spotlight as a rich young lad who had everything a boy could desire. Money, talent, fame, a lavish estate on Odo island and the affections of any pretty girl he wanted. As a singer with an amazing baritone voice, his rise to fame was all but assured. Then things went terribly wrong. He grew arrogant and selfish because of his good looks and talent. And he was a beautiful boy; tall with pale skin, brown eyes like chocolate pools and wavy dark hair that framed his face.

But his lovely smile always carried daggers. He turned his nose up at anyone who wasn't as lovely as him. The crippled were unclean. The obese were lazy slobs. The scarred were freaks.

He even refused to perform onstage if he could see an unattractive audience member. His fanbase suffered terribly after this. Some of his female fans developed eating disorders in order to reach his standard of beauty. Many people criticized his arrogance. He didn't mind the critics. Heck, they were probably ugly themselves and jealous of his prestige.

Then came the hour that changed everything.

One stormy night, he was awakened by the doorbell. He looked at the clock. Three fifty-five in the morning.

"Go away!" he shouted as rain pelted the window above his bed. Sweat plastered his curls to his pale forehead and cheeks.

The doorbell stopped, but the person outside knocked and the sound echoed through the house like church bells.

"Grr," the boy threw on a black velvet bathrobe and made his way downstairs. The house was dark, lit only by the lightning flashing outside. He yanked the door open to find an old, soaking wet woman dressed in black and orange rags. She gazed up at him with eyes of the most beautiful sapphire blue. Their beauty was lost on him, for all he could see was her wrinkled face and scraggly white hair. He sneered, "What do you want? It's four in the morning!"

The old woman begged, "Please, I need shelter. I have nowhere to go and this rain caught me unprepared. Let me rest inside your door and I will be gone in the morning."

But the boy wrinkled his nose. His dark eyes narrowed, "You'll get my floor dirty."

"I'll clean the floor where I sleep." She shivered in the cold. "I know I'm not much to look at, but appearances aren't everything."

"That's just something ugly people say to feel better." The lad snorted. "Get out of here, you hag! You're stinking up my house."

Narrowing her eyes, the old woman whispered, "So be it. Your pride will be your downfall."

"Whatever." The boy moved to slam the door. He was surprised when the pathetic old hag grabbed the handle. No matter how hard he tried to close it, she wouldn't budge.

The old beggar's eyes shone in the darkness. Suddenly, she levitated into the air and the rags on her body began to fan out. A blinding light erupted from her and the boy suddenly found himself staring at a gigantic, yet beautiful moth floating on colorful gossamer wings. Mothra beat her wings once and hovered above the house. Her musical voice boomed in the boy's mind, ~I warned you not to judge on appearances. Now it is time to pay the price for your pride!~

"No!" cried the lad, "Please, I-I'm sorry! I-I didn't know who you were!"

~Your apologies have come too late.~ Mothra flapped once more and golden dust rained down from her wings, covering the boy and the house. ~I can not let your arrogance go unpunished. May the ugliness in your soul manifest itself physically!~

"Stop! No!" he held his hands up to her and gasped when he saw horrible claws grow from his fingertips. His hair fell out in clumps that landed on his reptilian feet. There was a ripping sound as something tore through the back of his robe. He was becoming a beast! "P-please...I beg you! I've learned my lesson, just don't do this! Change me back!"

~I am not without mercy. This island will be a place of repose for you. But once you swim beyond the black stone standing up in the sea,~ Mothra turned her head to indicate a tall rock fifty feet from the sandy shore, ~you will grow. And you will have to face men, for their split atom is to be your main sustenance. People will die because of you, and they will hate you for it. You will be nothing but an animal in their eyes. They will look at you and judge you the same way you looked at and judged those who were not so visibly beautiful. Such is the price you must pay for your arrogance.~ She gave a screech that could shatter glass. ~A monster you shall remain until the day you learn to love and that person learns to see beyond your hideousness and love you in return.~

"You..." he fell to his knees, "I...I HATE YOU!"

~Someday, little man, you will thank me.~ Mothra's benevolent blue eyes twinkled eerily in the dim light. She flapped up over the house and vanished in a flurry of wind, leaving him alone in the darkness.

Two days later, a horrible monster devastated Japan. Natives of Odo Island saw the beast in the water and believed it to be Godzilla, the legendary god who lived beneath the sea. The name stuck because the arrogant boy was too embarrassed to speak up and tell the people his real name.

Ashamed of his hideous appearance and behavior, Godzilla hid himself away in his secluded estate on Odo Island. He always kept up with technology-communicating with the outside world through mail, the telephone and eventually the internet. He did everything in his power to avoid meeting anyone face to face. Those who did glimpse him...well...nobody believed their stories of a man-sized Godzilla.

Godzilla tried desperately to ignore the raging desire for radioactive materials. He craved it like a smoker craved cigarettes. Every few months Godzilla was forced to sink submarines or steal nuclear reactors from Tokyo. He tried his best not to harm civilians. The Japanese saw his presence as a menace to their economy and tried to kill him at every opportunity. They went so far as to use a chemical weapon in the water in attempt to destroy him. Godzilla read about its construction in the newspaper, recognized the weapon on sight and beat a hasty retreat before the bubbles could rip his flesh away. After that, he tried digging up natural uranium ores hidden deep under the island. For a time that quelled his nuclear cravings, but when the ores were depleted he had to resume his old tactics. He returned to Tokyo in nineteen eighty four, took a reactor and disappeared again. He read the newspaper and watched the news daily to stay one step ahead of the weapons being developed for use against him. This allowed him to take down the Super X on his next visit to Japan's waters. Finding information became even easier with the advent of the internet-all the information he needed was just a click away.

Time was on Godzilla's side because he never aged, but his finances began to dwindle. Godzilla went shopping online for equipment and spent a year converting his garage into a soundproof recording studio so he could record albums from his house. Mothra was kind enough to let him keep his ability to sing. He learned to play every instrument he kept in his basement-including a grand piano, and mixed the music for his own songs whenever he could. If that was too difficult, he wrote it all down and sent it out to be played, recorded and returned so he could make the proper edits. Godzilla wrote songs and sang them with convincing, but false passion. Then he sent a demo to Reprise Records. They fell all over themselves and wanted to sign him on. He wrote back that his only stipulations were that his real name remained a secret, that he mixed his own music and he never had to appear in person or the deal was off. Reprise Records didn't like this and turned him down, then called him back when their stocks dropped. They grudgingly agreed to Godzilla's terms and his album immediately went into production. His first new album in decades went platinum within two months. Money came in just in time and he used it to maintain his large house. As he made more and more money, he renovated his aged home to modernize it.

The public went crazy for Godzilla's music. Someone coined him as "the next Andrea Bocelli" and "one of the finest voices of the millennium". His albums flew off the shelves after that. In a year's time, he got word that he'd been nominated for a Grammy. Godzilla accepted the invitation, then waited for the day before the awards show to call in and claim he was sick and couldn't attend. He watched the proceedings on TV and learned he'd won best album of the year. It brought him no joy. The Grammy award itself came in the mail the day after Valentine's day. When Godzilla got it, he set it on his kitchen table and opened a bottle of Jack Daniels. He drank it while staring at the gold sculpture. Without anyone to share it with, the award was just a useless trinket. He growled, flicked the Grammy off the table with his tail and kicked it behind the refrigerator where it was quickly forgotten.

Godzilla's loneliness grew with each passing year. Talking on the phone or in chatrooms did little to fill the emptiness of his days. He fell deeper and deeper into angry despair, for who could learn to love an ugly beast like him?