Note: I wrote this about a year ago for my Mythology class; our teacher was so cool that he literally asked us to write Disney AUs with preferably darker twists. I love TBATB story, though, so I couldn't go real dark. I also did one for The Little Mermaid and The Princess and the Frog (TPATF is super dark).
The corset seemed too stifling, too restrictive, and Belle felt that the description was an accurate reflection of her current life. The seamstress had stubbornly insisted that they line the end of the long, white, draping sleeves with golden lace, but the material irritated the fair, delicate skin of Belle's wrists and each time she'd tried to tug the sleeves from their spot of chafing, she'd received a smart, impatient slap on the hand. The seamstress complained about the disproportional width of her hips while she scribbled out something scrawled hastily on the parchment clutched in her hand, exasperatedly replacing it with a new measurement as she tossed the cloth tape over her shoulder with professional fluidity.
At the seamstress' rude command, Belle stepped down gingerly from the stool, ignoring her reflection in the mirror before her, wishing desperately to avoid seeing herself in the dress she was to wear in only six months' time. The last thing she wanted to think about was the impending doom of her wedding to the horrible Gaston, a snotty, arrogant excuse of a lord hailing from a neighboring kingdom. He and his father had schemed up a tricky situation, causing a war to deplete the few riches her father's kingdom had been theretofore clinging to, forcing them to face the reality of crippling debt and the subsequent loss of their kingdom, or being defeated in the war and forfeiting their kingdom anyway. Gaston had arrived with a cunning, bright smile, suggesting a third option for Belle, her four brothers, and her desperate father.
Belle just couldn't convince herself that her father had only given her up, even easily, merely because of his overwhelming concern for the kingdom; they hadn't been close since her mother's death eleven years prior.
Now, with her twentieth birthday steadily approaching, the young princess wished that her mother was here to argue on her behalf, to save her from a horrid, resigned fate as Gaston's prim, obedient wife. It was upon that thought that Gaston sauntered haughtily into the fitting room, his dark hair mussed with drying rainwater, and his boots tracking mud across the floor as he made his way to Belle. The seamstress turned and her lips parted, as if she were prepared to shoo him away, but the fierce anger in her eyes dimmed as she realized it was unwise, and she turned slowly back to her ministrations at Belle's hips, muttering beneath her breath.
"Can you believe it, Belle? Your old father's had a stroke of luck; we just caught a wild creature," he bellowed boastfully, and she almost laughed at him. What other sorts of creatures could be found, in the wild? They'd been off on a hunting trip for days, and she had ben glad to be rid of the family so eager to send her away, but her sour mood was quickly returning at the sight of Gaston coming nearer with his dirty boots and sopping fingers. She frowned and backed away from him in a quick, sly motion, but while his gaze took no notice of the avoidance, the seamstress at her side hissed in frustration, cursing; Belle almost felt guilty for ruining the measurement.
"It's such a strange thing. Why, it stands as a human might, and even speaks!" he exclaimed heartily, and Belle, for once in all the time she'd known him, was genuinely interested in what he had to say next.
"We didn't want to kill it-of course, not immediately. Your brothers are having a time forcing the monster into the dungeons; I can only imagine what tortures your king has planned."
Her hand flew to her mouth, blue eyes wide; her father was notorious for torturing information out of unwilling prisoners and witnesses, and a curiously human-like animal would certainly have him anxious to begin experimenting with it. He often brought dinner home, completely alive, and sent it to the kitchens; he'd stand within close proximity to the doors so that he could hear its squeals as it was killed, and sometimes he'd even make Belle stay near, as well. It mildly upset her youngest brother, Henri, but he was wise enough to avoid objection; the other three were just as warped as her father.
Belle, hoping she could dissuade her headstrong king, rushed to excuse herself as politely as her impatience would allow, praying that the seamstress wouldn't make their next measuring session a living nightmare out of spite. She hurried behind the screen and forcefully wriggled out of the horrible wedding dress, ignoring the swirling patterns of gold lace laid over the silken fabric of the skirt; it was truly a beautiful design, but there were far too many negative emotions attached to it for Belle to ever actually appreciate it. She slipped, corset-free, into her old, worn dress of faded white and blue, relishing in the way it welcomed her back to its embrace like a familiar friend. It had been her mother's, before her life as queen, lightly stained at the bottom from the ordinary toils of common life; the court guests all thought it improper of her to so frequently wear an outfit made for peasants, but she was hardly concerned with their gossip.
After carefully draping the dress over the arm of an elaborate chair, Belle walked past them both, ignoring Gaston's attempt to grab her arm, pushing the tall doors open and making her way to the cold stone steps at the corner of the castle. She took a flaming candle from the wall holder and lifted her dress as she hopped down the stairs, flinching at the echoing roars that assaulted her ears. The flat soles of her shoes clicked softly in the semi-darkness, until she stopped at the sound of young Henri pleading with his father. He'd always possessed a soft, peculiar heart, wary of harming anything at all and refusing to eat the meat the king had earned on a hunt that day at dinner time. Because of this, he often received the wrath of the royal family, and Belle always felt so guilty at the sight of his long, sad face; minutes after his birth, their mother had died and left a bitter king blaming a newborn babe for her demise, and he'd had a hard time with their father ever since.
The room became illuminated by several torches as she finally made it to the lowest level, where mere feet down the hall her brothers could be spotted reigning in a giant creature cast in shadow, roping it into a large cell as their father sliced downward into the darkness with his sword. An aggressive roar sent vibrations to Belle's feet and she stumbled against the wall out of fright.
"You're hurting him, can't you see?" Henri cried, distressed, and Belle hastened to intervene before the king could lash out at him. She went to stand between them and her father's dark eyes rounded, the whites of his eyes bright against the flickering torchlight.
"Belle?! What on earth are you doing down here?" he yelled harshly, roughly jabbing into the shadows with his sword as Belle flinched and another roar erupted near her. She turned her head, her instincts telling her to flee, and her three brothers cried out as one lost his hold on the rope; a giant claw lashed out and struck her across the cheek, and Belle imagined that she might have felt her back connect mercilessly with the unforgiving floor if she hadn't fell into darkness before she got the chance.
…
The monster had been locked away for three days and Belle hadn't heard a single roar shaking the castle floors; she hadn't seen much of her father, either. Henri stayed in her room to look after her, often huddled by the fireplace in the evening to keep the late wintry chill at bay, preferring to wait until she was napping to secretly snatch a book out of her large collection and absorb its knowledge; they were similar in that way. With her narrow avoidance of serious injury, Belle was left with a long, shallow gash stretching from the top corner of her left cheekbone to the side of her chin, marring the pale, beautiful skin she was so famous for. She hardly cared; she was only grateful to be alive. The fall had given her an enormous, nagging headache for an entire day, and her brother had been charged with keeping watch over her. She welcomed his presence with open arms, glad to have a kindred spirit near.
Henri had inherited their father's almond eyes and russet hair, while Belle's was more amber than anything else; most people said she favored her mother greatly. He'd adopted Belle's habits, mostly, since she was the one that had always cared for him and taught him, unlike the kin who were incapable of understanding him. He was gentle and hesitant and at times just a bit uncertain of himself, but she could be a very patient woman; already, he'd pressed just a tad too roughly upon her wound while dressing it, but she had tried her best not to flinch and inadvertently deter his efforts.
She dreamed of him when she finally fell into an evening slumber, drowsy in her healing, and woke thinking he had perished at her father's hand, panting and trembling so greatly that he rushed to her, young eyes bright with worry. She was about to assure him that she was fine, that it had only been a nightmare, when she heard a low, whining howl coming from far below her chambers, nearly imperceptible. Belle frowned, swinging her legs to the side of the bed, preparing herself to stand, but Henri's small hand came forward to rest atop her own.
"Father said you aren't allowed to roam until you're healed," he murmured quietly, empathetically. She took his hand in her own and gave it a gentle, loving squeeze before reaching down to slip on her shoes and stand before him, smiling kindly.
"I'm not a kept daughter," she reminded him softly, walking to the door and opening it with a last meaningful look cast back his way that warned him not to say anything to their father. They'd always been able to read one another so well.
She crept silently into the hall and padded down the three flights of stairs that took her to the corridor she'd passed through only days earlier, where the whining had turned into a distinct low whimper. She snuck to the dungeon stairs and waited for any sign that her father was near, but never heard him, and so she elected to continue.
Upon arriving at the same place she'd nearly been mauled, she took a deep breath and approached the cell, still cast in its eerie shadows.
"H-Hello?" Belle stammered uncertainly, eyes darting about in the darkness for any source of the noise. Abruptly, the same claw that had struck her appeared and wrapped around one of the iron bars, dark fur the same color as Henri's hair sticking out at all angles, matted with dirt and what she knew to be blood. She gasped, startled, just before the large, vicious face of a growling creature came into the light, with horrifically sharp fangs, wide nostrils, and vivid green eyes that glared at her. She reared back, terrified, and only when her back crashed against the cold stone wall did she think to turn and flee.
...
The fourth day passed and she felt incredibly guilty, the absence of any visitors allowing her time to think and reflect on what she'd done; she'd left an animal to starve, to perhaps even endure torture.
Yes, he certainly looked like an animal, she thought.
Then again, Gaston had marveled at the creature's ability to act like a human, and so Belle's conscience wouldn't let her sleep, wouldn't even let her rest her eyelids; this possible cruelty haunted her.
…..
The juice of the meat dripped through the bag and onto the floor and Belle pretended not to be disgusted by the look of it. There was half a loaf of stale bread, an apple that was questionably fresh, and a piece of nearly rotten meat she'd managed to procure from the kitchens wrapped tightly in the cloth bag she clutched in one clammy hand, heart pounding in her chest, the rush of her pulse so loud in her head. In her other hand she held fast to a small porcelain tea cup, with a single chip in its side, that had been placed near the door that linked the kitchens to the court grounds; the staff had been prepared to throw all of it out anyway, so Belle denied any kind of guilt.
She padded softly past empty dungeon cells and made her way to the one she'd run away from yesterday, swallowing thickly, steeling her nerves and closing her eyes. Quickly but with great care, she darted forward and set the sack of food and teacup just inside the cell bars, lifting her dress to prevent staining it even more and rushing away as soon as she could.
….
Each day, Belle brought him the freshest food she could find, of the rotten variety, and each night, she stole into the dungeons and checked to see if he'd eaten any. The beast never touched it, and so she'd take it away so that her father wouldn't come by and spot the evidence of his daughter's disobedience, since he so frequently visited the creature at night. She would return to her chambers to find Henri, staring disapprovingly at her with his arms crossed over his small chest, beckoning her so that he could re-dress the wound upon her cheek.
By the end of the week, though, Belle was beginning to think that her efforts were futile. She suspected that the animal was starving, and her father was certainly doing it no kindness with his torturous visits, proven by the occasional high whine she could just barely hear at the latest hours of the day.
She was ready to give up, had even prepared her nagging conscience for the act, and on the day she had deemed the last day, she snuck out of the shadows before the cell, expecting to see the sack full of food and the water untouched. However, she found the sack empty and lying flat upon the floor, the teacup devoid of its liquid and set carefully back where she'd put it. Her gasp of surprise turned into a proud, small smile of triumph, and she murmured softly, "Oh, the relief."
It was an accident, of course, to speak, and she instantly feared that the creature would wake from whatever miraculous silence he was in and try to attack her. She was just about to turn and run when she heard a low noise from within the darkness of his cell.
"Thank you," said the beast in his deep timbre, and Belle felt her heart leap. So he could speak!
She wasn't exactly confident in her own ability to speak, and so she just stood there, shocked.
"I didn't mean to injure you," he continued, and Belle instinctively touched the bandage laid over her cut, remembering that day and his claw coming out of the darkness to strike at her, "I only wished to injure those men who insisted on putting me here."
Belle wasn't sure if she believed his explanation, but she was certainly sure that it wasn't an apology, so she nodded in the direction of his voice and leaned forward to retrieve the sack and tea cup, turning to leave.
"I am sorry."
She stopped, her back to him, and cast a sideways glance back at the cell, her curiosity peaked. Belle thought of Henri, then, and his impatience. She thought of her father, most likely descending the dungeon steps at that very moment. She thought of them and fled without saying goodbye.
…
Belle continued to give him food and Henri continued to keep her secret, and at night she continued to hear the beast's agony, saddened that she couldn't do more for him, disheartened that it was beyond her capability to release him.
She was foolish to think no one would notice, though, and on one cold morning she was huddled by the fire, dress spread about her as she was curled upon the old rug in front of the fireplace, her eyes cast onto the pages of a particularly interesting book. The doors flew open and Gaston, in his usual way, came barging rudely into her chambers without even knocking, and she hurriedly stood from her comfortable seat to glare at him, her index finger placed between the pages to act as her bookmark.
"You've been avoiding me, and I believe I know why," he smoothly explained as he neared her, and she backed away ever the slightest, but this time he frowned, brow furrowed. He stopped just before her, moving as if he meant to grab her arm, but instead he merely ran a hand through his dark, tousled hair at the last second. Belle faked a polite smile and tried not to slap his hand away when he grasped her book and pulled it away from her, flipping carelessly through the pages and tossing it aside and onto the floor.
"What could you possibly mean, Gaston?" Belle questioned sweetly, ready to throw him out. It was a shame that Henri wasn't there to distract the dumb lord. Gaston inspected a smudge of dirt on his thumbnail and smiled at her tone of voice, which he no doubt took to be genuine.
"You've been cooped up in this room for a few weeks now; surely you've grown tired of it? Well, I've spoken to your father and he's permitted you your freedom, on the condition that you be in my charge."
She almost groaned, but she felt compelled to ask:
"And what does that mean?"
He did grab her arm that time, but his touch held a bit of softness to it, and his eyes were excited.
"It means you'll be spending more time with your fiancée."
….
What Gaston considered quality time quickly became time that he most definitely didn't want to spend hearing about books and bravery and any intellectual matters at all; he preferred listing off all the creatures he'd killed or otherwise injured, to her horror. Henri had heard all of her ramblings many times before, and so she felt utterly at a loss with what to do with herself. The dress fittings were going no better, and the seamstress had certainly made the sessions a torment of their own.
Belle's only respite was the gleam of gratitude she could spot in the beast's gaze as she brought him food; he'd finally come out of the shadows and she'd finally stopped running at the sight of him. They'd even struck up a conversation just a handful of times, but already he'd told her great, wondrous stories in his nearly reluctant, unsure way of his.
…..
Finally, her wound healed, but it left a clean scar in its wake, pale and slick skin slashed across her porcelain cheek. The townspeople wouldn't stop talking about it: the beauty of the kingdom scarred and ugly. Even Gaston looked at her differently, a shine of distaste in his gaze where only lust and greed had previously been. She didn't mind his lack of affection; it had never bothered her before, either. She only worried that he would end their engagement and wage war upon their land, ruining her family.
The beast, though, only stared at her oddly when she would absently run her fingers over the new skin there, a gleam of guilt lighting in his rapt gaze as she told him of the latest book she'd read. He'd eat the food she brought him while they talked, and his giant, clawed paws were always so careful with the damaged tea cup.
She tried to ignore the new cuts and gashes, the new blood drying on his fur, whenever she'd visit him; she tried to ignore the echoing whines as she slept in her bed.
…..
One day, at the end of winter, he told her a fantastic story of an arrogant and cruel prince who was cursed by a beautiful enchantress, but humbled by the weight of his new burden. He was presented with a magical gift by the merciful enchantress, and she told him that if he could find a genuine friend in the world that would truly accept his gift, then his curse would be broken. When Belle asked what the curse was, the beast always said that he didn't know, only that he'd heard the story long ago; she didn't notice the sad way his eyes fell upon her when she glanced away.
…..
She asked him his name and he answered that he didn't have one; she didn't know what to call him, and she felt awful for thinking of him as a beast.
…..
Belle, upon irritating and constant inquiry by a certain eleven year old brother, finally introduced Henri to the beast, and she'd never seen him look so brave in the face of something he would have normally been terrified of; later, when she asked him about his secret to being so courageous, he only smiled and said that he had been copying her.
…..
With only a month until the wedding that would seal Belle's fate, she settled back in reality and fell into a week-long period of confinement, refusing to leave her bed and hardly eating despite Henri's gentle admonishments and pleas. Her father and brothers didn't come to check in on her, and in the past few months she'd only seen them in passing around the castle; they hadn't said a word to her. It was as if they were already trying to distance themselves from her.
After Henri had finally managed to drag her out of bed, the seamstress was none too happy with having to rush the finishing touches on the dress after Belle's week of absence. She even jabbed Belle with the needle once, and the princess wasn't even certain that it was entirely an accident.
…..
The next day, Belle decided to take dinner with Henri in the dining area instead of her chambers, since Henri had made a permanent residence of her room, but she quickly regretted the decision when Gaston and her three brothers came in, rambunctiously laughing and bragging to a curvy and notoriously promiscuous duchess about their most recent kill. Then, the topic changed.
"The king is preparing to kill him tonight, I know it. He's seen all he can, and we still can't figure out why the monster speaks," Gaston stopped to give the duchess an expression of displeasure, and she frowned in empathy, laying a pale hand over her heart, "He needs our help, though, that's certain. He can't kill such a beast on his own!" They all laughed and she put her other hand over his arm, sidling up close to him as her brother smirked knowingly. Belle frowned, losing her appetite, and felt true fear for the beast.
….
Gaston hadn't been lying, Belle realized when she'd passed her father on her way to her chambers; he'd been carrying several swords and axes, rope tied loosely about his shoulder, obviously heading for the dungeons. Belle had imagined what Henri would say to her, how he would attempt to convince her against it, but she'd ignored the image of him in her mind and had followed her father.
…..
She wasn't especially talented at stealth, this she accepted as she tiptoed her way down the dark corridor that carried with it the musty smell of rot and mold. Silently, she led herself by the dancing orange light that the overhanging torches cast upon the walls, wanting to avoid making herself so obvious as she slithered in and out of shadow. She could hear the gruff and excited voices of her brothers and father as she neared them, detecting the undertone of the beast's defensive growls and the loud snap of his sharp teeth; Belle wasn't afraid for her family, though.
She could only make out their silhouettes, could see the way they worked diligently to pull the ropes taut and hold the beast back while her father strode into the cell with the heavy sword he'd always had fastened at his side. Its hilt was made of a smooth metal that had been dipped in molten gold and inlaid with rubies and glittering emeralds that had always caught Belle's eye as a young girl; she'd once attempted to run her curious fingers over its light surface, but her father had slapped her hand away with a harsh reprimand.
Now, the light skimmed across the gems and nearly blinded her for just a moment; she stepped away and gasped as her heel nudged a fallen torch beside her, and she tumbled backward in a flurry of skirts and yelps, falling over the hard floor and having the very breath stolen from her. Instantly, a hand wrapped its iron grip over her bicep and roughly yanked her to her slippered feet, and she glanced up with fright to stare, surprised, into Gaston's angered eyes.
She attempted to evade his painful grasp, but he held steadfast to her and pulled her flush against him.
"Gaston! What are you doing?" she questioned breathlessly, and she heard her father call out her name behind her, enraged.
"I want to know what you're doing, sneaking down here at all hours of the day," he explained in a new frustrated tone she hadn't ever associated with his voice, and Belle cast a concerned gaze back at the beast when she heard his pained roar, frowning at the sight of his claws clashing harshly with her father's sword as he parried the blow while Gaston focused upon the look with a new, vicious scowl on his face, "Oh, you're concerned for that animal?"
She fought against him as he shook her, the skin of her wrists reddened by his unforgiving, cruel hold, and she was vaguely reminded of the sleeves of that horrid wedding dress, frowning defiantly up at him.
"What does it matter?" she breathed, nervously eyeing the sword that hung loosely from his belt, hoping that he wouldn't draw it. He nodded and sent her a grin that sent her heart pounding with terror; she'd never known him to be so sinister.
"You're right. You're to be my wife in just mere weeks; I suggest you start acting like it," he murmured darkly, and he abruptly leaned toward her, nearly crushing her wrists with the hold he still had on them. The more she tried to wriggle out of his arms, the greater the pain of his hold became, and she shrieked as his lips almost brushed against hers, stomping with all her strength over his foot. His grip vanished and he yelled, leaning down to hold his injured appendage.
She turned to see the beast knocking one of her brothers against a wall and sending the other one flying into her father, while the last remaining brother, the eldest, charged at him with an axe. The beast growled and easily swatted the axe away, baring his fangs; upon seeing Belle staring agape at him, though, he stopped, lowering his arms and panting as they stood mere feet away from one another. Her father clambered up from where he'd fallen, almost snarling in an animalistic, aggressive way, and made to stab the beast with his sword while he had his back turned toward Belle.
"Beast!" she gasped worriedly, and he turned, body tense and coiled as if he meant to bury his fangs into the king's throat, but at the very last moment he stopped and blocked the sword, earning a deep gash in his forearm. Belle started to run to his aid, unsure of what exactly she could do but certain that she needed to help her friend regardless, but that same iron grip, horribly familiar, wrapped coldly over her ankle and she was sent plummeting down upon the dungeon floor, only just managing to splay her hands out to soften the fall.
She was roughly flipped over onto her back, and proceeded to try and quickly scramble away from Gaston, who'd slammed her wrists down onto the stone and was hovering possessively over her, face flushed with adrenaline.
Another booming roar sounded just outside Belle's field of vision and Gaston was subsequently thrown off of her, soaring several feet into the air before his head finally connected with the wall, and he slid down it in a state of unconsciousness. Belle rushed to stand but felt dizzy at the action, and there was a warm, furry arm at her side to keep her from falling back down. She gently gripped the beast's paw with worry and gazed quickly up at him to assess his injuries, hearing the blood from his several cuts dripping in crimson puddles onto the floor below them.
Looking around her, there was only four unconscious men slumping easily against the walls, the sound of the beast's blood, and their loud pants breaking the silence. Belle realized with a delayed sense of thinking that she was, for the first time, actually touching the beast whom she had tried to keep alive all these months, and she felt entirely unafraid of him.
Slowly, he detached himself from her to note any injuries she had, but the only marks across her skin were the blooming bruises at her wrists from where Gaston had held her, and she rubbed at them gingerly, frowning.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly, and she thought it such a contrast to the gruff roar of his voice that she'd previously heard during the fight. She nodded and held her hands behind her back, her gaze falling to the cut on his arm that still oozed bright blood.
"Are you?" Belle returned, and he carefully laid the pad of his paw over the gash and growled in pain. She was distantly reminded of the way a human might try to touch their wound, titling her head in curiosity. She nearly reached out to him; she felt that she needed to thank him for saving her in some way.
The rustle of cloth caught her attention and she glanced back up to see the beast plucking a rose from a secret pocket in his tattered cloak. The rose's petals were dark with age and death, curled and dry and crushed from the fight, and the stem was the color of soot, with sharp, jagged thorns looking out at her. She stared quizzically at it as he held it with the utmost care, looking up at her almost hopefully.
"Will you accept this, Belle?" he asked reservedly, and she found it so odd that it was almost laughable, that in the wake of all that had just happened he would offer her a dead, crumbling rose, but the look in his eyes made her think that there was some hidden, secret purpose to it. She didn't want to hurt his feelings by refusing it, and she knew that it was sweet of him to try and give it to her; it wasn't as if he could have went out to the gardens and plucked a fresh rose for her while he was confined in the dungeons.
She smiled sweetly and nodded, gently taking it from his fingers and examining it with a new perspective of gratitude. She looked up to thank him, but found that the beast was suddenly changing, his fur vanishing, smoothing out to reveal human skin, his claws replaced by fingers, his entire body shrinking and shifting to resemble a man. His mane of fur was now a dark head of hair that reached his shoulders, and she still had to crane her neck to look up at him, to look at those green eyes that had she not been staring into, she would have mistaken him for a stranger.
She gasped, completely shocked and just a bit afraid, but his smile was warm, and the blood still dripped from his arm as he slowly reached out to her.
"Belle?" he asked tentatively, and his voice seemed so familiar to her, so friendly, but she knew that she'd never heard it in all her life. She took a step closer to him, and his grin widened.
"Beast?" she said nervously, horribly confused, but in the next moment the story he'd told her replayed in her head. The gift, she thought. The rose had been the gift, and the beast had been the prince.
There was a sudden noise near them, and she turned to see her father just behind her, his sword raised in both hands far over his head, prepared to swing it down upon them both. Belle didn't even have time to gasp before the king stumbled forward, surprised, and crumpled to the floor seconds later, unconscious. Where he'd been stood young Henri, holding the end of a broken axe in his hand; he'd hit their father over the head with the handle, and his eyes were lit with equal amounts of apprehension and bravery. Belle let out her breath in a rush of laughter and swept him up in her arms, squeezing him affectionately.
…
Belle left her family to have their war with Gaston's kingdom, to become destitute and penniless, and took Henri with her when she went with the beast to his castle. He, of course, was no longer a beast, and his name was Adam; he hailed from England, and had traveled far and wide during his curse to find a friendly spirit. He'd told her of his journeys and of his gratitude toward her; it always made her blush when he brought it up.
The English weather was dreary, usually, but it gave Belle a better reason to stay in the spacious, warm library Adam had brought her to when they'd first arrived. There never needed to be any reason, though, to visit the library; Adam even accompanied her, and they'd read to one another from books of great, moving poetry or clever, adventurous novels.
For the first year, Belle and Henri adjusted to their new lives, laughing with the kind servants and helping them when they were able; after all, it was likely difficult to keep such a large castle looking spotless. Belle and Adam grew closer, and Henri even began to appreciate Adam's kindness and how readily he accepted them for the very reason that their family had isolated them. The second year saw them all becoming more of a family than Belle had ever known, and in its third month Adam proposed to her.
And this time, the golden lace that lined the soft, draping white sleeves of taffeta silk didn't bother Belle's wrists at all.
I don't really know how this went. I took a break from writing short stories a long time ago (and picked up fic writing) but I'm starting to think I might get into it again, sometime. This is technically fanfic, but when I was writing it, it didn't feel that way.
Feedback of any kind is always appreciated.