Author's Note: This chapter is shorter than typical for me, but I want to have a separate chapter to reflect a bit on Belle's life before jumping fully into the dreams. The dreams will start in earnest in chapter 2, which is mostly written. This is written with great respect, love and gratitude for the talents of Robert Carlyle and Emilie de Ravin. I do not own the OUAT characters.

Belle's eighteenth birthday held no great joy for her. It had been five years since her mother's death... five years since their heart to heart talks that Belle cherished. For her special day, Belle received presents that were well intended, a couple of which were books from the few people who actually seemed to be aware of her passions and surprisingly cared. However, there was an emptiness too. She missed her mother terribly, because her mother had truly seen Belle as she was, not as others wanted her to be, and she loved Belle not despite her idiosyncrasies, but because of them. For Belle's mother, Gabrielle, it was those idiosyncrasies that made Belle a rare and beautiful flower. However, her father didn't view Belle the same way. Belle supposed he loved her in his own way... distant, controlling way, but she could always see the muscles in his jaw pulse as she seemed to endlessly irritate him with her unorthodox thinking and behavior.

For Belle's birthday, there was a ball, as there has been for many birthdays. To call it a ball seemed a misnomer as it seemed more like a cattle auction to Belle... with her as the prized breeding cow. Instead of manure, there was the smell of sweaty men of various ages, doused in cologne with whom she had to dance and feign enjoying inane conversation. Whether a man was twenty or fifty, they all spoke at her, not to her and seemed to have little regard for her mind.

"Honestly, where does my father dig them up?"

As the years have past with these balls, the men have become more blatant about their interest in her, but tonight's ball, left nothing to be questioned about their motives, as several men seemed to be trying to conduct a conversation with her breasts. She wondered if the men would even notice if she were headless. Indeed, Belle started to question whether they actually expected her bosom to give a lecture on the state of the regional economies.

"That would be a nifty trick."

The worst of them was Sir Gaston, a superficial knight, much like her father. He indeed was like a bull in a shop full of porcelain figurines, as he stepped on her feet repeatedly, oblivious to the fact as he droned on about himself. Clearly, he had already found his true love: himself, and he just wanted someone with soft curves to be his plaything... and to produce him many sons, likely all as obnoxious as he. The only saving grace was that Belle's father, Sir Maurice, had promised her mother on her deathbed, that Belle would decide if, when, and whom to marry. Though Belle had some nagging concerns that her father might not honor that promise, to date he had, though it noticeably pained him. Belle knew he was anxious to marry off his odd daughter and preferably form a beneficial alliance with the groom's family. His favorite was undoubtedly Gaston.

"If Papa fancies Gaston so much, he can marry the clot-pole."

Now, in her bedchamber as Belle sits clad in her white dressing gown brushing her dark chestnut, softly curled hair, she recalls the nights that her mother would brush her hair as Belle talked about her day, books she'd read, secrets she'd only share with her mother and dreams for the future. As the emptiness inside Belle makes her heart feel more like a rock within her chest than flesh and blood, she hears strange sounds coming from the window... scratching and cooing. Through the glass, she spies a most unusual carrier dove with wings with iridescent blue and gold highlights on the feathers. Taking great care, Belle opens the window attempting not to startle the unique creature nor knock it of its perch. It comes to her without hesitation as though they are kin. She holds the bird in her hands, tenderly stroking its head. Seating herself, she lays the bird upon her lap and removes a scroll attached to its leg. Her nurturing touch continues after she's revealed the note inside. There is something about this bird that makes Belle feel at peace... more at peace than she's felt in years. Belle begins to read the note written in handwriting that is eternally familiar to her.

My sweet, precious Belle,

On this the anniversary of your birth,

I wish you the most glorious of birthdays

and for your path to happiness to be clear.

You are my greatest treasure and achievement.

I'll love you forever, my beautiful flower.

Momma

PS. Sweet dreams, dear one.

Tears flow unhindered from Belle's eyes of iolite casting a multi-toned, purplish-blue glow befitting the most sought after of jewels. Her tears trail down her cheeks like a soft rain dripping onto the very unique dove that she has been petting. The dove begins to dissolve from Belle's vision, and her heart aches, as Belle is not ready to say 'goodbye' to her. Though Belle had not checked the gender of the dove, she feels that the dove is female... possibility a very specific female presence in her life. As the dove's last remnants fade from view, Belle feels exhausted... more exhausted than she's ever felt. She walks wobbly-legged over to her bed, placing her mother's note on the nightstand, snuggles beneath the warm blankets and is pulled into a deep sleep.

Moments later, Belle is riding her horse through the pasture on a pristine sunny day. The horse, who was named Philippe by her father, Belle prefers to call 'Fire Heart', as her father's choice seems too pretentious and not befitting the magnificent animal whom Belle's legs now straddle. Fire Heart's mane and tail are black as coal, and his body is a deep burnt umber with a marking resembling a flame on his chest. As Belle and Fire Heart trot through the large field laden with purple clover, Belle notices a fence by which she has always been enticed, but never had the courage to jump. Staring at the fence and the rolling hills beyond it, she notices the colors intensify as though the scenery has become a painting right before her eyes. She nudges Fire Heart's ribs with her heels as her thighs squeeze urging the great steed to move faster, leaning forward as they gallop towards the fence, her back aligns parallel with the horse, and in a stunning moment, rider and horse are airborne as one. Belle feels a tingling sensation like wet paint splashing against her as it seems they have leaped into a lush pastoral landscape...

Author's Note: So we'll be jumping into the dream in the next chapter. Though I have a basic idea of where I want to go with this story and what dreams I want to include, if you have a suggestion for a dream that you'd like to read, and it works with my overall vision for the story, I may write your dream suggestion. The first dream is already written, and the chapter will be posted soon. I also will be getting back to "Shattered Souls, Mended Hearts," as I have begun writing the next chapter of that, but I wanted break from the heaviness of that subject matter to enjoy writing a bit of fluffiness too, and the RumBellers FaceBook Group 'Beautiful' Creative Project was the perfect opportunity.

So what did you think of our 'Belle of the ball', or cattle auction as the case may be? Thoughts on Belle's unexpected maternal communication? Please review... Guest reviews are fine. You don't need a FFnet account; I just like to read people's thoughts on my stories.

Happy Mother's Day to all those who celebrate the holiday.