It was her. It had to be. She had the same deep brown hair. The same eyes that seemed to reach into his soul. The same light flush on her cheeks. But it couldn't be. Belle was dead- of that much Prince Adam was certain- and yet here another girl stood, like he was looking at his wife's portrait. Calling herself Elaine Covette.

Hello everyone, and welcome to my first Beauty and the Beast fanfic, Alike. This is a bit of a new venture for me, as I haven't written from the perspective of anything but a cat for a good while now. Incidentally, if there's anyone out there wondering, this doesn't mean I've abandoned the Warriors fandom. I actually have a oneshot half completed that I'll be publishing soon enough, so look out for that!

Anyway, to business. This story isn't going to be a conventional romance. The stuff I've planned so far explores ideas that could be considered a bit hard-hitting, especially if you're particularly attached to the character of Adam. Not giving anything away, but I may not paint him in a very flattering light. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it!

Please Note: I don't claim to be an expert in French history. It's set pre-revolution, and I've attempted to be as accurate as possible, but I'm sure they'll be a few mistakes in terms of clothing/aristocratic rank. Feel free to point any mistakes I make out!

Alike

Prologue:

The sound of the piano rang out just as Maxime Covette reached his daughter's chambers. He froze where he stood, fingers still extended, bewitched into sudden silence. It was a beautiful melody- one of Mozart's most famous concertos. His extremely limited knowledge of music told him that it was in a minor key, and yet each note seemed to capture a sense of unparalled joy and happiness. This, Maxime knew full well, stemmed from the performer. He could imagine her fingertips flying across the black and white keys, like dancers embraced in a waltz. Her deep brown eyes would be closed, perhaps humming along under her breath. There was nothing in the world that she loved more than her instrument, and indeed, nothing he loved more than listening to her play.

The first theme of the piece began to develop, ornamented by trills and expertly induced scalic runs. Minutes passed in an apparent blur. He found himself leaning against the smooth wall of the corridor, which gleamed from the care and attention his servants clearly provided. All of a sudden, the purpose he had for coming to see his daughter didn't seem all that relevant. Such a thought couldn't be more false. Maxime had just received a much awaited letter from his messenger. The matter it spoke of needed immediate attention. But alas, such wonderful music would have a profound effect on anyone.

Far too soon it was coming to an end. A crescendo, an arpeggio played pianissimo, fading into the tonic chord. And then silence, as if the whole world were her audience. He sighed softly, and felt the urge to burst out into applause, but the end of the concerto marked the breaking of the enchantment upon him. Instantly, the importance of why he'd come reinstated itself in his mind. The silky fabric of the collar received a straightening.

'Elaine?' he called out. 'May I enter?'

Quiet for a moment, and then, 'Of course father.'

Maxime's fingers closed around the metallic handle of the door and it swung backwards, revealing one of the largest rooms in the mansion. The glass windows, each at least a metre wide, were open. Thin curtains were swept up in the midday breeze, and sunlight bathed the room in gold. On the polished surface of the fortepiano, the reflection was so bright he almost had to look away. A four poster bed lay to the left. All these luxuries made it fit to occupy royalty- if status was determined by appearances, Elaine would be queen. Long, brunette hair fell elegantly down her shoulders, highlighting the natural rosy tint of her delicate cheeks. She was stood up and clad in a silk white dress filled out by, no doubt, layers of laced petticoats. This angel always had a smile for him. Warm like the sun. Warm like her eyes. Even now, he failed to comprehend how he could've given life to someone so beautiful.

'Yes?' she said.

Maxime returned her smile, and slowly walked over to the side of the grand instrument. 'I heard you playing. Remind me, my darling, when it was you become such an accomplished virtuoso?'

The cheeks' flush deepened. 'Oh, you flatter me.'

'Hardly. It sounded wonderful.'

He pressed down on a white key. Middle C. The only note that retained it's place in memory from wasted lessons during his youth. It was this exact instrument where he'd learnt, and most likely where his own parents had learnt. Now, it was in the far more rewarding hands of Elaine, who from the sudden sound of a skirt brushing across the floor now evidently stood by his side.

'As a matter of fact, I've been practising this piece for awhile now, and can't seem to get it right,' she murmured. 'Mozart may be the greatest composer in the world, but sometimes his work on piano is so melancholy.'

He smiled gently at his daughter's typical meticulousness. 'I don't pretend to know anything about it.'

Her own smile returned. 'Maybe when I'm as old and experienced as you, I'll play it better.'

And then came her laugh, soaring, flying, caressing his ears, pure like the melody she spoke of. Infectious. Maxime joined in with her for a moment, and took her dainty fingers in his own. It would always be his wish to make her happy; this wish was what spurned a wave of unexpected apprehension shuddering through him.

'Despite the sheer multitude of praise I could lavish on your music skills, I am here with important news.'

Instantly, her face took on a more serious countenance. 'What is it, father?'

'Remember what I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, about the issue of cloth trading with the province of Lorraine? It would not be taken as an insult if you did forget, as a young woman need not bother herself with such dull matters. Nonetheless, I finally received my answer this morning.'

'Oh!' she exclaimed, with (excusably so) forced enthusiasm. 'Well, that's excellent.'

'Yes,' he said carefully, 'but it does mean I shall have to engage in negotiations with the nobility of that particular region. A week long visit will suffice. And, as you know, you are not quite old enough to be left here alone to your own devices.'

'I see.'

A lack of eagerness transformed into thinly veiled annoyance. Maxime had known Elaine hated meeting French aristocrats ever since her childhood. Such feelings he hoped she would outgrow by the time she reached her adoslecence. At the age of seventeen, he was still waiting. However, as a member of the higher class herself, it was obligatory and therefore unavoidable.

That didn't mean she was ever short of complaints.

'Father...' came the expected coo, in a tone used only in the art of persuasion, 'as much as a visit of his kind enthralls me, is there no possibility that I could, perhaps, remain here in Alsace? Just this once?'

'The province will run perfectly well in our absence, Elaine,' he replied gently. 'And besides, we've discussed this before. You'll have to get used to it at some point or other.'

'How could I possibly get used to having conversations with the most utterly drab, arrogant, conceited people in the entire-'

'That's quite enough. You are coming.'

The decisiveness in his voice cut her objection short, but not before the smallest hint of a pout appeared on her lip. She turned around and walked away from the piano. Maxime's own eyes narrowed.

'I don't what you expect from me sometimes,' he snapped. 'I've been lenient to you on other subjects.'

As it often is with words, the duke realised that the ones he'd chosen were harsh upon taking in their recipients reaction. While she'd merely been moving away from his touch, she now came to a stop. Her hands had been held by her sides. Now she drew them to her breast. He could imagine her facial expression like he could while she played. Brows raised slightly. Posture straightened. They'd agreed, without words, not to speak of this. Old wounds and quarrels had now without fullest intention been recalled.

Maxime sighed. Regret spurred him to risk a step closer: he was sure that her shoulders stiffened even more at the sound. The slightest twitches called up bittersweet memories. Habits too similar. It was something in the girl's personality. Too alike her mother.

'I'm sorry,' he murmured.

She didn't reply, and so he calmly closed the gap between them, reaching around her frame and reclaiming the hand. When rubbing palms together it became obvious how small it was, barely reaching the extent of his thumb. But it was smoother. Far less coarse from age. A youthful spark, clear when she turned around and met his gaze.

'I know. It's just... you know how hard that was for me...'

'Of course, my dear. It was extremely inconsiderate of me.' He tried to force a cheerful note back into his voice. 'Think of it this way- you must've heard all the gossip and rumours surrounding the prince of Lorraine, yes? Won't it be interesting to actually meet him?'

'I suppose so.'

The burning sun hadn't let up since he entered, and it splashed over Elaine's face, underlining her soft features all the more. It tugged at his heartstrings to see her appear so despondent towards him, but he sensed it would be better to give her some space. Maxime removed his hand.

'If you'll excuse me, I must go and sort out the travel arrangements for the visit.'

Reluctantly, he made his way back over to the wooden door and pulled it aside. Glancing round, he saw that his daughter hadn't moved from the previous spot. No smiles. Only a strange, almost faraway look. Distant, contemplative. He wished that he could read her emotions better.

The door closed with a small click. Mozart's concerto suddenly seemed much more sad than it had been beautiful.

On the subject of measurements, I'm sure that they probably didn't use the metric system in 18th century France, but I had absolutely no idea what to say instead of metre. Like I said earlier, if you do know, please feel free to point it out.

Thanks a lot for reading! Please review.