A/N: Okay, okay, I know this fic concept has been done many times already (twenty-two times, as a matter of fact--I checked) but I still want to do it, because ever since I read Twilight, I've always thought of Beauty & the Beast when I think of Bella and Edward. The Beast was my first love when I was a little girl, I can't help but want to combine him with my new love for Edward :) So I hope that my writing style will put a new twist to an old concept, but if you're not diggin' reading 'Beauty & the Beast: Twilight-style' again for the bajillionth time feel free to skip out on this one.

"It's said there's a castle in a wild garden at the center of these woods; and if you ever walk into the trees till you are out of sight of the edge of the forest and you can see nothing but big dark trees all around you, you will be drawn to that castle; and in the castle there lives a monster. He was a man once, some tales say, and was turned into a terrible monster as a punishment for his evil deeds...

"...The tale also goes that no hunter ever finds game in there; and you know our garden is curiously free of rabbits and woodchucks--and that in itself is uncanny. And never a deer do you see, and no man has taken one from this forest in the memory of the oldest grandfather's memories of his childhood's tales." - Pg. 55, Beauty: A Retelling of the Story of Beauty & the Beast by Robin McKinley

Beauty & the Beasts

Prologue

No one means to be alone, sometimes it just happens that way. Edward Anthony Masen II had not lived his life thinking that he would be alone always; he had simply been waiting for The One. What he had seen as extreme patience on his part, others had perceived as arrogance and condescension. He had witnessed many a lovely, well-accomplished lady, with her dowry-bearing papa in tow, sniff petulantly and cast him a bitter glare out of the corner of her long-lashed eyes as she made her way out of his home with a resounding 'No' trailing behind her after he denied her papa's inquiry of marriage. It had not been as if he hadn't been flattered by the attention, because he had. In fact, he had been quite embarrassed, really; and what those pretty hopefuls and their fathers took as a rather abrupt and rude rejection had actually been a curt and fumbled no. He had been too bashful to explain to all of those people that he hadn't wanted to marry someone who was just an admirer of his looks, wealth, and title--he had wanted passionate everlasting love.

But because society hadn't known the reason behind his actions, everyone made up their own conclusions about him. Some had said that beauty was wasted on him; which would include his own physical beauty and the aesthetically pleasing beauty of the young maidens who so desperately wanted to be The One for him. It's a pity he's so handsome, he had overheard one of his loose-lipped servants say during one of their gossiping sessions one day, Have you seen some of the gorgeous ladies he's rejected? He's so picky that he'll prob'ly die alone a filthy rich old hermit. Hearing people, his own staff included, think so lowly of him saddened him and hardened him at the same time. And as time and marriage evasions piled higher, his reputation as a stalwart bachelor grew--as well as his bitterness towards those that whispered about him behind their hands.

To escape the trappings of the city, Edward had left London to travel abroad. With his inherited wealth, traipsing through Europe was an easy feat for him. He had studied art, music, language, culture, mathematics, science, religion, philosophy--anything and everything under the sun. Yet, being in some of the most romantic cities on earth had made him more aware of the hollow that he could not fill with factual knowledge--for this hollow was the hollow in his heart, and he had needed knowledge of the heart, romantic love, to fill it to the brim.

Looking back on it now, Edward cursed his youthful self, hating how affected he had been by the enchantments and romantic whims that followed him through France and Spain and Greece, then led him on that fateful journey through Italy--because Italy had been his damnation. He had entered the country lonely and starved to find The One. He had been tired of waiting for his life to begin, and doubly tired of his seemingly tireless brain which whispered thoughts like: What if I never find her? What if there is no her? What if, like so many of the star-crossed tragedies, Fate has intervened and the love of my life is already lying in her grave or has not even been born yet? And to accompany these whispers, like a harsh nipping wind, were the echoed words of his servant: 'he'll prob'ly die alone he'll prob'ly die alone he'll prob'ly die alone...'

He had been easy prey.

In the beautiful city of Volterra, a beautiful, mysterious woman had captured his attention one crisp night. Her skin had been as pale as the moon; her hair, waves of silk mahogany. When she spoke, the smoky lilt of her voice enthralled him. By the end of her first spoken sentence, he had been sure that she was The One. So enthralled with her was he that he hadn't, at the time, thought to wonder why such a young, pretty woman was walking alone at night without an escort. And by the time he had had enough of a notion to wonder about her lone state, it was too late; his fate had already been sealed.

Her voice and words had woven together to create a work of art, poetry, and song--but she had never spoken higher than an intimate whisper. He had listened to her speak as she led him nowhere, somewhere, he hadn't cared where, sure that, if he kept listening, he would find the meaning to life hidden in her husky, feminine tone. For she knew knowledge beyond his reckoning; not the things easily learned from a book or from a university professor, but things of wonder, magic, and speculation. She had told him the secrets hidden in the gentle music of a breeze; how the earth breathed and pulsed in pleasure under the sun's merry light; and last she said sweetly near his ear, so close that he could smell her magnificent scent, how she could hear the staccato of his racing heart and singing blood calling out to her. His broken "Yes" had seemed to change something within her because her dark burgundy, passion-suffused eyes softened and she lifted her hand to touch him for the first time, delicately brushing his cheek and jawline. His confusion at the abnormal ice-cold feel of her touch had been drowned out by her intense eyes and voice. "Come with me," she had said; and he had.

She had taken him to an estate fit for a king. Leading him through the labyrinthine passageways, she had not stopped her seductive glide until she had lead him through a chilly stone antechamber that then had led through to a castle turret. This room had been shadowy; dim light that cast from hanging oil lamps had been present, making the room only semi-dark instead of completely pitch black. It had been deathly quiet. The stillness made the cavernous room eery, and when Edward had looked up at the high ceiling, he had been surprised to see an unobstructed view of the moon and stars glinting overhead.

"Where are we," he had asked.

"You are in the House of Volturi," a masculine, whispery voice had answered. Edward had started at the sound and looked around for the disembodied voice. A ghostly pale figure with ink black hair had seemed to materialize fluidly out of the shadows. His face had been striking, like the woman's, but soft and bloodless; almost too striking to be attractive. His eyes had been a warm burgundy, bogged with murky clouds, but sharp with a wisdom only gained through years of experience. He had smiled congenially. "Heidi, who is your friend?"

Edward had turned to the woman--or Heidi, as that was what her name was--and caught his breath as she smiled coquettishly. "Edward Anthony Masen the Second, Master."

"Ah," the man had said with a twinkle in his eyes, making Edward think that the two had been sharing a private joke. To him the man had directed: "You are an English gentleman, I presume?"

"Yes," he had answered, bemused.

"Well then," the man had said in delight, "Welcome to Volterra!" He had come forth, grace in his every movement. "I am Aro," he had introduced, offering his delicate-looking hand for a handshake. Edward had snapped out of his confusion enough to mind his manners and shook the hand proffered to him. It had also been cold--but he had noticed something stranger that had happened at the contact: the man's eyes had seemed to look through him, beyond him.

"He is a good man," Aro had then said in Heidi's direction, fatherly approval in his tone. "You have chosen well."

A beatific smile had formed on Heidi's full red mouth. "I knew there was something about him. He's different...something more."

"Yes, Heidi, I believe you are right," Aro had said, his curious, ancient eyes never leaving Edward's face. "More..."

Edward had stepped back, feeling uneasy under the combined stares of the two people--strangers! his mind shouted--whose skin looked too ethereal in the glow of the moon and whose eyes he was most positive were otherworldly now that he thought about it. "I-I'm sorry. I must go." He had started to turn around.

"Go?" Aro had said, sounding crestfallen. "You cannot go, you have only just gotten here."

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I have a prior engagement," Edward had lied feebly over his shoulder. He had then swiftly turned towards the door that led to the exit--both Aro and Heidi were suddenly there before him; he blanched.

"You do not have to walk in this world alone anymore," Aro had said in his soft coaxing voice. "I know this is what you worry about."

'he'll prob'ly die alone'

Edward's breath had escaped on a choked gasp. "W-what?"

"Perhaps," Aro had continued, beckoning Heidi forth towards Edward. Edward had mistakenly caught her gaze and found himself trapped within the red smoldering fire. "The One has found you."

Everything from that point on had been a haze of pain so profound that there had been no room for thought. His mind had emptied and his eyes had slowly dimmed to black from the edges inward. He had awoken cold...but not alone. Heidi and Aro and the rest of the Volturi had been there to greet him and welcome him home.

His life as a vampire had begun. Everything was clearer, easier--yet harder in places, too. He had strength, speed, and stamina beyond the telling of it, but also something more...something his new family had considered a gift. He didn't think of it that way. Being able to hear the thoughts of all of those around him quickly became old, and he found himself just as jaded as his human self had been about love and trust. Heidi had not been the one for him; he had learned that quickly from being able to read her mind. There was no deep passion for anything except blood in her. She had admired him, found him satisfactory enough to maybe someday be her mate, but that was it. She had been just like every other lovely hopeful who wanted something from him; being turned had taken the rose colored glasses from his eyes so he could see beyond the power of Heidi's hypnotic form.

Aro had been disappointed that Edward and Heidi had not made a match, but was quickly absorbed in the wonderful surprise of Edward's ability to read minds. Since his gift was so similar to Aro's, Aro had taken it upon himself to be Edward's mentor and father. Aro had taught him the rules of the hunt; how they must never kill anyone within the walled-city of Volterra, only outsiders; and also that he could never let the existence of vampires be known unless he was in want of a swift death. Time had gone on, he had obeyed the rules, he had read minds, and he had fed. He did this until he could do it no more.

But the bitter twist to being the perfect hunter was being able to hear his victims silent beggings for mercy; being able to see images of their young, soon-to-be orphaned children; being able to witness the last passionate kiss the victim had ever shared with their lover. Life flashes before a person's eyes before they die; he had images upon images and thoughts upon thoughts of every life he had ever taken stored permanently in his mind. It drove him mad.

One night he had looked at the walled-city of Volterra, beyond the gates, from the outside. Something in him finally snapped and he had decided then and there that he was never going to go back inside.

Leaving had been predictably easy; vampires often went their separate ways to gain experiences of their own. He had used his preternatural stealth to sneak onto a ship headed west. He had figured that it was only fitting that he would make his fresh start on fresh land--the wilds of the Americas had sounded promising. Once he was again on dry land, he had taken to traveling by night under the cover of darkness; swiftly climbing mountains and running through grasslands at full speed. His hunger was always there, tormenting him, but being in such a vast land where people were few helped. When Edward had finally discovered that animals could be used in substitute for human blood to sustain him, he had been deliriously triumphant--and vowed that he would never again shed the blood of man.

His new way of life set, he had spiralled further and further into seclusion, avoiding humanity and searching for his niche in the world. He had found it furthest west, on the opposite shore of the mostly unclaimed land. It was a wonderland of vivid green, blanketed by dark gray storm clouds. Thick-trunked trees covered in a fine webbing of moss forested the land, as well as the springy, brush-covered floor. And he had suddenly remembered his birth parents, long ago dead from illness, because of the beauty of the green. Their eyes had been that same exact shade of green, he had thought. This had decided him. He had ventured inwards into the heart of the woods, where no glimmers of light could reach him, and had started to work on making his home.

He still resides there now.

Over the years Edward's fortress grew and grew under his tireless efforts, the widdling and carpentering and grinding of wood and stones something to occupy his endless time--until he could not deny the magnificent structure for what it had become: a castle. Sometimes he would gaze at it from afar and laugh ruefully at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. A structure such as this was something to be admired by all and bustling with life. It should be filled with cooks and maids and butlers and royalty; it should host balls where ladies could show up decked out in all of their finery, looking as fit as princesses and blushing prettily as they accepted admiring gentle-men's invitations to a dance. Instead it was a silent massive edifice shadowed by tall evergreens and permanent rain clouds, housing him, a lone being--not even human: a vampire.

Having such a grand home could, perhaps, have been an unconscious effort to recapture the high society life he had lived when he had been a part of the Volturi--but deep down he knew it wasn't.

Deep down he knew the real reason was because no one really means to be alone, and this giant, elegantly made castle was his white flag.

Hope springs eternal. The ever patient part of him was still waiting for The One.

To Be Continued...

A/N: Reviews make me happy! Please let me know what you think of it so far!