A/N: Hi! I'm Barbara Fett, and I've volunteered to play Belle in Elle Haddabarim's collaborative writing project, "The Great Princess Hiccup Puzzle." I've loved both of the opening scenes I've read so far, and I can't wait to see more! Here's my introductory scene.
Of all the routine tasks that need to be done here at our castle, my favorite is getting the mail. It's one of the things that I insist upon doing myself, despite the fact that I'm the lady of the house. A letter arriving at the castle usually means an adventure or challenge on the horizon, and as much as I love spending time at home with my husband, I still welcome, and occasionally seek out, opportunities to go on adventures.
These days, my "adventures in the great wide somewhere" most often involve making official public appearances as a princess. One of my first actions in that role was to use part of our extensive library to start a public library, as a public-works project. It's been slow to gain in popularity, but I try to promote it, mainly by hosting storytimes there for the children. My husband and I also support my father's work wholeheartedly; he has his own laboratory here at the castle.
Sometimes, Cogsworth will get a communiqué from the Character Cabinet, of which he is a member, regarding the latest projects the Company has in development. Other times, I'll get a letter from one of my outworlder friends, asking me to do something with them; those are the letters I look forward to most of all. When I schedule social visits, they're usually with Rapunzel or Merida, who know I share their love of exploring the wide world, or else with Ariel, because we've been through so much together and are always willing to lend each other an ear.
On this particular bright morning in early November, an elegant invitation arrives at our castle. It requests the honor of my and my husband's presence at the annual Princess Ball at the House of Mouse. I immediately send an equally elegant letter back, graciously accepting the invitation. I have been attending every year since there have been enough Princesses to merit holding such an event, and it has become a social and cultural institution among us. The guest list occasionally grows as the Company's repertoire of stories does; this year is yet another of those years when everyone knows we will have a new princess among us in the very near future. She probably will not be invited to the ball right away, but perhaps a year or two down the line.
On the night before the ball, I make sure my alarm clock is set to go off at a reasonably early hour. Our world is close enough in to Lillianville that the Company's signature magical trains have a station here. We plan on taking one to get there, but that means we have to have all our evening wear packed and ready to go in time to catch the morning train. I know from previous balls that there will be carriages and taxis (depending on one's individual preference) running between the train station and the House of Mouse all day; our plan is to take a carriage there, drop off our luggage backstage, and then go and explore the town. We have plans before the ball; Cogsworth is coming into town with us because the Character Cabinet always takes advantage of the assembly of so many people for the ball to have a brief check-in meeting. While he's doing that, my husband and I plan to go book-browsing, and then try out that place where you can paint your own painting while drinking wine. (Aesthetically, Lillianville looks as though the golden age of Mickey's cartoons never ended, but the town does tend to keep up with the times in terms of things to do.) We're also open to any other adventures our friends and acquaintances might try to get us into, should we run into them.
The sound of my alarm clock wakes me on the morning of the ball. "Good morning, beautiful," says Adam.
"Good morning (hic!), my love," I say. That's odd. I don't often wake up – hic! – with the hiccoughs.
As we start getting up and – hic! – preparing for the day, I've already started thinking about tonight. (hic!) If we're lucky, there might be a relative newcomer who's as excited – hic! – about the prospect of a royal ball as my friend Anna was about her sister's coronation ball. (hic!) She sounded almost as excited about this one – hic! – when we spoke the other day. I was looking forward to – hic! – seeing her again, but we can hardly talk if I'm – hic! – like this.
Adam and I go downstairs to – hic! – the breakfast room, where there are strawberry crépes ready for us. (hic!) We talk of our plans for the day and the friends we hope (hic!) to see in town and at the ball, but to my surprise (hic!), my hiccoughs continue all the way through breakfast. Try as I might (hic!) to hold my breath, or to drink from (hic!) the opposite side of my glass,no amount of willpower (hic!) can make them go away.
Even when we're back in our chambers (hic!), helping to oversee the packing of our ball outfits (hic!) in garment bags and chests, the hiccoughs still (hic!) refuse to let up. Eventually, I decide I've had enough and (hic!) there's only one thing to do.
"If you'll excuse me, Joanna (hic!)," I say to my chambermaid, the one I first got to know as (hic!) a wardrobe back in the days of the enchantment. "I'll be – hic! – in the library. You have all this under control, right? (hic!)"
"Of course, Madame," she answers. "Same ensemble as at every Company-sponsored public appearance, right?"
"That's right. Thank you. I'll be back in a bit (hic!)," I say. I hurry out of the master suite and (hic!) down the hall.
The library is still my favorite (hic!) room in the castle. Its high windows face west, making it (hic!) a bit dim at this early hour. I ring the bell for someone to (hic!) help me light candles, but then start scanning the shelves without bothering (hic!) to wait for anyone to come.
"Bonjour, Madame," says a familiar (hic!) voice. "Is there something the matter?"
"Bonjour, Lumière," I answer from halfway up (hic!) one of the library's ladders. "I'm afraid there is. (hic!) I woke up this morning with the most persistent – hic! – case of hiccoughs I've ever had. I've tried to get rid of them – hic! – but nothing is working, so I came here. I can't be – hic! – like this all day long. I have a ball to go to tonight. (hic!) Could you please put some lights on in here?" (hic!) The hiccoughs seem to be getting louder the more anxious I feel. (hic!) They're even starting to hurt a little. I try to slow down (hic!) and take a deep breath, but it doesn't help much. (hic!)
"Mais oui, Madame." Lumière goes about the task of (hic!) lighting the candles, and I continue pondering the shelf of books (hic!) on medicine I'm looking at. Then, out of the corner of my eye (hic!), I notice a glint of candlelight reflecting off something on the wall. (hic!) That gives me an idea. Maybe I can't get rid of (hic!) these hiccoughs the way I normally do because they're not normal. (hic!)
I seize the most likely-looking book on the shelf (just in case) (hic!), climb back down the ladder, and run across the room. (hic!) The magic mirror is hanging there on the wall, at my eye level. (hic!) This way is much faster than paging through books, and possibly (hic!) more accurate, if my intuition is right.
"Can you show me – hic! – how to get rid of these hiccoughs?" I ask. In the mirror's surface (hic!), gray mist swirls across my reflection, but nothing more. That is (hic!) not a good sign; it suggests that my intuition is right.
"All right, then. (hic!) Can you at least show me who or what caused this? (hic!)"
The edges of the mirror light up in bright green. (hic!) The gray mist clears and is replaced by an image of a laughing (hic!), older woman with sharp cheekbones. She is dressed in a white (hic!) laboratory coat and goggles, and is gloating over a table filled with equipment. (hic!) If the beakers of colored liquids are any indication (hic!), she's creating something that is either a spell, a science experiment, or (hic!) a little of both.
"Yzma?!" I exclaim. "She couldn't have (hic!) - I didn't think she knew how to… Thank you (hic!)," I say quickly to the magic mirror before turning away. The book I'm holding (hic!) is on traditional home remedies – well, now I know that it certainly won't (hic!) be of any help. I quickly return it to its shelf and select another (hic!), this one titled Legends, Myths, and Magic of Ancient Peru.
"Madame?"
I look up from my book at the short, mustachioed man. (hic!) "Cogsworth?"
"If I may say so, Madame, you have been down here for a good half-hour. Don't we have a train to catch?"
"It's that late already? (hic!)" I say, jumping up from my chair and slamming my book shut. (hic!) I'll have to take it with me on the train.
"Monsieur is ready," Cogsworth adds. "We're only waiting for you."
"I'm – hic! – coming," I say, hurrying out of the library. My reading has taken up (hic!) the time I was planning to spend dressing for train travel. (hic!) For once, I'm actually grateful that I can draw on the ever-present (hic!) power of belief and branding commonly known as 'the Disney Magic' (hic!) to speed up the process of getting ready, when I wish to (hic!) – and right now, I do. I hope these hiccoughs don't interfere with it. (hic!)
There are only a few ways that everybody thinks I should look (hic!) - the red-and-pink winter ensemble is one of them, but it's (hic!) hardly the best-known one. Summoning it requires me to concentrate on my (hic!) particular aspect of the magic, namely, that feeling of discovering (hic!) something new and, well, enchanting that wasn't there before, expressed in (hic!) a song. A glimmer of pink light appears at my wrists, but nothing more. (hic!)
I hum a few notes of the familiar melody, not feeling up to (hic!) trying to sing in this state. The light brightens, and the elegant pink dress (hic!) and red, fur-trimmed traveling cloak simply appear around me, complete with (hic!) hairbow, makeup, and shoes. So much faster and easier than (hic!) doing all that the normal way, I think. (hic!)
"I'm ready!" I call out as I approach the castle doors. Adam is waiting (hic!) for me, also dressed for a public appearance, but not (hic!) a formal one, yet. There will be time to change (hic!) just before the ball. Cogsworth is with us at the door (hic!), and our luggage has already been loaded into our carriage, which is waiting (hic!) to take us to the train station.
"Are you feeling any better?" Adam asks me.
I shake my head. "No," I say, "but I have – hic! – a plan." I show him the book I've been reading. "I asked – hic! – the magic mirror about where my hiccoughs had come from, and – hic! – I saw, of all people, Yzma from Peru. I think – hic! – she's learned how to cast a long-distance curse."
"Oh, no!" says Adam. "Today, of all days!"
"I know. Clearly, she wanted to make a statement (hic!)," I say. "I'm not going to let her if I can help it. (hic!) I'll be doing some reading on the train. If there's – hic! – a cure for these hiccoughs, it's probably in here. (hic!) Let's get going. I'm not missing the ball for anything. (hic!)" I lead the way out the door.