The Beast Within
The Tale of Beauty And The Beast if the Enchantress had pronounced the Prince's death at 21 if he did not learn to love. Would they still fall in love or would a spoiled Prince Vincent only see Belle as a common girl, and would Belle only see a spoiled brat with the title of a prince?
Author's note: I've changed a few things, such as the curse itself has been altered, along with Vincent's age at the time. Hope you fans won't mind. This is an AU fic.
Prologue: The Enchantress' Curse
Belle and Maurice had come to the poor provincial village of Molyneaux, leaving Paris for good. They had lived near the Notre Dame Cathedral, amidst the busy Paris streets, and her father had been a famous, wealthy inventor, until a rival stole the plans for the invention that would have made brought him more wealth than he could imagine. Soon after, his wealth dried up and his friends abandoned him.
Having been wealthy, Maurice had made sure that his daughter receive a good education. The poorer people couldn't afford it, but when he had the money he had made sure she was taught by some of the brightest minds in Paris and from all over Europe, one of them was a close family friend she only knew as Leonardo in her younger years. The two men had met at the local fair when Leonardo had taken and interest in her father's inventions. She had been very small and liked the man immediately.
Having been a close family friend, he was sad to hear that Belle's mother, Maurice's wife had died of an illness, and to convey his condolences he had painted a portrait of the family, though he had left it unsigned, Maurice knew it was from him. He had especially taken an interest in Belle and kept her mind off her mother by telling her stories he knew and reading her books and teaching her his native tongue of Italian.
When she was older he offered to tutor her when he was in Paris, although Maurice insisted on paying him for it, he accepted, explaining her that his busy schedule took him all over Europe. She had seen some of his beautiful sketches and asked him what they were for.
"They are inventions, that I hope I could create, and make new machines," Leonardo said with a smile.
"But what is this one? " Belle asked, she was 15, and always wanted to learn everything she could about the world.
"Oh, that's not an invention, that's a drawing that I hope to paint," he said.
"Isn't that the Christ Child, the Virgin Mary and the Magi?" Belle asked, "I didn't know you were a painter."
"I am not surprised, I didn't tell you, a lot of people know about me, but that doesn't really matter does it?" he asked.
"All I heard is that people say my father is too eccentric for your company," Belle said.
"Ah, if they say he's eccentric then they haven't seen my sketches of some machines I've imagined."
"I have a question, Monsieur, if I may?" Belle inquired quietly.
"Yes, Belle?" Leonardo asked.
"What is your last name? Papa never told me," she said.
"It is Da Vinci, my dear," he said. Belle's eyes went wide.
"Even I have heard of you, but why would you take time out of your busy life to tutor me?" she asked.
"Well, I see myself in you, I think you are very special, Belle and you are meant to do great things," Da Vinci smiled. "I don't have any family, and you are like a daughter to me."
"I am flattered, sir," Belle admitted. "I hope that I have been a good student."
"You have, Belle, I heard from your father that you both are leaving Paris soon, because of his financial troubles."
"Yes, it's too bad, really, he deserves better than this…"
"I know, the next time I am in France I shall come and see you both," Leonardo smiled.
"But how will you find us?" she asked.
"I'm famous, I can pull favors. You should refrain from study for now, after all, it is Christmas. You should be celebrating the Holiday, not spending time in those kinds of books, I know you prefer stories over studies anyway, and I have to finish my sketch so I can start another painting. I'll be leaving for Milan soon, after I finish this painting for the Monks at Scopeto."
"Do you believe in magic?" Belle asked, she had heard that Da Vinci was a scientist and a researcher. Most scientists of the day did not believe in magic at all, 'twas the stuff of fairy tales and stories.
"Hmmm…a good question," he said thoughtfully. "Do I believe in magic…well, Nature never breaks her own laws. Do you think that magic is against the laws of nature?"
"I wouldn't know, I've never seen any real magic before," Belle told him honestly.
"Well neither have I, but who's to say it doesn't exist? Merry Christmas Belle, here is something for you," he handed her a wrapped box.
Belle quietly opened to box and pulled out the books. They were the poem Beovulf and The Divine Comedy by Dante.
"Sir, I…I'm speechless! Thank you!" Belle exclaimed.
"You're welcome, now go one, enjoy them. Is there anything I might do for you, bring you something back from Milan, perhaps, when I return?" Leonardo asked. He was happy to see her smile, it had been awhile since she had truly been happy.
"I would like…" she paused for a moment.
"Like what?" he asked.
"I would like to learn to paint, sir, just a little if you don't mind," she said timidly.
"You would like to learn to paint, would you?" Leonardo was thoughtful. "I cannot take you as an official apprentice, you understand, my colleagues would not stand for it."
"I know, sir, but I would like to learn just a little."
"Very well, I will show you some things, let's get started. I have my work to do," he turned away and beckoned her closer as he began sketching the concepts of his next painting.
Meanwhile…
Not too far from the small provincial town of Molyneaux, a spoiled, powerful and wealthy Prince Vincent was preparing to celebrate Christmas. He personally hated the holiday, despising it because of the memories of his parents that were associated with it.
Vincent's family, along with all the household staff had been so happy at Christmas, his parents, that they showered him with gifts and attention. After they died, his servants followed vein of that tradition. As the years went by, the Prince's behavior worsened and his tryanical grip on the nearby towns inceased.
The Prince sat on his throne on a cold, stormy Christmas Eve, staring out with an expression that conveyed pure boredom. The only reason he held this annual Christmas Gala was to distract himself from all those horrible memories that haunted him every year.
His father had died while at war when he was seven and his mother had died of illness when he was nine. Although he had loved them very much they had not raised their son with a sense of gratitude for enjoying the best of everything their wealth could buy.
Vincent's reputation as a spoiled child was known by many, and although they would never voice such opinions to his face, many had an obvious dislike for him.
As much as they disliked him, they would also try to win his favor, for he would shower his so called "friends" with gifts, to an extent of course, for he only reserved the best things for himself. The finest clothes, food and wine were all for his own enjoyment.
To continually keep up his lavish lifestyle he had taxed the nearby towns to the brink of utter poverty, the nearby town of Molyneaux suffered the most from his unnecessary taxation of nearly everything of value.
As much as Vincent was known for his reputation as a cruel tyrant, it was his temper that had given him even more renown, and was talked about far more often than his despicable use of power and taxes. His servants bore the brunt of most of his rage, he would often find the most minute thing to complain about them. More often than not, he would fly into a rage at them over nothing, or if they didn't come exactly when he called for them. Though they did care for him a great deal, he was the most ungrateful master any servant could ever had, and he treated them terribly.
A 15 year old Vincent's thoughts kept wandering back to his parents, and so to try to shake off the bitterness he felt, he called out to his servants:
"Bring me my presents!" he yelled loudly, knowing that he would be instantly gratified with a gift of some sort. He hoped these gifts would be lavish and breathtaking, so that he could impress his friends and other nobility who would come to visit him from time to time. He sunk back into his chair, a scowl on his face.
Lumiere bowed humbly before Vincent, saying, " Your Highness, please accept this humble gift as a token of our appreciation, I know I speak for everyone-"
"Aw, just give it to me!" he demanded, grabbing it from him and ripping into it greedily.
"A storybook? You call this a present?! I hope you better have something better for me, Forte. " Vincent casually dropped the storybook as if it were a worthless piece of trash. The servants were horrified, they had worked hard to purchase that book, seeing as they didn't receive much pay due to the fact that their master took half of it in taxes, they had all pitched in their earnings to buy him a storybook, one that was empty so that he might fill it with a wonderful story, and to see his distain at the sight of their gift made them feel very disappointed.
"Yes, Sir, of course Master," Forte said quickly. Turning to the organ, he began to play. It was a somewhat melancholy tune, a little sad, but hauntingly beautiful, at least, in Forte's opinion it was, and it reminded him of the master, and so he composed it in Vincent's honor.
"What is that?!" Vincent shouted, glowering at Forte as the man turned around, somewhat shocked and offended at his Master's reaction. He had hoped that Vincent would like his piece, not treat it like garbage, after all, he was one of Vincent's best friends, who seemed to understand him better than most.
"A small piece, in your honor," Forte said, bowing grandly.
"Ugh! I hate it! Forte that stuff is gloomy," Vincent slouched over as he heard a knock on the front door of his castle.
The Prince jumped up in a rage, clenching his fists. "Who disturbs my Christmas?!" he roared, stomping toward the vast doors of his castle in a fury.
"Please," a timid voice spoke softly. "Take this rose, in exchange for shelter from the bitter cold."
Vincent had never seen anything like the wretched old hag before him, one of her eyes was shut as if she had lost her sight, and her skin was wrinkled and rough looking. She leaned on a cane, but in her hand she held a rose, he didn't think of her situation, or the fact that she could die out in the cold night, all he could see was her ugliness.
"Please, do not judge my appearance, true beauty is found within," she said quietly.
"True beauty? Bah!" Vincent spat at her, his spittle didn't each her and fell short of her. "I don't need a rose! Go away you wretched, old hag!" he said, shutting the doors in her face.
The rose glowed in an eerie pink light s it filled the entire palace. Vincent shut his eyes confused. When he opened them he saw a beautiful woman, clothed in white with shimmering blonde hair, floating above him; he still didn't understand, had that been the old hag?
"You have been deceived by your own cruel heart. A curse upon your house and all in it, until you have found one to love you despite your faults, you will have until the last pedal of this rose falls when you are twenty-one years of age, and if you do not, you shall die a tragic, cruel death for your cruelty to others."
The light surrounded him quickly and then faded. Vincent turned to his guards in a panic.
"Seize her!" he ordered.
The guards looked to the spot where the Enchantress had been, to their shock and awe, she was gone, not a trace of her remained. Not even footprints the old hag might have taken to get to the castle.
"A witch's curse, pa! There is nothing wrong with me!" Vincent sneered.
"Master! Look, the rose she offered you, it's still here!" Lumiere said, he noted that it was concealed beneath a glass covering. How had that gotten there? He wondered.
"What am I to do with it?" Lumiere asked.
"I-I don't know," Prince Vincent stammered. "Take it up to the West Wing, no one will know it's there. I can keep it safe there. In the meantime don't say anything. Say a word of this to anyone and you'll be severely punished," he glared at all his servants to make his point.
"Yes, Master," they all replied.
"What are you all staring at?!" Vincent shouted. "Get back to your chores!"
The servants scattered, each trying to find something to occupy themselves, except or Forte. Vincent called him over to him.
"So tell me my friend, what do you know about women?" he asked.
If the Enchantress was right and he only had six years left, he was going to live as lavishly as possible. He didn't need anyone to love him, what a useless gesture, a wasted emotion. But he could enjoy the pleasures life had to offer, and he never had a second thought about the true meaning behind the Enchantress' words.