Greetings to all! This is my very first attempt at fanfiction. The story that follows is inspired by the story 'Beauty and the Beast', which I based on Disneys' version. My approach will be a little darker than its' colorful animated counterpart. It is set in an alternate universe, though I kept some french hues as you will notice in names and the like. Let me know what you think!

Abbreviations:

Monsieur= M. / Madame= Mme. / Mademoiselle= Mlle.

Enjoy and of course R&R!


Chapter 1

The sun was setting as I collected the last dry sheet. Despite having washed them in the early morning, they had already dried. It was a relatively hot day, summer still here but steadily fading away. There was no mistaking it, autumn was upon us. As if to prove my thoughts, a gush of wind from the North blew at that point creating ruffles in my dress; a modest dress in blue hues, that had been sewn, along with a handful of others, just for me, by a very beloved person. As I bent to pick up the overused laundry basket, I couldn't help but sigh a little at the memory of my mother. In these final hours of the day, with a background of a setting sun, I had a few moments of peace, since all the work of the day was officially over.

In these moments, I often found myself longing for her soothing presence. She had passed away five years ago, yet I still expected her to be sitting in the kitchen inspecting a stew, while reading some classic or other. My heart still fell a little, every time I entered the house and found the kitchen cold and empty.

Passing by that hollow hole of a room and climbing the stairs to the bedrooms, I immediately felt grateful that at least I had my father; albeit a little out of his mind. Being an inventor, of sorts, does that to you I suppose; crazy the villagers said; brilliant I liked to think, even though none of his inventions hadn't actually worked yet. But in order to create things anew, you had to think differently than everyone else didn't you?

Opening the door to my room, I headed towards the bed to begin the tedious task of folding the sheets, before placing them in the closet.

My life wasn't much. It certainly was not what I wanted it to be. After my mothers' death I had to move back from the boarding school both my parents painstakingly were able to send me to. They wanted a better education for me, to be brought up like a lady and cultivate my mind. Of course, they could only pay for a limited amount of the tuition; the bigger half being covered by our landlord. It was tradition in the village for an annual competition to be held, the winner of which was to earn three quarters of tuitions' cost, and be send to Madam Beauvoirs' School for Ladies, if you were a girl, and to Master Voltaires' School for Gentlemen, if you were a boy.

However, there usually weren't many winners, due to the lack of candidates, since all hands were needed at home. The downfall of living in the country was that everything had to be done manually. Everything. Milk the cows, sew the clothes, tend to the houses' cleaning, tend to the garden, feed the chicken, collect the eggs, cook, clean the clothes; the chores really never ended.

And so it was that very few people had the time, let alone the mind, to think of such matters and spare a child or two for knowledge and education.

For some reason, though, my own parents, even before I was born, had decided unanimously to educate me. They had tried their best to prepare me for the test with the little means they had; my mother owning a small stack of classical books, which she inherited from her father, and my father with whatever he could get his hands on, usually from the limited local bookstore (borrowing of course).

I eventually passed the test, although I have to admit there was little to no competition at all; the only other two participants were there to cheat in order to take the money. A common practice, which consequently elicited a very austere evaluation; namely they would throw out anyone who so much as moved on one side or another. I couldn't blame them; the money was for a certain purpose after all, but I couldn't help but realize just how far away from us villagers was our landlord. People in need would do anything and everything to get by.

It didn't help of course that the test was held in early February, with the winter having used up all of summers' products and with hunger claiming numerous lives each year. And there was our landlord, who could spare a few thousand gold pieces for someone else to get a decent education! It was scandalous if you thought about it; as nearly all of the villagers often voiced this outrageousness in the local tavern, if this high and mighty individual could give so much money for something abstract and certainly not necessary or life-saving, why wouldn't he help the village produce more and better products? Maybe built a road or two, or, and this was the main topic of discontent and restlessness, lessen the monthly rent.

For we also had to pay a certain sum of silver pieces each month to the ruler of this unimportant piece of land high up in the mountains, just to have the right to remain in the region. There weren't few instances where people unable to afford the land they had lived in for generations, were sent away. With not so much as second glance.

In many aspects, you could say we lived under a coldblooded tyrant. From what I knew, he owned the two neighboring villages as well. All in all, his domain expanded across three villages, which were relatively close to one another; not including his own castle, situated on top of a big hill that overlooked our settlement. Part of the surrounding forest was also his as a hunting ground and, on certain parts of it, the villagers were forbidden to hunt in it.

I did, however appreciate the fact that he would help with educating anyone who wanted a place in a school, though I wouldn't deny that he could put his wealth in better use, than let it lie there, increasing by the minute.

Our village was quite frankly falling apart. It needed repairs everywhere and anywhere. And we were also in dire need of a new bridge. The current condition of Vieuxpont (that was the name of the hundred year old stone bridge) made it impossible to travel to the other villages and sell what little we produced. The river flowing underneath was vast and extremely deep, with currents so strong, that even though it was the slimmest part of it, the old construction was half a mile long. Especially in the winter, snow and ice covered every inch and as a result no carriage or even horse could cross it.

Fortunately, our hard working steed honored the name he was given by my father: Victor was able to instinctively tread carefully over that death trap and always deliver me safe to our destination and back again. Father had been adamant in buying him, when he was only months old, by a traveling gypsy group ten years ago. One look at his inherit big hooves and he knew that he would be an enormous help to the house. Papa has yet to be proven wrong. The odd part was that the gypsies thought the young one was going to be a disappointment, due to him being born scrawny and sickly, and so had offered a very good price to get rid of him.

My father always had a knack for perceiving things others were blind to. He knew the horse was stubborn as hell and would, by sheer force of will, grow out of his unlucky birth to become an indispensible asset to wherever he would end up. And that he was to us.

Personally, I always had the notion that papa-Sebastian really bought him for me. He was a sucker for the desires of a daughter, and upon finding out that I simply adored these four legged massive creatures, I understand now, that he was set on finding one for me; although he never said anything about indulging in my whims. It was common knowledge in our little house that Victor was mostly mine, which meant of course that he was my responsibility as well. I didn't mind. He was such a kind creature and so helpful to the daily tasks, that I loved taking care of him. I always sensed a sort of gratitude emanating from him towards us (mostly towards my father), for believing in him at first glance; for accepting him before he even proved his worth.

Since my mother had passed away, they were the only family I had left; I couldn't bear to part with them. I did, however, find myself yearning to live past the boundaries of our village and of the toilsome living. Our troubles were mainly of what to eat and drink each day, a fact that left little room for challenging the mind beyond such primary needs and topics.

On the one hand I was happy to be back with my closest family (which included Victor), but on the other hand, I was missing excitement in my dull life. Constantly worrying if you will have food on the table the next day quickly wore you out and left you with desiring other things to occupy yourself with.

You would think that these "sublime" musings would occur rarely if ever; but as the days turned into months which turned into years, I found myself more and more eager to dream of adventures at sea, encounters with people from faraway lands, being caught in romances of any kind (forbidden was my favorite), going so far as to openly daydream whilst doing my chores. Every chance I got, I would lose myself in more colorful worlds, either by reading any book I could find or by thinking about what I read in said book.

Needless to say, I had developed the rumor of being "odd". People would stare at me for walking to the town market with a basket for the few groceries we could afford, on one hand, and my nose buried deep in the pages of a worn out book. They would shake their heads as I passed, muttering "what do you expect from weird-Sebastian's daughter" and "poor thing can't help herself, with such bad, unnatural influences".

They thought I wouldn't notice their disapproving glances; but I did. And although I knew I shouldn't care of what everyday people with little experience of the world beyond this godforsaken village in the mountains, thought of me, it still didn't exactly help me develop any friendships, besides the family horse.

Huffing in annoyance, I closed the closet door and dumped the empty laundry basket in the corner of my room, where I usually kept it, and went to fetch the two books I had finished reading in order to return them to the bookstore I borrowed them from, all the while resolving not to let anyone break my spirits about who I or my father was. After all, townsfolk always spoke ill of something they couldn't comprehend, and rejected it with little afterthought. Why should we give them more power by trying to prove them wrong?

Taking off my apron and hanging it on the hook behind the front door, I picked the two books off the kitchen table and put them in the small market basket I always took with me to the town square. Pausing for a moment to wear me dark blue cloak (it was chilly now after the sun went down), I exited the house closing the door firmly behind me and descending the seven stairs of the small porch.

Before setting off I let my father know I was leaving, yelling towards the basement, where he spend all his hours working on his invention.

"Okay, Helene! Be sure to take Azor with you! Be careful!" I heard him shout from beneath the basement door.

"Will do!" I answered and quickly whistled for our enormous black dog to tag along. He could put anyone down if he sensed a threat and was a constant companion of mine every time I went to the village, especially after dark had fallen. He was mainly a house guard but my father insisted he accompanied me whenever I left the house. Again my social group comprised of only farm animals. What a gripping life!

And so we set out disappearing in the little forest in front of our house. We lived on the outskirts of the village, which made the presence of a guard dog necessary, since foxes would normally raid our chicken house, with the occasional sightings of a wolf or two, circling our little farm and eyeing our livestock, as winter rolled up.


It was a pleasant albeit short walk, so we arrived relatively quickly.

The villagers were just closing up their houses and small shops, with the exception of the tavern which ran almost through all the night, since it was the only form of entertainment; for the male population that is. The women would sit home and take care of the little ones, either returning from playing outside or, if they were a bit older, from working in the fields.

I made my way straight to the bookstore that was about to close up, all the while nodding to any person who would pass by greeting me. Despite everything they thought and said about my family and myself, they were still friendly; I mean let's face it, we were in this toilsome hardship called life together. And the fact that they didn't forget that, made living here tolerable.

'Ah, mlle. Helene welcome! I expected you to come today, although not so late I must confess.'

' Nice to see you again m. Pierre. I know, I know, I got caught up in some last chores that needed to be done before the sun set. I won't take long though; I just wanted to return these.' I said to the pleasant bookstore owner. He was the only one that did not think ill of my father and who appreciated my zeal for books. I liked him the best out of everyone in our little isolated village. Quite frankly, I could have a decent conversation with him, involving topics other than milking cows and goats, or stitching worn out clothes. In many ways I was immensely grateful for his presence.

'Yes of course, child, take all the time you need'. Pierre Abelard was an easygoing, middle-aged man with white hair and beard, who always wore a hat and never went anywhere without carrying his watch and glancing at it now and then. He was obsessed with keeping track of time, as if he had millions of appointments to attend to; remnants from a bygone age during which he used to live in the city. He had told me once, that he used to work in the library of a very important institution, the name of which he refused, to this day, to reveal to me.

There were, however, rumors (weren't there always?) that the landlord himself had snatched him up from his comfortably situated life and brought him here, forced him to marry a girl from our village and gave him this building to run as a bookstore. Pierre now had three boys, all over ten years of age, who would help their father with transporting numerous books from one village to another, in order to enrich the collection of the store. His eldest was currently in the middle of negotiating a purchase of a series of encyclopedias in one of our neighboring settlements. He was expected to return by the end of the week.

All in all, I had decided that m. Pierre was an enigma of a being, since his origins were shrouded in mystery and, most importantly, he was set on not revealing any details of his past.

He did, however, allow for me to borrow the books in his store. An admirer of my love for reading, he didn't have it in his heart to deprive me of the pleasure of it.

As I let the two books down on the counter, I noticed the one book I wanted to borrow for some time now. It was a classic of sorts; a tale of how a beastly man found love, despite all odds, by a beautiful woman who could see the true beauty of people; a tale as old as time (and one of my favorites) about the ability to overcome external appearances and really see what was truly within.

I had borrowed it many times and still never bore of it; noticing my train of thought m. Pierre interrupted my musings:

'You know we are in dire need of some fresh eggs at home, Helene. What say you I sell that book to you for a dozen of your finest?' he was very discreet, I had to admit.

'Are you sure? It really doesn't matter that much.' I said hesitantly, a little bit of indignation flaring inside at the latent charity; I didn't like being in anyone's debt like that; it gave them power over me I despised.

He sensed my abstinence, though, and good-hearted as he was, started to reassure me:

'I really need the eggs, child, money isn't really as important when you have three grown men to feed at home.' He half-joked; his boys were, in fact, pretty enormous.

I smiled and accepted his offer, adding:

'Only if you let me give you some milk as well.'

He accepted gracefully and handed me the book. Silently trying to hide the excitement of actually owning one of my favorites, I took it and placed tenderly in my basket.

Now don't get me wrong, I did occasionally buy a book from the store; namely on special occasions such as birthdays or Christmas. But the few I had home, I had read at least four times each and that was the reason why I would borrow some now and then.

'Thank you very much m. Pierre. I will deliver the eggs and milk first thing tomorrow. Have a nice night!' I said exiting the store, the bell above the door ringing softly as I opened the door.

'Goodnight mlle. Helene! Give my best to your father!' he said in return, as the door shut firmly behind me.

I gestured for Azor to follow me. He had been waiting for me patiently by the door, lying on his fore paws. Pulling my hood up again above my head, I patted the faithful companion on the head lightly. My heart beating in delight at acquiring a new book, we set out into the night heading towards home.