My Belle is... a little different. And Lefou is not in the story... I was never a fan of annoyingly stupid side-kick characters.


CHAPTER 1

"Strange But Special"

On the far side of the misty, maze-like woods that lay practically upon the abandoned castle's great doorstep, a castle that was now the abode of the reclusive mermaid princess, just past a short stretch of rolling green hills, was a charming provincial village. Here, life was slow and predictable.

Every day ran to the same schedule, an almost exact replica of the day before—first thing in the morning, the baker would be trying to sell his freshest breads. Once the butcher opened up shop, it would be certain the local mongrels would be scavenging for a morsel. When the older ladies of the town gathered, the latest gossip would be passed back and forth. Every Sunday at 9 o clock precisely, the church bells rang, signalling to all that heeded the ways of the church that it was time to attend this week's sermon.

Almost all who lived in this town would attend or at least wish to attend—these were simple, God fearing peasants, desiring acceptance from and assimilation with their fellow, like-minded villagers. With the exception, however, of one particular family.

The Cartiers.

Despite having lived in the town for many years, they were often the mainstay of the local gossip; they were deemed "strange" by most, granted the unenviable title of The Village Outsiders.

Maurice, an ageing and somewhat scatterbrained inventor was seen by most as a crackpot. Harmless, but a crackpot nonetheless. His daughter however, regarded him as nothing less than a genius.

Her name was Belle, and she thought the world of her father—as he did of his only child. All they had were each other, and their tiny farmlet on the outskirts of town. Despite their failure to "fit in", Maurice still wanted this tranquil setting for his work. At least until the day his breakthrough invention brought them fame and hopefully fortune.

Belle spent most of her time reading, writing or practicing on her cherished violin. She was, in truth, a very gifted young woman with a greater and more diverse intellect than her father.

The townspeople should have been in awe, perhaps intimidated by, Belle's intelligence. But they cared none for it, if even they did notice. For she was a standout beauty—a tall, svelte brunette, who radiated farm-girl femininity.

Most of the townsfolk couldn't help but stare whenever she walked past. The men leering, the women shaking their heads and whispering such comments as: "It's a shame, with those looks, that she's not… normal," "She needs to get her head out of the clouds! She's only interested in her violin, or the latest book that she's reading. When will she settle down and marry a fine husband?" and "I don't understand half of what she says. Is it her idea of humour…?"

Largely unaware, or at least trying to ignore the glances and whispers, Belle tried to remain as aloof as possible from the small minded townsfolk—which only added to her mystique. But she was always polite and courteous, even toward her worst detractors—as was her nature.

She constantly dreamed of the day when her father, along with her help, attained his breakthrough, thus becoming a renowned inventor nationwide, as she too could perhaps finally achieve her own dream: attending a music school.

But until the seemingly far off day, Belle would just have to indulge herself in her imagination as she read, or immerse herself in work around the home. She was very efficient when it came to chores around the farm, as she wanted her father to spend as much time as possible in the basement, tinkering with his latest invention; hence, she always was the one to undertake the hard work. Not that she minded; for many years she had, and was now quite capable.

Kind and thoughtful, she also knew that her father was not in the best of health, and always made sure that he never even attempted any strenuous work—though Maurice often argued that Belle was fussing over him.

One mild autumn morning, a day as ordinary as any other, Belle left her cottage early to undertake some errands in town.

As always, she was followed closely behind by her adored feline companion, a black, fluffy moggy by the name of Cheeky; named so for he had a mischievous face. He was however, a placid and affectionate tom, in truth never having hunted a single creature in his life. Food was the main focus in his existence—he was quite the glutton, and therefore quite hefty. But he loved Belle deeply, never wanting to be far from her, often sleeping at night practically upon her face.

As they crossed the small stone bridge that separated their land from town, Belle was delighted to witness two Swablus flurry past.

They were rare, blue-coloured birds, undeniably cute with pure, cottony wings.

The Swablu pair chirped merrily as they flew past. Belle, a lover of all creatures great and small, held a finger up, bending it horizontally in hope that a Swablu might land upon it.

Not this morning however, as the birds continued on their way, possibly searching for a body of water in which to clean their wings. Cheeky followed their flight path with his gaze briefly—merely out of playfulness.

The sun had not warmed the earth long before Belle had reached the main street of town, but already it was a hub of activity.

"Good morning, Belle," the baker greeted as she strode past.

"Good morning, Monsieur!" she answered, politely and cheerfully, her gaze seeming distant but her smile sincere. Immediately, she became momentarily distracted by the array of freshly-baked goods that the baker was carefully balancing on a large metal tray. Even Cheeky stopped dead in his tracks to sniff at the enticing aroma.

"Mmm, fresh batards," Belle murmured, admiring the delicious breads.

"Where are you off to this time of the day?" the baker inquired out of curiosity.

Belle's eyes lit up as her gaze returned to the baker. She was about to speak about one of her favourite subjects—books.

"The bookshop!" she answered brightly, fetching a book from within the small basket that looped around her forearm. "I've just read the most amazing tale, the latest in my favourite series... in this one, with the help of a magical imp, the hero can transform into a wolf!"

The baker should have known. Of course Belle would be heading toward the bookshop! He suddenly became disinterested, rolling his eyes a little as he tried to dismiss her as politely as he could.

"An imp that can transform into a wolf, you say? That's… nice. Oh dear me, I do believe I have a customer waiting over there…"

Belle shrugged and smiled to herself. "Oh well, it's your loss."

No one else in town seemed to care for the world of books. Not the fictional variety, anyway. How could they not, though? Belle often wondered. There was adventure, romance, magic, good versus evil… had they no imaginations?

As Belle entered the bookshop, the book keeper was not surprised at all to see his most frequent customer. "Ah, if it isn't Mademoiselle Cartier," he greeted with a tone full of both fondness and familiarity. "If it wasn't for you, I'd be out of business!"

Belle rolled her eyes playfully. "If I ate a croissant for every time you said that, I'd be the size of a house. Anyway, I've come to return the book I borrowed yesterday." She then informed, handing him the book, before heading straight toward the shelves.

The book keeper smiled. "Finished already? Is that a new record?"

"Actually, I think it's equal to a record," Belle said, smiling back. "Although, I didn't think to time myself." Gesturing toward the book the keeper was now grasping, she then added: "That one, I couldn't put down. You know I love those books. And the twist with Midna at the end... Wow!" She glanced back toward the shelves. "Anything new?"

Still smiling, the book keeper shook his head. "Since yesterday? Wishful thinking, I should say."

"A girl can dream, can't she?"

The book keeper laughed, always marvelled by Belle's enthusiasm.

"Not to worry," Belle began again, trailing the binders of several books with an outstretched index finger. "I'll just borrow…" Her eyes quickly became affixed upon a book titled 'The Legend of Zelda'.

"…this one!"

She handed it to the book keeper eagerly.

"That one? You've already read it half a dozen times."

"Well, it's the original in the series, and my all time favourite! Mythical lands, mythical beasts… an epic struggle between good and evil that spans time… an endearing elf boy and a beautiful princess…"

Belle gestured as she spoke, feigning swordplay, as if she herself were the Hero of Time that was the central character of this particular novel.

The book keeper watched her energetic display and laughed again. "If you like it that much… then it's yours. Keep it."

Belle was surprised—but pleasantly so. "But sir… I really don't…"

"I insist!" The book keeper said, touching Belle's arm as she began to exit the bookshop. "As long as you remember, you're a little tall to be playing the role of an elf-boy… and also… well, female."

Belle smiled in a silly, sarcastic manner. "Thanks. I'll try to remember that."

She promptly began on her way through town again, calling out to the book keeper, without facing him entirely, and then to Cheeky:

"In all seriousness, though, thank you, sir. C'mon, Cheeky! Time to go food shopping. Try to control yourself when we get there, OK?"

As she continued through the busy streets, people watched and whispered as always.

One young man in particular watched Belle more closely than the others—his name was Gaston, and he was a handsome and muscular hunter, deemed the town's most eligible bachelor by all of the young ladies. Except Belle, the only resident in town who saw through to Gaston's true nature. In her eyes, he was nothing more than a vain, vacuous braggart, yet remarkably, every single other villager failed to notice this.

Both men and women alike practically worshipped him—he was the town hero. He constantly had a stream of shallow girls following him around, as well as his oafish 'yes-men' cronies, all of who hoped some of Gaston's charisma and popularity would rub off on them.

This bright autumn morning, Gaston was ogling Belle as he always did, large hunting gun in hand—his ever present symbol of utmost masculinity. A handful of other young men, neither as attractive nor as powerful as their idol, loitered close to him.

As Belle moved closer toward them through the bustling marketplace, Gaston remarked to no-one in particular, "There she is, boys. The woman who is going to be my wife."

Several sets of young male eyes fixed on Belle, but none with a gaze as intense as Gaston's.

The young woman at which they collectively stared was grasping a book in one hand, reading whilst she walked, and held a buttered croissant in the other, which was obviously her breakfast.

"The Cartier girl?" A lanky lad with thin, shoulder length mousy hair questioned. "Sure, Gaston, well, what red-blooded male wouldn't want a piece of her, but marry her? I mean…"

Gaston's head turned sharply, his eyes piercing through the boy. "Want a piece of her, do you?"

The mousy haired lad panicked, throwing up his hands defensively. "No! No, of course not! I just meant…"

Another of the young men stepped forward, this one heavier and freckle-faced. "What Christophe is trying to say…" he began, to the aid of the previous blatherer beside him, "is that we all know she's gorgeous, Gaston. But… I don't know about marriage material. She's a little… what's the weird…?"

"…Queer?" Christophe finished with a feeble shrug. Gaston sneered at both of them.

"Thanks for your concern. But I don't think reading and playing a musical instrument make her queer." He glanced back toward Belle's direction.

She was now well on her way home, still managing to, almost clumsily, balance her book and her breakfast.

"Besides… when she's my wife I can have 'a piece' of her whenever I want. Isn't that the point of marriage?"

The young men pondered the question, all of them obviously still bachelors. From the smiles that soon formed upon their faces, it was evident that they enthusiastically agreed with Gaston.

Gaston grinned lecherously. "Exactly. Now if you'll excuse me," he faced his protégés in order to bid them goodbye, "A certain girl is in need of my attention."

With that, he strutted off.

"Good luck!" Christophe called out, eager to make amends for his earlier blunder.

"Not that he'll need it," Ramon, the frumpy freckled one, quietly added.

Caught up in the endearing elf boy's epic adventures in Hyrule, Belle failed to notice that she was being followed.

She was nearly home, just about to cross the stone bridge, when Gaston leapt in front of her. He smiled as brightly as possible, grasping his gun with both hands.

Cheeky hissed and backed up against Belle's legs, and Belle, at last, glanced up—nearly choking on a mouthful of croissant when she did so.

"Hello, Belle," Gaston announced with booming confidence.

"Uhh… ahem. Bonjour Gaston," she cleared her throat as she answered him as politely as possible, despite her utter dislike of the man.

She then brushed crumbs from her clothes and tapped her chest with some force in order to aid the semi-stuck buttery flakes of her croissant downward. As she side-stepped Gaston non-chalantly, Belle then took another bite of her breakfast, as she continued the path homeward.

But the persistent Gaston stepped in front of her again, snatching the book rudely from her hands, a smug grin upon his face.

The brisk action caused Belle to drop her half eaten-breakfast into a nearby mud puddle.

"Oops, sorry about that. But those things are really fatty, aren't they? Can't have you losing your figure." Gaston pretended to flick through the book as he spoke, though he was really eyeing Belle's curves.

Belle felt her anger rise. "That's alright. Coincidentally I've suddenly lost my appetite anyway." She moved forward with haste, intending to retrieve her book. "Can I have my book back, please?"

Gaston stretched his arm out sideways, hoping Belle would lean across him as she attempted to claim her book back. Instead, she took a step backward and crossed her arms, glaring at the brute.

"Tsk, tsk," Gaston shook his head in false concern. "The whole town is talking about you, you know. They say it's not right for a woman to read so much, that it's not… normal."

"Normal?" Belle repeated, arms still crossed. "When did I profess to be normal?"

Gaston ignored her subtle, self-demeaning humour. "Why waste your time with these things?" he said of the book, eyeing it with contempt.

"The only thing you need to think about is right here in front of you—you can't argue that I'm Grade 'A' husband material!"

With a dazzling smile, he tossed Belle's book to the ground and attempted to slide his arm around her shoulders, but Belle gracefully dodged his advance and hastily plucked her book from upon the dirt, dusting it clean as she became upright.

"That depends on what the 'A' stands for. Abhorrent, audacious, antipathetic…" she remarked somewhat casually, knowing Gaston would have no understanding of the adjectives used.

In fact, he interpreted them as compliments. "Why, you flatterer. And may I say you are quite arboraceous yourself!"

Belle rolled her eyes, but couldn't help smiling to herself. It was obvious Gaston was trying to impress her, but his incorrect use of vocabulary only hindered more so his dismal attempt at wooing.

"Say… why don't we wonder over to the tavern for a while?" Gaston began again, strutting cockily around the bemused Belle.

"Little early for a drink, isn't it?"

Gaston laughed heartily. "Not if you say so. My shout."

"Sure is tempting," Belle began with well hidden sarcasm as she turned toward home again, "But I'm afraid I'm rather busy. Maybe some other time," she then finished, struggling to feign sincerity.

Still persisting, Gaston grabbed her arm and attempted to turn her back around, pulling her closer to him and closer toward town. Hastily, Belle shook her arm free and shot a frown at him.

"Gaston, I can't! I have to get home to help my father. He's expecting me any minute. Go and get drunk by yourself, hmmm?"

Although her tone was faintly humorous, Belle was becoming quite livid. Gaston was one of the most infuriating individuals she had ever met.

Why, of all the young village women, did he choose to pursue me? We clearly have nothing in common. Why can't he obsess over someone else…

Belle's thoughts were harshly interrupted by the rich, booming voice of her antagonist.

"You know Belle, you're a strange one alright. Just like your father."

With that comment, Belle instantly became furious. "Don't you dare speak of my father that way!"

Gaston threw up a hand defensively. "Hey, whoa, I didn't mean it that way. It's good… it keeps things… interesting."

I don't want you to find me interesting. Forcing herself to calm down, Belle stated, simply and coolly: "My father isn't strange. He's a mechanical genius."

With impeccable timing, a loud explosion shook the ground, and smoke billowed out from the basement door of a nearby cottage—Belle's cottage.

Belle slapped her forehead. "Oh no, not again!"

She quickly sprinted off, Cheeky following close behind.

Gaston stared after her, his gaze intense, his brow slightly furrowed, his gloved hands clutching his magnificent hunting gun tightly.


"Are you alright, Papa? That was the third explosion this week!" Belle spoke into the thick smoke as she descended the basement stairs, trying to clear the air with rapid sideways movements of her right hand as she did so.

Maurice, her father, was sitting beside his latest invention with a rather shocked expression upon his smoke blackened face.

"Consarn it! Just when I think I have this thing figured out, it blows up in my face! I can't win." He stood up, dusting himself off hastily. Kicking the large machine in frustration, he grumbled, "Stupid bloody hunk of junk!"

This latest attempt at a fame winning invention looked somewhat like a large coal stove with a chair attached, with many gears, levers and pulleys gluing it all together. Jutting out of the front of the machine was a gleaming woodchopper's axe—which was the key element to the invention.

Maurice had wanted to create a contraption that made the usually gruelling and tedious task of chopping firewood much easier; first of all for his hard working daughter. But it wasn't exactly coming together at this point in time…

"Yeah, yeah. If I had a gold coin for every time you said that…" Belle couldn't help but smile as she spoke. More than anything, she was just relieved to have her father in one piece.

Maurice began to smile also. "Now, don't start…"

Belle always managed to help him see the brighter side of life. She could always make him laugh, bring a smile to his face… and she'd done so ever since she was capable of talking.

Returning their attention to the uncooperative invention, Belle then asked: "What seems to be the problem this time?"

"Well, it's… ummm, it's… uhhh…" Maurice scratched his head as he dragged the sentence out.

"Take a look at it, shall I?" Belle offered, though she was already moving toward the machine as she spoke, knowing very well that her father would want her to evaluate the situation.

Cheeky leapt high onto a nearby window sill, eyeing Maurice's invention curiously.

Sliding underneath the cumbersome contraption, Belle requested of her father, "Here, pass me the 9 inch spanner, please."

Fumbling around in a close by toolbox, Maurice couldn't help but grin to himself. Everyone thought it was he who was the alleged brains behind the inventions, but it was always Belle who ironed out all of the faults.

"Did you have a good time in town today?" Maurice inquired as he passed his daughter the required tool.

"Oh, yeah. It was riveting. I was harassed by Gaston, who made me drop my breakfast in the mud." Belle replied sarcastically from underneath the machine, her voice echoing slightly. "Oh, I did get a new book though, so I suppose it wasn't a complete loss. Well not so much a new book… 'The Legend of Zelda'—you know that one, right? The book keeper gave it to me. It was really sweet of him…"

"Oh?" Maurice placed his hands on his hips. "That's the one with the pointy eared people, right? Good story. I quite like that Link fellow."

Belle slid back out from underneath the invention. "The Hero of Time? Yeah…" She said softly, sitting up. Carefully, she leaned back against the machine, casting her eyes downward upon the spanner, which was still in her hand. Beginning to fiddle with the tool absent-mindedly, Belle then sighed heavily.

Maurice immediately grew concerned. "What's wrong? Please tell me its fixable…" he asked, referring to his invention.

Belle smiled at him nervously. "Oh no, it's not that…" Her expression then became one of serious concern.

"Papa… do you think there's something wrong with me?"

"Wrong?" Maurice was stunned by the question. "Whatever do you mean?"

Belle shrugged. "I know I'm not like other girls," she began, avoiding eye contact momentarily. "It sounds silly, but… well, for example, with 'The Legend of Zelda', most girls would imagine themselves as the beautiful princess… but I always imagine myself as the Hero of Time."

Despite his daughter's sombre mood change, Maurice couldn't help but laugh. "That's it? Just as long as you don't imagine yourself as the villain, it's fine by me!"

At this comment, Belle managed a smile. "Don't worry, I don't have any villainous tendencies. But it's not just that…"

"What else?"

"People talk… all the time. I'm not naïve. I know the townspeople think I'm strange. Gaston even had the nerve to tell me I'm not 'normal' to my face."

Maurice sighed. He knew that deep down, despite her independence, that Belle craved a sense of belonging.

"People talk about me, too. It's like they have nothing better to do! And why let Gaston bother you? I know he's a handsome fellow, but his manner leaves a lot to be desired."

Belle smirked a little. "He's handsome? I never really noticed."

Maurice chuckled quietly. He had assumed that Belle was merely being sarcastic, but in fact she wasn't. However, she wasn't being entirely literal either.

Noticing her father's bemused expression, Belle shrugged again. "What? I meant, I can see straight through him… can only see his ugliness. Never mind… I know what I mean."

Maurice continued to smile at his daughter. "As long as you do," He let escape a slight chuckle. "But, really sweetheart, you shouldn't let their comments get to you. Come now, you must know you're the sanest person in this house!"

Maurice's attempt at a compliment was a bit of a misfire.

Belle frowned slightly at him, although a tiny smile also grew upon her face. "Ummm, thanks." She glanced sideways, catching Cheeky out of the corner of her eye, the fluffy feline now lazing groggily upon the window sill. "Hear that Cheeky? Papa thinks you're crazy. He said it, not me!" Belle laughed lightly, but Cheeky didn't register the 'insult' at all. He just yawned widely, and then half heartedly began to lick his front paws.

"Don't turn the cat against me!" Maurice joked, gently helping Belle to her feet.

Though she was his offspring, Belle towered over her short, balding and somewhat rotund father. If a stranger were to look at them, they would have never guessed the two were related. But they did share a scientific intelligence, one that helped them bond and share such situations as this—namely, tinkering with the latest family invention.

Belle tried to shake off her currently solemn mood by encouraging her father to try again. "Well, it should be alright now." She informed, placing her hand upon the machine's side. "Why don't you give it another go?"

"Errr, OK…"

Maurice cautiously grasped his hand around the starter lever. In a quick motion he yanked it downward, and the contraption noisily whirred to life.

Backing away, he placed his hands over his ears, half expecting another explosion. Belle however, stood on the spot, arms folded in a confident manner, a manner she would usually only exhibited in front of her father.

To Maurice's surprise and then joy, the invention began to work properly. Gears shifted effortlessly, pulleys linked sections of the engine without snapping or stopping, coals burned brightly, steam whistled… and axe thrusted. Up and down it chopped, splitting the logs of wood that were accurately stacked in front of the machine in no time.

Firewood flew all around the room, mostly harmlessly crashing into nearby walls.

"Hey, you did it!" Belle exclaimed joyfully to her father. "I knew you could."

"Uh, yes…" Maurice scratched his head again. "I… I did do it, didn't I? Heh heh."

Just then, a stray piece of wood zoomed past, missing Maurice's head by centimetres. "Well, uh… it's nearly perfect," he said, backing away from the invention just a little more.

"Perhaps you could wear a helmet?" Belle quipped.

Maurice was too excited to register the comment, however. "Sweetheart, could you hitch up Phillipe? It's time to take this show on the road! I'm already a little behind schedule."

In no time at all, Belle had made ready their sturdy Clydesdale, Phillipe, the invention safely tied down in an ageing wooden cart behind him. Maurice was already astride the huge horse, adjusting himself as necessary.

"Are you sure you'll be alright, Papa? The fair is a long distance away, and you know the woods can be dangerous…"

"Oh Belle, stop fussing! The woods are fine in the daytime; I should be through them by nightfall. Besides, I've got Phillipe here! He'll look after me, won't you, m'boy?" Maurice patted the steed's great head, and Phillipe neighed in appreciation. "Well, I best be going."

Maurice flicked the reins, signalling for Phillipe to begin their journey. "The inventor's fair awaits!" He shouted cheerfully to his daughter, who was bidding Maurice farewell, standing several metres from the front door of their home, Cheeky sitting on the ground beside her feet.

"Goodbye, Papa. Be careful, OK? I know you'll bring home the blue ribbon!" Belle waved, and then waited until her father had disappeared completely from sight before returning, along with Cheeky, back inside the humble cottage.