CHAPTER ONE: Behind That Fair Facade

Isabelle readjusted her basket as she stepped past the front porch and onto the road to the village. It was a little town, a very quiet village. But that wasn't because no one talked. No, they talked quite a bit. But they kept their voices hushed, and preferred to whisper behind each other's backs. Together they whispered of each other's personal businesses, of mysterious woods teeming with hungry wolves, of a castle run by ghosts, of a vanished prince, of a mischievous and fickle witch. They flocked to one another to spread tales and half-truths, mostly about whatever thing they found to be the strangest. Isabelle couldn't recall the last time she'd spoken to one of the villagers aside from the bishop, but they certainly talked about her.

"Look, it's her! The odd girl," whispered the baker as she walked passed his shop. "The funny young woman," replied his wife. "Oh, look, you can see her nose," said a farmer's wife, "It's not stuck in a book!" marveled her sister. "She is beautiful," remarked the candlestick maker to his brother. "Yes, but, she's just so peculiar…" his brother responded. "She'll never get a husband if she's reading all the time. What a strange girl," said the village busybody. The girls listening all nodded in sync. "She's nothing like the rest of us," commented a housewife. "Behind that fair facade, she just doesn't fit in."

Isabelle entered the village library, which was a spare room in the back of the church. It was a quiet room, dusty, in need of care. It had all of three bookshelves, and only two were full. The third was installed by the bishop himself after Isabelle became the first to keep reading the books. When she kept coming back, he began acquiring more, and it became a sort of library, the likes of which they only had in the city.

"Back again, my dear?"

Isabelle looked up and saw the bishop, his face clean and robes neatly washed. He was the most honorable and kind man in town, but him being a man of God, he never liked to talk much, and preferred praying. Isabelle thought he must lead a lonely life. Perhaps that was why he let her read all the books.

"Father DeLivres! Yes, I came to return the book I borrowed." She offered him the book.

He adjusted his spectacles. "You finished it already?"

Isabelle smiled. "I couldn't put it down. Have you got anything new?"

The bishop chuckled. "Not since yesterday."

Undeterred, Isabelle wandered over to the shelves and began perusing the books. She had already read everything on the shelf, yet her hand gravitated towards a familiar title, Eros and Psyche.

"I'll borrow this one, please."

The bishop regarded the book. An old Greek fantasy, one that he had plucked from a burned building in Athens. It was falling apart at the seams, covered in ashes and cinders, and several words were smudged or burned away. "Truly?" he asked. "You've already read it twice. And the condition it's in…"

"Yes, but it's my favorite. I would read it a thousand times."

Again, the bishop chuckled. "If you like it so much, it's yours." He pressed the book into Isabelle's hands.

Her eyes widened, joy bubbling in her chest. "But Father, I could never-"

"I insist. No one around here is going to read it. You may keep it until it falls apart."

Isabelle couldn't hold back the grin that sprouted on her face. A book all of her own. It was only most of the story, and it likely wouldn't keep into next month, but it belonged to her. "Thank you, Father, thank you!"

The moment she stepped out of the church, she stepped into the world of Eros and Psyche.

The din of a rifle shot echoed in the village. A duck plummeted to the cobblestone in the square.

"Nice shot, Gaston!" cried Lefou, the village idiot. Gaston blew away the smoke in from his rifle before twirling it in his palms and strapping it onto his back.

"I know," he replied, "I've never made a bad shot."

"Darn right!" Lefou affirmed. He scooped up the duck and stuffed it in the hunting bag before tottering over to Gaston. He towered over Lefou, with chiseled muscles and broad shoulders. He bright red tunic hugged his torso, highlighting his wide pectorals and perfect abs. His chin was sharp, his face was sturdy, his eyes were determined. All the ladies in the town were mad about him, and even Lefou couldn't resist his charms.

"Lefou, I've decided it's about time I take a wife, don't you think?"

Lefou felt his heart plummet like the duck Gaston shot from the sky. "Really? Who?"

Gaston palmed the top of Lefou's head and cranked his neck towards the village fountain. "I've got my eye on that little lady."

Lefou's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and jealousy. "The inventor's daughter?"

"That's the one," he affirmed. He shoved off Lefou's head from his hand and began to stride towards her.

"B-b-but, really? Her!?" Lefou asked, struggling to catch up.

"She's the most beautiful girl in town," Gaston reasoned. Lefou regarded her. He had to admit, the way her hair caught in the light was breathtaking, and her features were fair and lovely. Her hair was a light brown, airy and bouncy, with a stray hair that she had to keep tucking behind her ear. "If she's the most beautiful, that makes her the best. And don't I deserve the best?"

Lefou nodded vigorously. "Well, of course you do, but-"

"She's odd? If she's fair to look at, pleasurable in bed, and will bear me strong boys, she can read all day for all I care."

Lefou didn't like it. Why couldn't Gaston choose a woman who wasn't so odd and unnerving? Better yet, why couldn't Gaston just choose no one at all, and continue going on hunting trips with him?

While he was lost in his thoughts, Gaston had already made his way to the fountain. Lefou tottered to catch up, tiny legs carrying him and the heavy hunting bag as fast as they could.

"Isabella! Good to see you again!" Gaston greeted.

"Isabelle," she murmured, eyes still glued to the page.

"You know, I've just got back into town from my latest hunting trip. I've made quite a catch this time. How about this? I'll let you be the first to see it, hm?"

"That's nice," she murmured. Isabelle turned the page in her book. Gaston frowned.

He plucked the book from her hands, and held it up out of her reach. She let out a cry of panic, before turning cross.

"Gaston, return my book please," she stated coldly. He waved away her comment as he began carelessly tearing through the pages. It was falling apart, the pathetic thing.

"How can you read this?" he asked. As he flipped through rapidly, ashes flew up into the air and bits of the binding began to slip. "There's no pictures! And it's ugly and smoking."

Isabelle huffed. She was too short to reach up to Gaston's height, and she knew she would never beat him in a contest of strength. There was nothing she could do but pray he wouldn't hurt her fragile book any further.

He sighed, and tossed the book onto the ground. Isabelle let out a tiny shriek as she rushed to cradle her precious tale. It was covered in mud.

"Listen, Isabella-"

"My name is Isabelle."

"Right, well, why don't I just call you Bella? It's a cute name, right?

"Please don't call me that."

Gaston laughed heartily. "You don't have to worry. I won't let anyone else use the nickname. And since I'm the only one who calls you that, that makes me special!"

Isabelle fought the urge to slap him. She wiped off her book and set it in her basket. "I must be going home now. If you'll excuse me."

"Wait!"

"I'm glad your hunting trip went well, and that you and Lefou returned safely. Have a good day."

Gaston rushed ahead and stood right in front of her, blocking her path. He had an amused smile on his face, as if he thought it was all a game. "No, Bella, listen-"

She stopped, anger beginning to bubble. Why should she listen to him when he never listened to her? She asked him to return her book and he tossed it, she told him her name and he refused to use it. Whenever he talked to her, it was always to brag about himself. And every time she'd tried to talk to him about what she loved, he waved her aside. So what made him think she would want to listen to someone as conceited and arrogant as him?

But she said nothing. Instead, she smoothed her facial features into taught neutrality, expressionless as a brick wall.

Gaston was taken aback, and rather confused. She liked to use a lot of long words he couldn't understand, words that he didn't like because he couldn't understand them. But now she wasn't talking to him at all. He almost would have preferred the nerdy rant than this. Perhaps she was angry? He knew how to deal with angry women: apologize to them, just to placate them, and then like magic they're not mad anymore.

"Alright, you win. I'm sorry."

It was Isabelle's turn to be taken aback. Never had she heard Gaston apologize to anyone, much less to her. Thinking over it again, he was probably just proud about his accomplishments and wanted to share it. And he couldn't read very well, most people in town were illiterate. So maybe he just didn't know the proper way to care for a book. If he was apologizing, perhaps he wasn't so bad of a man after all.

"Fine, apology accepted. What did you want to talk about?"

Gaston released a breath of relief. Then, he sucked in another, and steeled his gaze.

He knelt on one knee.

The town gasped, and Isabelle's stomach plummeted into the ground.

"Isabella, dear Bella, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Whispers rose up around them in a circle. Lefou began biting his nails, looking as tense and distraught as Isabelle felt. She looked everywhere, to Gaston's haughty smirk, to the baker's stunned face, to the town gossiper's intense gaze. She knew what her answer would be, but with everyone staring, everyone judging and expectant and waiting, she didn't have to courage to say no.

But neither did she have the lack of good sense to say yes. Though today Gaston had apologized for his bouts of rudeness, he was still a boorish and arrogant man. She would rather be impaled by a sword than marry him. So she did what any sensible young woman in a horrid situation would do.

She ran.