*IMPORTANT Author's Note*

Hey all! So I have decided, for the sake of this story to alter the original story of BatB a bit, which means that I have also altered Chapter 1 of this story. So, before you read this, please go back and read the new and improved version of "An Unwelcome Guest" as it will help a lot in the later chapters...

Chapter 2

"You can't make me! I'm not a child anymore!" Clara was furious. Not only was her father treating her like a little girl without a mind of her own, but he was asking her—no, ordering her—to accompany him to his meeting. "Why are you trying to make me do this?" she cried, confused and angry at his tyrannical tone.

"How do you expect me to treat you as an adult when you are as ignorant as a child?" he shot back, scathingly. "It is common knowledge that Charles Newport, President of Newport Advertising, the man with whom I will be meeting tomorrow, looks far more favorably on a pretty face than a haggard old one like mine. You are coming for your looks only. If he thinks he might be getting you as part of the deal, he might be more accepting."

A thousand retorts flew to her mind as she absorbed his last comment, however, she was incapable of vocalizing any of them. Despite his despicable intent and disgusting manner, her father had just admitted, not directly of course, that she was pretty. Granted, it wasn't much of a compliment, but to a girl who had been viewed her entire life as a pitiful mistake on the part of her parents, not intelligent enough or charismatic enough to make anything of herself—her father's words precisely—to be told that she was pretty enough to be a bargaining tool was astounding. Before she could make any sort of reply, however, her father continued in a patronizing manner.

"You will neither say nor do anything that would jeopardize our ability to make this deal. Better yet, you will say nothing at all, only acting servile and demur. Understand? And you will dress yourself up in the most alluring"—he spat the word out—"outfit you own. Remember, your presence in this meeting is merely to add to the overall appeal of the bargain, and you will do nothing—I repeat, nothing—to detract from the bargain. Do you fully understand me?"

And leaving the question unanswered, made to exit her apartment, before stopping himself momentarily and saying in an undertone,

"Oh, and here's your present. Don't bother thanking me." And with that endearing message, he dropped a small, unwrapped box on the table near the door, before rushing out of her apartment without a backward glance. What a rotten Christmas, Clara thought disgusted. She rose from her position on the sofa, and walked in a daze to the kitchen, where she pulled out a half-empty coke, and downed the rest in one swig. Sugar, check. She stopped at her cabinet on the way out of the kitchen. Opening its wooden door, she grabbed the bottle of Advil from the bottom shelf. Pouring out two into her hand, she downed them dry, hoping to stop the painful ache in her head. Advil, check. She walked out of the kitchen after placing the bottle back in the cabinet and made her way through the dining room/sitting room area to her bedroom. Opening the doors to her closet, she began to sort through her meager assortment of dresses, finally pulling out a red on that her aunt had given her last Christmas. She had never worn it; the price tag was still attached, but it was the least modest dress she owned. Although the logical part of her mind was screaming, You don't have to do this! Just say NO! the rest of her mind, the part that had been conditioned at an early age to obey her father was resigned to do her duty as the obedient daughter. She set the dress down on her bed and slumped next to it. Outfit, check. Sitting upright once more, she hurried through the sitting room to the kitchen once more, following a growing craving. Opening the freezer, she assessed her options: cookie dough? Oreo mint? Cherry Garcia? Spying a carton in the very back, she pulled it out. Double Fudge Chocolate Brownie. Perfect, she thought, and grabbing a spoon and returning to the couch in her sitting room. Ice Cream, check.

"AAARRGG!" and with an almighty crash, another mirror shattered, and fell to the floor. So far, Nathaniel had broken all but one of the mirrors in hallway, once his most treasured room in his spacious townhouse. That one mirror was the only one he would not break, for rather than revealing his hideous face, it showed him anything he wished to see. This mirror was the only other gift given to him by the enchantress other than the rose, the only gift he treasured, for although he was an arrogant, stuck-up womanizer, he had the uncanny ability to accept reality.

Nathaniel did not believe that he would be returning to the life he once knew. He was fairly certain there was not a single woman on the face of the earth who could love him for who he was, and he was absolutely positive that he was incapable of falling in love. Therefore, he reasoned, he would never escape his imprisonment. This finality rendered the mirror invaluable to him, for it was the only way that he would be able to see what was happening in the outside world. The mailman had stopped coming, and the Internet connection at his house had failed. The first thing he had tried when his transformation had ceased was to access his computer. However, upon opening his laptop, the entire device had fallen apart, and the screen had split in two. Nathaniel had stared out his window for hours as the people passed in front of his house. Before the transformation, tourists had stopped regularly in front his majestic house, often pausing to take photos of each other in front of its columned façade. However, since the enchantress' visit, no one stopped to gape, no tourists snapped photos. It was as though the entire house had disappeared off the face of the earth.

Nathaniel had always liked Christmas. Not for the birth of Christ—he was an atheist—not for the food—although the roast beef had always been particularly delicious that day—but for the presents. Not that they were a surprise of course; Nathaniel bought them all for himself. The last true gift he had received was a pair of socks from his father. Not the most memorable present, but as it was the only one, it stuck in his mind. No, all the presents that sat under the plastic tree on Christmas morning had been bought by Nathaniel for himself the week before, and wrapped by his many servants on Christmas Eve. Perhaps it was a sick-minded celebration, Nathaniel reasoned, but he knew that if he did not by himself presents, there would be none under the tree. This Christmas had been different. This Christmas was filled with pain and agony as his transformation took place. Slender fingers turned to claws, his straight nose to a furred muzzle, and his pristine white teeth to fangs. That night had been spent cooped in his room, alternately pacing the floor, occasionally smashing a desk or tearing a curtain with a densely furred fist, and curling into a fetal position in the darkest corner of the room.

Now it was morning, and Nathaniel had woken at the crack of dawn, an unusual circumstance for him, to see a red painted sky and a large orange sun that seemed to burn hole into his very soul. After that, Nathaniel had yanked the curtains shut, and flung open the door of his room. He tore through the house, closing every window against the sun. He was just beginning to wonder where his plethora of servants had disappeared to when he glimpsed his hall of mirrors. He crept closer, apprehensively glancing into the mirrors, scared of what he would see. However, at the first sight of brown fur, he flung out his paw, shattering the pane before him. And so the path of destruction continued. Nathaniel would venture forward before glimpsing himself, his hideous self, in the mirror, upon which he would smash the reflective surface scattering the floor with shards as the gold plated frame fell of its hook to the ground with a loud thud. He continued, and soon with each shattered mirror an animalistic cry of rage and frustration would escape his lips. At long last, he had shattered every single mirror save the small, round, silver-backed mirror that lay innocently on the round table at the end of the hall. He reached out a hand—excuse me, paw—and turned over the delicate mirror. The surface was blank, but as his whispered, "Show me my father," The surface swirled with a blood red hue and an image of a short, balding man sitting behind a large desk swam into focus. The man was staring, captivated by something or someone just out of sight of the mirror, and he nervously ran a hand over the sparsely haired surface of his head. Suddenly the object of his father's discomfort came into view: the profile of a girl in her early twenties, with a pretty face and thick, brown hair and a curved form. A tall man in his late fifties rushed up to his father's desk, blocking the girl from Nathaniel's view. Suddenly, Nathaniel flung the mirror across the room, where it hit the wall with a dull thud, and clattered to the ground, unbroken. Nathaniel turned away, raking his claws through his thick mane of hair. Of all the comforts of the world, what Nathaniel missed the most was the sight of a pretty face.

So, again, hope you all enjoyed it. I certainly enjoyed writing it...

savethemadscientist: glad i didn't disappoint. and yes, he is an ass. thank you for reviewing (again) your comments are what keep me going...thanks

Lauren: thank you! i don't think there's much else to say, but thank you!

MJ: thank you so much for reviewing. and yes, you should break that bad habit...i do not plan on stopping writing, but hopefully i will get more reviews regardless...they help to guilt trip me when i get too lazy to keep going. I'm glad you like the story, i try my best to be original, but sometimes other influences slip in. sad, but unavoidable. again, thank you for reviewing! keep it up! =P

Mickeygee: thank you for reviewing. actually, i don't think his dad cares all that much about what happens to him. despicable, but true...thanks for the input though. and yes, his lifestyle will be rather altered, although we really only have clara to thank for that...ok, enough hints, but i hope you keep reading, its really helpful in keeping me motivated =]

Again, thanks to all those who reviewed! you make my day! as for those of you who are reading my story and not reviewing, shame on you! well, you know the drill, please R&R!

A-N