AN: I really just wanted to see how this goes.. not entirely sure where this is going to take me or if anyone is interested in a story like this, but any thoughts would be appreciated.
Ch1: Uncertain & Alone
"Promise me Belle. You must promise me."
Her mother's fevered words rang in her mind with clarity.
"But mama, I don't understand."
"You must never let anyone find out. Ever. I know this is difficult child, but your father and I won't always be there to protect you. You can never let anyone know."
Tears streamed down her face as she remembered the words. She hadn't understood as a child what was so different about her. No concept that she was abnormal. But as she had grown, she started to understand the level of her difference and that it wouldn't much matter she was born that way.
But she grew up loved and protected. Her mother and father doting on her. She'd had everything she could want.
Until the fire.
She breathed deeply trying to hold back the flood of tears. She wiped angrily at the moisture on her face. She never cried, and didn't want to start now. Her hand lingered a moment wincing as she came in contact with the unfamiliar feel of rough cropped hair.
Her hair now.
For a moment she indulged in the feeling of loss. The long brown tresses that once graced her shoulders, now completely gone. No. Taken.
Shivering, she shook off her thoughts. It was too cold to think of such things now, though a part of her thought how warm and comforting her hair would have been at such a time.
Still, there was no use in dwelling. If she was to survive, she had to be someone different now. She'd cast away the last of Belle and truly become Ben. It wasn't as if the name was new to her. Growing up the children teased her for her masculine features, calling her Ben; the shortened version of her last name Benoit. At least until her thirteenth birthday.
That summer she had changed.
Her features softened some, cheeks became rosy, complexion smoothed, brown hair took on a honeyed sheen, waist slimed from baby fat, her breasts had nearly doubled in size, and her hips started to flare. Yes, she had quite transformed, though she never thought of herself as particularly beautiful.
It was that same summer her mother had sat her down and told her the facts of life. How men and women were different, how their bodies would grow and change, and of course exactly how babies were made.
The moment replayed in her head now.
"Mama. I don't understand. How can this be?"
Her mother had stared at her long and hard. It frightened her a little.
"Darling. This is confusing right now, but you know you are different. I have told you this before. You are so wonderful and special. But not everyone will see it that way. This is why I have told you keep yourself a secret. You must never be with a man."
Her mother cried. Belle still didn't fully grasp what her mother was telling her.
"I can never have babies?"
She had been heartbroken to learn this. She didn't care much for boys, but to one day have children of her own was one of her greatest desires.
"Oh, my sweet. I know it's unfair. But promise me Belle. You must promise me. Never let anyone know."
The words hurt then even though she hadn't truly understood them. Now, in wake of recent days, she was glad she had listened and avoided the fallout for as long as she had.
And after her parent's death, no one ever called her Belle. But now, perhaps it was best to forget Belle existed and live as Ben.
"Mama. I'm sorry it didn't last."
The whispered words carried away, lost among the dark forest. Night was creeping in once more, and Belle felt afraid. She'd barely made it the past two nights, and the weather had been fairer then. Now snow covered, the damp ground was leaking into her worn shoes.
Icy wind whipped around her. Her tattered, borrowed coat was large, yet it did little to buffer the chill. And the pants she wore now, also too big, ballooned around her, seeming to fill more with cold air rather than keeping it out.
She needed shelter.
"Mama. Help me. Please help me."
It was beyond reason to think the words would do more than serve to comfort her, but the act of talking to her mother was so ingrained, Belle couldn't imagine not voicing her concerns.
In the years after the fire, under the cruel and watchful eyes of the Lefou family, Belle had sought comfort in speaking to her mother and father. Dead though they were, she felt as if they could hear her. She would tell them of her day, seek guidance on bad days, share in the joy of her good ones.
When a strong wind pushed her forward, she believed perhaps it was her mother giving aid.
"This way?"
The wind twisted nudging her, changing direction ever so slightly once in a while. Belle knew it was madness to follow the wind. She had to be crazy to think it was her mother guiding her. But in her heart, she felt it was.
Night slithered in around her, the cold became more bitter, and it felt hours that Belle had been walking. She was scared now this was it. Then end of her; surely, she would not last through the night.
But as she stumbled forward a vision opened up to her. Iron gates covered with vines seemed to spring up in front of her. Had they been there a moment before? Had she been so distressed, she simply had not noticed?
As she walked closer, the trees seemed to fall away and a large castle loomed above her like a dark mountain. Her eyes widened at the grandeur of the scene before her.
The castle must have been several stories tall, six, maybe seven. Towers with sharp spires seemed to pierce the sky. Though dark and overgrown with vines and weeds, she was surprised to see the building itself was still in rather good shape.
Was it abandoned?
Surely not?
But if not, why was it so dark? So overgrown?
Pushing lightly at the gate they creaked open and clanged loudly behind her after she passed through. It felt some time had passed before she made her way to the actual doors of the castle. And what doors they were. Large, nearly two stories alone. Gargoyle knockers the size of her head adorned them.
Her hand reached out tentatively, but before she could knock, they opened.