Title: Love of a Beast (adapted by eva)
Author: eva
Email: lllwickedchildlll@yahoo.com
Summary: My version of the beautiful fairy tale "Beauty and the Beast".
Note: I'm not sure how people spoke back then but I did my best. This is a cross between the
Disney movie and the original tale. Hopefully, I don't put Beauty and the Beast to shame.
Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of WB, FOX, Mutant Enemy, and Joss...
I think. Beauty and the Beast belongs to whoever wrote it...
Feedback: What author doesn't enjoy feedback?
Part One
It was nothing short of a beautiful day. The trees towered overhead reaching majestically for the
heavens. Soft yellow sunlight filtered through the tree branches and gave the clearing an
ethereal glow. Grass, lush and green, were tickling my neck, not unpleasantly, and were probably
gathering in my hair. But it didn't matter. I was floating in my own piece of heaven, and here,
things like Riley Finn rarely mattered. Riley was becoming more and more annoying each day.
Half the village girls throwing themselves at his feet, swooning and giggling over his handsome
face, and he had to pick me as the girl of his dreams. That conceited, pompous... Sure he was
handsome but his personality was terrible. Here, I can forget about Riley and his fruitless
chasing. I could stay in my clearing forever and ever.
"Buffy! Buffy Summers, come and help your poor mother right this minute!" Damn. Forever is
much too short. I stood and gathered my skirts hurriedly, running towards my mother's voice,
suddenly remembering what day it was. I could hear her impatience a mile away. Joyce
Summers was not a woman to keep waiting for long.
I found her in front of our cottage, carrying a large painting covered with a brown cloth, struggling
to get it in our carriage. I stood there for a moment, watching her fumble, and still a little
breathless, I ran to help her. With one final heave, the stubborn painting was tucked safely into
the back of our carriage. My mother rested her arm on Darling's flank, other hand on her chest
and breathing hard. The wrinkles lining her lovely face seemed more defined somehow. I
suddenly remembered the last time she came home from her trips; her leg had been severely
sprained because she had fallen trying to keep a painting from falling from the carriage. She had
laughed at her own clumsiness, but that was when I realized more than ever how old she was,
how frail she will be. My father used to make the trips and shipments but ever since he died...
Today was my last day to try and get her to stay at home.
"Mother. I don't know why you don't let Xander deliver the painting. He offered to do it without
payment." The sun beat down on our backs and faces, and my mother's blonde and silver curls
(her hair, according to Joyce Summers, had been the cause of much envy in her younger days)
shone as she shook her head. She dusted at her long, blue skirt with her calloused hands; though
it looked as clean as it did earlier.
"Have you forgotten? Anya had a child a few days ago. He's a nice boy but I doubt he really
wants to leave his wife and newborn baby girl."
"Then let me do it." She smiled at me and plucked a stem of grass from my hair in the endearing
way only mothers can.
"Are you implying, child, that I am far too old to make this trip?" A warm flush crept into my
cheeks and the light in her blue eyes danced. "Buffy. I assure you, I can take care of myself. You
stay here and take care of the house. I'll be back before you know it. Have dinner ready when I
get back. Oh, and remember to hang up the wash. Wouldn't want your best dress to shrink."
That's my mother. Always efficient. She gave my cheek a peck with her dry lips and pulled
herself on top of Darling, our faithful horse. He was large and loving, if not a bit slow. I patted his
head and produced a carrot from my pocket, feeding him but really thinking about my mother.
This was absolutely the last time she was going to ship paintings. Next time, I'll do it.
Mother pulled on the reigns and Darling began trotting at his usual pace. My mother always
spoke of selling him and buying a younger horse but she didn't have the heart to do it. That's how
she is. "Remember the wash!" she yelled over her shoulder and waved to me once before
turning her attention to the dusty road.
"I won't foget, mother!" I yelled back. It wasn't until she disappeared over the horizon, back
straight and hair shining, that I felt a chill crawl down my spine.
Author: eva
Email: lllwickedchildlll@yahoo.com
Summary: My version of the beautiful fairy tale "Beauty and the Beast".
Note: I'm not sure how people spoke back then but I did my best. This is a cross between the
Disney movie and the original tale. Hopefully, I don't put Beauty and the Beast to shame.
Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of WB, FOX, Mutant Enemy, and Joss...
I think. Beauty and the Beast belongs to whoever wrote it...
Feedback: What author doesn't enjoy feedback?
Part One
It was nothing short of a beautiful day. The trees towered overhead reaching majestically for the
heavens. Soft yellow sunlight filtered through the tree branches and gave the clearing an
ethereal glow. Grass, lush and green, were tickling my neck, not unpleasantly, and were probably
gathering in my hair. But it didn't matter. I was floating in my own piece of heaven, and here,
things like Riley Finn rarely mattered. Riley was becoming more and more annoying each day.
Half the village girls throwing themselves at his feet, swooning and giggling over his handsome
face, and he had to pick me as the girl of his dreams. That conceited, pompous... Sure he was
handsome but his personality was terrible. Here, I can forget about Riley and his fruitless
chasing. I could stay in my clearing forever and ever.
"Buffy! Buffy Summers, come and help your poor mother right this minute!" Damn. Forever is
much too short. I stood and gathered my skirts hurriedly, running towards my mother's voice,
suddenly remembering what day it was. I could hear her impatience a mile away. Joyce
Summers was not a woman to keep waiting for long.
I found her in front of our cottage, carrying a large painting covered with a brown cloth, struggling
to get it in our carriage. I stood there for a moment, watching her fumble, and still a little
breathless, I ran to help her. With one final heave, the stubborn painting was tucked safely into
the back of our carriage. My mother rested her arm on Darling's flank, other hand on her chest
and breathing hard. The wrinkles lining her lovely face seemed more defined somehow. I
suddenly remembered the last time she came home from her trips; her leg had been severely
sprained because she had fallen trying to keep a painting from falling from the carriage. She had
laughed at her own clumsiness, but that was when I realized more than ever how old she was,
how frail she will be. My father used to make the trips and shipments but ever since he died...
Today was my last day to try and get her to stay at home.
"Mother. I don't know why you don't let Xander deliver the painting. He offered to do it without
payment." The sun beat down on our backs and faces, and my mother's blonde and silver curls
(her hair, according to Joyce Summers, had been the cause of much envy in her younger days)
shone as she shook her head. She dusted at her long, blue skirt with her calloused hands; though
it looked as clean as it did earlier.
"Have you forgotten? Anya had a child a few days ago. He's a nice boy but I doubt he really
wants to leave his wife and newborn baby girl."
"Then let me do it." She smiled at me and plucked a stem of grass from my hair in the endearing
way only mothers can.
"Are you implying, child, that I am far too old to make this trip?" A warm flush crept into my
cheeks and the light in her blue eyes danced. "Buffy. I assure you, I can take care of myself. You
stay here and take care of the house. I'll be back before you know it. Have dinner ready when I
get back. Oh, and remember to hang up the wash. Wouldn't want your best dress to shrink."
That's my mother. Always efficient. She gave my cheek a peck with her dry lips and pulled
herself on top of Darling, our faithful horse. He was large and loving, if not a bit slow. I patted his
head and produced a carrot from my pocket, feeding him but really thinking about my mother.
This was absolutely the last time she was going to ship paintings. Next time, I'll do it.
Mother pulled on the reigns and Darling began trotting at his usual pace. My mother always
spoke of selling him and buying a younger horse but she didn't have the heart to do it. That's how
she is. "Remember the wash!" she yelled over her shoulder and waved to me once before
turning her attention to the dusty road.
"I won't foget, mother!" I yelled back. It wasn't until she disappeared over the horizon, back
straight and hair shining, that I felt a chill crawl down my spine.