Hi everyone! This chapter is short and sweet ( like me!) because I need to plan the next few chapters. We're getting to the bit in the movie where Belle and the Beast suddenly start to like eachother and theres lots of little blissful scenes where they're having a snowball fight and eating porridge together. Awwwwwwwwww! Very sweet, but soooooo not gonna work in this version. So I need to do some thinking. In the meantime, I hope this will suffice for a few days while I get some inspiration.

Disclaimer:- Basic Plot-property of Disney. Words and waffle-property of me.


Morris walked through the forest as if in a trance. His arms hung loosely by his sides, his eyes stared straight ahead and his legs were heavy and slow. His brain had yet to fully comprehend what had just happened and so he walked as if asleep and in the middle of some strange fuzzy unconsciousness. He hardly felt the leaves that trailed across his face or the sun that lazily warmed his thinning scalp. The pleasant weather could do nothing to thaw the numbness within his spirit as he made his way to the village.

In the distance, he could see the main street. It was eerily quiet for such a sunny day. He had never really appreciated the sun before now. Its golden glow lit up the road much better than any lamp could and the flowers lined in rows seemed to lean towards it as if yearning for its caress. Its amazing what a few hours locked in a tiny room can do for your perception.

His mind finally allowed him to contemplate the events that had occurred. He had spent the night in a strange house in the woods with nothing but a madman and rats for company. He had been fed bread and water as if he was in some medieval dungeon and at times during the night he had sworn his captor had been right outside the door listening. It was enough to send shivers down the hardest spine, and now he had left his daughter, his child, to the same fate. Was she in that same room now? Was she in fear for her life as he had been?

Morris wanted to weep. He also wanted to run to the phone box on the corner and send swarms of policeman back the way he had come, but he loved Bella more than he wanted to see that man caught. But what could he do? Could he just go back to the house he had shared with only Bella for the last five years and carry on as normal? Popcorn and movies for one?

Now he was emerging from the wilderness, beads of sweat forming on his brow as if he was returning from a month long trek through a South American rainforest. His eyes were suddenly stung by a streaming ray of sunlight. Maybe it wasn't as welcoming as he'd thought. He put his hand on his forehead to shield his eyes in welcome shadow and continued forward into the village. Now he was closer he could see more people in the streets. Children were laughing and playing games, their parents smiling to each other whilst watching. A dog was stretched out on its back in the middle of the road as if getting a suntan. An ice-cream van was tinkling somewhere out of sight…

He longed to join in the merriment but he had long since learned that his participation in everyday street life was often met with staring and whispered giggles. Imagine what would happen if he stumbled into the middle of the scene and started blurting out that his daughter was being held captive by a big hairy man in the middle of the forest. The rumours, the stereotypes that he and Bella had unwittingly adopted, would all be proven to the villagers. They would nod knowingly at each other, and start crossing the street when he approached. "That poor man," they'd whisper.

Morris scowled and ignored the mocking happiness of everyone else. He got to his road, his gate, his doorstep. Only then did he give in. Only then did he collapse.

Bella couldn't sleep. She had lost track of time but she guessed it was somewhere around 8pm. Far too early for bedtime, but she couldn't stand another minute in the emptiness of downstairs. She couldn't make conversation with Bastian.

Bastian.

Bella tested the name on her lips, one syllable at a time. Bas. Ti. An. It tasted strange, unfamiliar, and maybe even exotic. It was probably short for Sebastian. She couldn't decide whether Bastian or Sebastian suited him better. She giggled uncomfortably. How could she know whether it suited him or not? Whoever this Bastian was, he was hiding behind something. She could see it in his eyes which had so often contradicted the rest of his face throughout that evening. His voice had been breathy, weary, constricted, as if he had rehearsed every word carefully in his head before he allowed them to be spoken, and yet he had still stuttered, as if he was unsure what conversation was. And this was likely, she reminded herself, if he was truly alone-unless he talked to himself.

What was he thinking? What was he feeling? Bella prided herself on being able to read people, but he was a closed book. He had given away nothing, except in that brief hardly audible sentence. "Everyone leaves me." What a strange thing to say, yet it was so poignant. It had so much meaning; every letter in it had a story, yet it was coded and cryptic. It explained why he was alone but at the same time formed so many other questions.

Bella turned her head on the pillow, breathing in the scent. It was of a faint fragrance but one she did not know. Perhaps, even stranger, it was clean. Why was it clean if no-one had slept in it? Did he clean for no-one?

So many questions and so few answers. Her head was staring to hurt. Most of all, she was plagued by her own indecision. She had no idea what she would do next or what would happen once she opened her eyes to the morning light. Half of her was screaming every second for her to go, to run back through the forest into her nice, boring, safe village where she did not have to expect much, she had only to be content with her day-to-day pleasant provincial life. If she ran back now, she could watch the DVD she hadn't started the day before yesterday, open a fresh packet of popcorn and watch her beloved Edward Scissorhands. She could even, and this was even more tempting, go to Tristan's house and slap him on the other cheek so he could be symmetrical. She sniggered at the thought. He had deserved it, the coward. Wake up, go into town, run into Tristan, argue with him, go back home, watch TV with her feet up. It was bliss, but at the same time it was predictable. This was what the other half of her mind was telling her. She was in a sprawling mansion, a strange place, almost another world, with an even stranger man-beast for company, and she knew nothing. She didn't know what was behind all the doors that filled the corridors. There could be a garden, a library, a swimming pool, a bar, or none of those things. There were mysteries waiting to be solved, and he was perhaps the biggest mystery of then all. It was dangerously exciting, but that was the problem. It was dangerous. Curiosity killed the cat, but the cat must have had a great time before it did.

Bella sighed, and it echoed all around the darkness. She wondered what her father was doing now. He was probably at home having a nap. She wondered whether he was going to do something about her situation; it was logical after all, but somehow she knew that he wouldn't, and now she didn't know if she actually wanted him to.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Strange. She hadn't noticed a clock in the room, but yet there it was. She squinted at it. 8.07. She was too hot. She climbed out of the bed, and went to the window, allowing cool air to rush into her face as soon as she opened the latch. Outside, the stars twinkled in their constellations. Bella had learnt some astronomy and so she knew that directly in front of her gaze was Orion and his belt. In some ways, the shape was just a random collection of stars in the night sky, but in other ways it was a great hunter, eternally roaming in the heavens with his two faithful dogs by his side. She found it fascinating, and secretly longed for the latter possibility. Her bookshelves at home were full of volumes of ancient mythology, legends, and fairy-tales. Myths were her favourite because she imagined they were based on some truth a long time ago that had been changed, altered, romanticised, but still had to have an origin. Stories that had been passed down from generation to generation until their immortal realisation in print and illustration.

She could stare at the night sky forever, Thunderstorms were the best. She remembered as a child being utterly frightened of the rumbles and flashes but at the same time being utterly compelled. She would drag either of her parents out of bed and force them to sit with her and witness the terrifying glory of nature from her bedroom window. There were no storms now, just a calm cloud-free never-ending sky. For a while, she just stood at the window, allowing her mind to be filled with distractions; stories, memories, songs. It is sometimes surprising how a mind can wander if it is allowed to, making endless connections between the past, present and future, filling a persons head with the mysteries of life. So it may not be that surprising to learn that Bella was not the only person star-gazing that night. Above her, and on the other side of the house, Bastian was also immersed in the wonder of the night, rather than thinking of the consequences of the rising sun. He could not see Orion, but instead the stars re-formed themselves especially for him, first into the vague outlines of his parents, and then into the shape of Bella as she was in the picture he'd drawn of her.

Bel. La.


LumBabsFan- I'm so glad you're a new you! I know that chapter wandered slightly from the plot, but it needed to cos its a semi-sub-plot. Yes, thats right. There's a sub-plot going on! Wooooooooooooooo! I'll make it interesting,I promise!

TrudiRose-I wouldn't bow down at my feet if I were you, you'd probably choke! LOL, j/k!I belive therecould be so much more to the Gastoncharacter. Don't get me wrong, I love Gaston in the movie, buthe could be so much more than just the bad-guy, and seeing as I'm trying to make this more realistic, hesgetting a bit more attention paid to him. And, yeah I hate Patrick too, but he has to exist unfortunatly (just like your Auguste!) Btw, I am loving yourlatest story so far, and I also lovedA Man of Stature for similar reasons. You giveGaston so much more depth. My version, Tristan, probably won't be as fleshed out as yours, (cos I am partly liking making him a bit of an idiot) but anyway, here's toboth of them. (raises a big Gaston-style tankard filled with ale)

Oh, and the mysterious secret? Mwahahahahahahahahaha! If I can write it well, its gonna be an interesting little sub-plot type thing. Happy wondering!

beautygirl-Heehee!My mum was reading my reviews and I had to explain to her what 'kudos' meant in yours. Bless her! Anyway, I promise, hand on heart, I won't put Bellain un-necessary danger. Remember, Tristan is a prize chump, more talk than action...or is he? (There has to be some sort ofproblem cos otherwise the story would be all happy and merry and lovely and...er...boring! Lol! As much as I would love to have Bella and Bastian skipping off into the sunset together...

Rosakara- Thank-you!Here's the update, even if it was a bit of a long time coming. Please forgive me!

bellamegs- Lol, i didn't realise how soap opera-y that name was! I went to a surname website and just kind of picked one at random. Tristan Blain. The Blains. At Home with the Blains. Heehee!

A BIG HAPPY EASTER TO EVERYONE!