You're a stranger in these parts. How do I know that? I've never seen your face before, not in this tavern. I've seen every face in the world in this tavern. I spend my life here, watching, waiting, looking – I'm searching for one face, one physique that I know I'll never see. I bet you've heard the stories. Gaston, the hunter? I thought so.
He was my hero. Sure, he was everyone's hero. It's a small town, nothing out of the ordinary, but Gaston made people proud to live in it. They'd tell stories about him in the tavern to anyone that passed through, about the time he wrestled a boar with his bare hands, or the time he shot twenty geese in a day. There was no one like Gaston. I said that to him once, though I don't know if he was listening. It didn't matter. It was enough that I got to go with Gaston, to witness his adventures. There was nothing I could tell him.
He knew, of course. No one's perfect, we've all got something dark, a blemish somewhere on our characters. Something to hide. Not that he did. Hide it, I mean.
Ale. More ale. Here, I'll buy you a drink.
Yes, he knew. He knew he was the best. Everyone knew he was the best. In the tavern – in this very room – he'd sit of an evening, over in that chair. You see? Empty. No one else has ever sat there, and no one ever will. They'll never forget him. He'll be a legend, one day. People will talk about him in awe. They'll tell stories about him, wilder and more exciting even than those he told.
No one span a good yarn like Gaston. In the end, no one cared if his stories were true – though, for the most part, they were – but everyone assumed they were. Besides, what was it to them if he omitted a stroke of luck here, an injury there? He was a hero, he earned the right to be believed.
Coins. Gold. Damn. Where does it all go? Could you…? Cheers. To your good health, sir.
Look over there, above the fireplace. You see those? Trophies. He was proud of those. Each one marks a great battle. You see that? No, next to the antlers, to the right, yes. That monster could have killed a grown man with a single blow from one of its ferocious claws, but Gaston had it in a moment. You should have heard the cheers when he brought back its head, we drank to his health all night long.
But yes, he was my hero. I'd have given anything to spend a single day in his shoes. He was so admired – so strong, so popular. The ladies loved him. I couldn't say what he thought of them, though.
You'd think, wouldn't you, that a man like that could have any woman he wanted. Look around. How many women do you see here? How many are married? How many do you think are happily so? Gaston was the one thing they aspired to, all of them. Look at them now. Half of those women will give you anything for a coin.
It was one girl that did it. One girl that ruined him. Belle, the inventor's daughter. The most beautiful girl in town. Gaston's only weakness – beauty. Both hers and his own. Beauty. That was her name. I curse it every day.
I don't know what her plan was, what wicked feminine magic she worked on him, but when she refused him, he would have no one else. I know that I – that we, that the town – would have adored him forever, but he was changed after he entered that creature's house. It was witchcraft, one way or another.
And then she disappeared, her and that old man. When she came back, she brought with her more magic, more wickedness. That mirror. Magic. Evil. And that creature – dear God. Even now in my dreams, I see it. Sharp fangs, razor claws, sin and malice in its awful, horrible eyes. That creature will never leave me. Sometimes I think that part of it is within me, that it has taken something from me and now rests in the hollow it has created. It makes me yearn for revenge.
He went through the forest and to the castle – a castle in a wood, dark and cold. Nothing good could reside here. The magic, the awful enchantment had us at every turn. Ask any of the men here, every one of them is a witness to what I tell you. As you see, they escaped with their lives, and though each of them will give you a description, none of them saw the monster, that demonic Beast that the Beauty led him to. I didn't. That will haunt me forever. Gaston, the great hero, beloved by all – and he died with no one but a witch and a monster to see.
Were you present at the coronation? Did you see the princess? Every time I close my eyes, I see her face, swirling with Gaston's and the monsters. The princess is the very image of that creature, of that Belle.
We always said she was a funny girl. I should have warned Gaston. I should have helped him see through her beauty.
A coin for my story? My thanks, sir. May God bless you in all your endeavours. I'll be here tomorrow. And the day after. And all the days that follow.
There never was, nor ever has been, nor ever will be anyone like Gaston.
Okay, I'm really nervous now! I hope you'll review, this is my first ever fanfic and I'd love to hear some opinions on it, but I'm really worried that people will hate it!