A/N: Anyone wondering who Cressidor might be should refer to my previous stories, "The Making of a Family" and "Yes, Virgine, There Is a Santa Claus."

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Cressidor Marie Blan-Virgine snuggled into her covers, ready for her bedtime story.

"Once upon a time," the storyteller began, "there was a very handsome young man, with long blond hair and skin like alabaster, and many men and women fancied themselves in love with him."

"Was he a prince?" Cress asked. She was of that age where princes and princesses made everything better in a story.

"No, just a younger son of a wealthy family."

"Oh."

"In any case, one day a witch happened to see this young man, and instantly fell in...well, let's say love," the storyteller edited, mindful of Cress's tender years, "with him. This witch was very beautiful—"

"Like Mama?"

"Perhaps a little bit, but this witch was also wicked and cruel."

"Not like Mama, then."

"Not very much, which is good for you," the storyteller agreed. "The young man was not tempted by her beauty, and the witch became very angry. She put a curse on the young man, turning him into the form of a great beast, and so he would remain forever unless his cold heart melted for love of another, and they came to love him in return despite his hideous form.

"Now, the young man was of a scholarly disposition, and for a while he rather enjoyed the peace and quiet of being a beast; he could actually get some work done without tripping over some lovesick person every five minutes. But when the witch saw this, she grew very annoyed. So she went to her apprentice, who was also very beautiful—"

"Like Mama?"

"Not really; she wasn't wicked or cruel, but she was very silly sometimes. The apprentice had always thought the young man was handsome, and she was a very romantic person, and the witch played upon her nature with the story of how only true love could break the curse. Soon, the apprentice was all swept up in the story and fell head-over-heels in love with him."

"Did she break the curse?"

"No, she did what the witch wanted: she pledged her love for the young man, and she hung around his laboratory and generally made a complete nuisance of herself and caused him no end of trouble. You see, the witch wanted the curse to be a curse, otherwise what would be the point? Finally, though, the apprentice became so irritating that even though she was a friend of his, and even though he knew it was really the witch who was at fault, the young man lost his temper and told her to go away because he didn't need her. Broken-hearted and humiliated, the apprentice slunk off crying, but luckily two days later a prince confessed his love to her and they eventually were married some years later, and the young man went back to his research. And so everybody lived happily every after except the witch, but she was a ghost by that time anyway, so she could hardly be expected to live, happily or otherwise."

The storyteller leaned back, obviously done.

"Um..." Cress began hesitantly. She wasn't quite sure what to say, but her mother had raised her to always be an honest person, especially with loved ones, and Cress supposed she should know. "Grandpa Chartreuse, you tell really bad bedtime stories."

The lion-headed alchemist's face fell, and Cressidor felt sorry for hurting his feelings.

"It's all right, Grandpa!" she tried to reassure him. "Um...I know, I'll tell you a story! Then you'll know a good one to tell if you have any other grandchildren some day!"