As this is my first story, I think I am doing quite well. Please Read and reveiw!
I do not own Beauty and The Beast or anything associated with the movies, stories, or it's general fabulousness. I do however, own a very nice pair of faux leather boots. Now on to the story!
The man, whom Belle assumed to be a soldier in the Grande Armee did not hurry to grab her as she thought he would.
He tipped his tricorn hat to her and greeted in a foreign accent, "Enchante Madmoiselle." "Bonjouir" she politely replied, shying away from his larger frame. Belle frowned at him. 'This was the moment of truth. Would he reveal her, to stand in the center of the town square with the other, simple girls? To be poked and prodded then sold to the higgest ranking and highest bidding general?'
And then he shouted. 'There goes that hope' Belle mourned.
"Over here, another girl. A runaway this one!" the man called. The part of her brain which thrived on books and cleverness briefly registered the voice as American. One of the many men sent to help out the "Democratic" Nation of France. Never one to stand idly by as she watched her life go up in flames around her, with doe-like eyes Belle studied the man who had discovered her.
Grimmly, Belle surveyed her options, 'She couldn't run, not when her father was still in the house. No, better to follow them meekly and then slip away when they least expect it.'
Belle took in her surroundings, she was stationed in a line of other girls. Plumette, the adorable merchant's daughter, stood beside her wringing the strings of her apron, muttering obscenities. Across the expanse of the square, a line of soldiers in full battle regalia stood at attention. She scoffed, 'As if it were some formal event and not a mockery of their power over us'.
The fire at the center of town still burned fiercely; through the haze Belle could just make out the reassuring figure of Maurice. His hands were moving, gesturing, but she couldn't make out what he was articulating. Like one of his beloved marionettes, miming uselessly.
She felt removed from it all, like a sort of clockwork doll twisted to and fro. Sweat dotted her brow. The fire was too hot, books weren't meant to withstand that sort of heat. Was that all she was in the world, a book?
She was burning, burning...
Cliffhanger. Thank you very much! Please comment & give me corrections, that's how I get better.