In a province of France; a poor, miniscule town of little merit, there lived a girl named Belle.
She was beautiful, with very fair skin and thick brown hair which lay on her arms and back in waves.
Her eyes were the brightest brown, sparkling always as she smiled and laughed at every word you said.
And her mouth was a lovely thing, a color resembling that of pink tulips, full and round and always pulled up at the corners, if not stretched out like a beautiful crescent moon around little pearly teeth.
But even so, the people of her village shook their heads when she passed by, saying to each other, "There goes that strange little creature, I doubt we shall ever understand her."
You see, she more often than not had her head tilted down as her eyes searched the pages of a book, finding great joy there, rather than where most girls did, in sewing and doing their hair and whispering between giggles. She simply did not fit in, and no matter of beauty could undo that fact.
Gaston, however, did not seem to care about her strangeness.
Gaston was the strongest man in the town, a renowned hunter; admired by men and fawned over by women. He was tall and his arms and legs were enormous with brawn. He had layers of black hair and startling light blue eyes, the color of the clearest morning sky.
He was also an immensely conceited man, caught up constantly in his own affairs and always casting sidelong glances at his reflection when you spoke to him. He new the people of the village adored him, and he adored himself all the more for it.
Unfortunately for Belle, he also adored her. Or perhaps adored is not the right word: he was greatly attracted to her beauty, though he cared close to nothing for her mind.
He was determined to make her his wife.
"Good morning, Belle," he said one morning as he fell into step next to her, imagining the thrill which must be filling her thoughts at his doing so. Belle's fingers were wrapped around the bottom corner of a book page, her eyes eagerly taking in the words as she waited to flip to the next. "Salut, Gaston," Belle replied in a kind tone, glancing up from her page to smile at him before looking quickly back down and turning the page with swift fingers. "Reading, as usual, you are a strange little being," Gaston said, shaking his head at how something so beautiful could act so bizarrely. If he was so beautiful– well, he was so beautiful, actually, perhaps even more so,– he would never waste away his looks on the pages of books. They deserved to be always facing the world, exhibited to the people on the streets like a constant gift. Belle shook her head, but said nothing in reply. She would not try again to argue with Gaston on the worth of books, his opinion was as unwavering as her own. "Where are you heading?" Gaston asked. "To help my father," Belle said, suddenly more focused, as she looked up from her book, "Our servant boy rushed to the library to tell me that father had requested for my presence. He said it was nothing urgent, but I still feel worried." Belle bit her lip and quickened her step, eager to be by her father's side now that she knew he needed him. "Such a crazy old man," Gaston said to himself with a shake of his head, and Belle stopped abruptly and stared at him with wide eyes. "My father is not crazy," she said angrily. She narrowed her eyes at him, "I am offended you would say such a thing. I must ask you to let me walk the rest of the way on my own, for I no longer desire your company." Gaston rolled his eyes, though he was slightly concerned that he might have wounded his chances with the girl, but his pride was enough to make him walk away from her without argument, calling out to a girl in the distance, who immediately turned, as if he cared little whether Belle desired his company or not. Belle did not watch him go, but instead quickened her pace even more as the cottage of her and her father came into view.
© 2012
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