Stretching my arms high above my head, I walked over to my humble wooden vanity. I sat down on the tired red cushioned chair that matched nicely with the light brown hue of the desk and examined myself in the mirror.
My father always told me how much I resemble my mother. "You are her spitting image." He would tell me. "She would be so proud to see the beauty you have become."
As for me, I don't remember what my mother looked like, for she died shortly after giving birth to me, and I'm afraid I don't see this great beauty everyone keeps telling me about either.
I had a huge cluster of brown strands waving down just beyond my slender shoulder, and I suppose my best feature would be my round hazel eyes, but besides that I thought myself to look average.
I dressed myself in my usual blue and white smock and brown leather flats as I slipped out the quiet cottage. It had to be at least 6:00 in the morning, and while most country folk got up at this time, Papa has always been a late sleeper.
I enjoyed the feeling of the sun on my skin and the strands of my ponytail smacking against the back of my neck as I made my way down the well worn path. I always loved my morning walks to the market place, but as I drew nearer to my destination, I saw that it was full of life and very very noisy people.
I stopped in my tracks when I saw a crowd of squealing young ladies joyfully crowding around one specific man in red. He had a black riffle strapped to his back and had his red hunting shirt stuffed into his brown trousers. The whole look was completed with his clunky black boots that were covered in mud and other suspicious looking substances. Gaston. I held my brown basket closer and frowned to myself as I quickly searched for a different route to take before he spotted me.
When I was in the clear, I slowed myself to a steady pace. I cut my way through the crowed of gossiping people, making sure to say bonjour to anyone who bothered to acknowledge my existence. The people in this town were nice, but terribly insensitive. They would stare at me and when they thought I wasn't listening, make comments under their breathes about how strange and peculiar I was to them.
Of course I have heard all the rumors said about me and my inventive Father. Some say we are ex convicts who escaped our country, some say Papa murdered my mother and his real daughter and I was another child he stole away and claimed as his own. And the most popular one is I am a witch and he is my sorcerer father, which would explain my "bewitching" good looks and unfeminine wisdom.
All of it is quite dark and rather creative. I mean, the thought of witches living among us was just udder nonsense to me; only something found in the imaginations of the authors of my books. But when you live in such a useless and empty town like this one, speculation was the only thing to keep you from madness.
I found that keeping my nose stuck in a book helped numb the truth that I lived such an pointless life, and I decided that my purpose on this earth had to be watching over my father and giving my business to the only book dealer for miles around.
"Good morning, Belle!" The elderly man greeted. His soft green eyes sat behind the sliver rims of his glasses, and his wisps of white hair stuck out in all directions.
"Morning, Mousier. I've come to return the book I've borrowed." I said excitedly, setting down my basket. "Good morning Jasper!" I waved to the book seller's red headed son. Jasper was terribly shy, and was only 15 years old. He had a handsome young face, and had the sweetest heart I have ever seen in someone so young. He gave me a shy smile and nodded before he quickly got back to arranging the books on the shelf.
"Finished already?" The book keeper asked. I looked back at him and saw the knowing smile on his thin lips.
"I couldn't put it down." I giggled. "Have you gotten anything knew?" I climbed the latter leaning on the bookshelf as I searched for something I haven't already read.
"Not since yesterday." He mused.
"Thats alright." I mumbled half heartedly. My fingers brushed over a familiar, damaged red cover with gold lettering that read La Belle au Bois Dormant. "Well, how about this one?" I smiled.
"That one? But you read it twice."
I hugged the book close to my chest as I stepped down. "But its my favorite. The action, the adventure, the romance...Three things this town greatly lacks."
Jasper and his father both let our a hardy laugh. "Can't argue with you on that. But if you like it all that much, its yours."
My eyes widen, I didn't want to buy the book, just borrow it. Me and Papa didn't have money to spear on such luxuries. "But, sir?"
He raised his hand to stop my protests. "No charge, dear. I insist."
I smiled as I wrapped my arms around his small frame. He smelled like firewood and the scent of newly pressed pages. "Thank you very much." I bid my two friends goodbye as I made my way out of the store.
I made a mental map of everything I needed to buy while I was in the market. All I could remember was bread and eggs, which I knew would be a hassle to buy. Mrs. Mauve had quit the memory, except when it came to remembering the actual prices of her produce. She tended to charge an extra shilling...or five.
"Bonjour Mrs. Mauve." I offered her a slight smile.
"Morning." She spat. "What will it be?"
Give me a second will you? I thought agitated. "Um. A dozen eggs and a loaf please."
She held her chubby hand out and I tried not to focus on the fishy smell coming off of her callused fingers. "That'll be 25 shillings."
"25 shillings?! Thats 3 times more than it was last time."
"Are you going to pay or not?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.
"The girl is right, Laurette. This is the third time you have jacked up the prices in a month."
"Well this is the price for my eggs and my bread; the best eggs and bread in all of France! The royal chef himself buys his produce from my farm." She was lying through her teeth, but no body called her out on her fib.
"Give the lady her bread and eggs." A deep voice projected from behind me. As if on que, the exasperated sigh of hormone raging teenage girls followed after. I rolled my eyes and mentally asked God why was he punishing me. "In fact, double the amount she asked for."
"That really won't be necessary." I exclaimed, but no one seemed to hear me.
"Gaston, how are you this lovely morn?" Mrs. Mauve said, making haste to bag my groceries with special care.
"Much better, now that I'm with my future wife." He handed me the bagged groceries, giving me his dashing smile. I scoffed and snatched the bag out of his yellow gloved hands. I carefully seated them in my basket and hurried away down the path."
"Farewell ladies." I heard him muse behind me.
YOU ARE READING
Belle (More Than a Story Book 3)
Fanfiction"Take me instead." I said with no hesitation. I felt my father's cold fingers wrap around mine through the steel bars. "Belle, no." He was cut off by another body rattling coughing fit. I don't know how I knew, but the man hidden in the shadows s...
