A Bleach Beauty and the Beast

I got this idea a few months ago from having a Disney Movie Night with some friends. Beauty and the Beast was my third favorite Disney movie growing up, right behind Tarzan and The Lion King. While I was watching the movie and simultaneously dealing with a bunch of giggling girls, I thought of how this could relate to the relationship between Ulquiorra and Orihime.

But then I thought "I'm sure someone on has done this before, so why should I do it?" I didn't want to be predictable. So... I researched the original book along with any other film/book/television adaptation of the Fairytale and devised my own take on the Beauty and the Beast story that in a sense relates to all the different versions I've found.

Quick Disclaimer: I will only say this once, but I do not own any of the characters or ideas presented in this story.

So, without further adieu, I present: Beast.

"'Twas beauty that killed the beast..."

- King Kong, 1933

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Beast

The Beauty and the Beast

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The morning of the 'incident', as many servants in the household would come to call it, was just as average and uneventful as any other morning. The sun shone through the east widows, presenting natural lighting throughout the many rooms and hallways of the fortress, and a small breeze was floating through the castle grounds.

It was a large building, constructed mere meters from the edge of a cliff, the backyard gardens overlooking a large and beautiful canyon. The grey-bricked attraction could be seen for miles in any direction, its single large tower distinctly visible over the treetops of the forest it was located in. The closest town was almost a day away by carriage so the castle was almost completely cut off from the world. Hardly anyone came knocking on its large, mahogany doors, and just was good considering how cold the master of the household was – it was highly unlikely he would assist any weary traveler that was desperate enough to call on him for aid.

Yes, Ulquiorra was a pitiless, passionless young lord, who would rather cut off his own hand than do anything for anyone besides himself. He was spoiled, pampered, and coddled by his mother as a child and – once he inherited his family's riches along with the Cifer Palace – his servants. He had no friends, he never saw the need for any, and was perfectly content with his self-inflicted solitude.

Despite his repellent persona, many women found him attractive. He stood at an average height, and had a good set of muscles on him in spite of his thin frame. His dark hair fell down his neck and framed his young face, contrasting against his rather fair skin, but it was his eyes that expressed his true nature – those bright, glowing emeralds. They were what conveyed his true personality, for he had managed to make eyes that were such a peaceful color look unwelcomingly ominous.

His voice was just as unnerving. The vocalization was flat and monotonous, and he made it his duty to demoralize anyone who spoke to him ignorantly, for he hated ignorance. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of stupidity and childishness.

Though, he did have his upsides.

Ulquiorra cared about nothing – nothing at all – except for his garden. Every morning, including that fateful spring morning, he would wake with the rising sun and order his servants to dress him. They'd help him into his pants and button his shirt. They'd slip on his jacket and adjust his cuffs, and as soon as they were finished he would walk outside of him room – take a right, another right, down the stairs, then a left – and enter his gardens.

This time of year the garden was abundantly filled with every flower and herb and vegetable one could imagine. A few apple and peach trees grew on the edge of the premises; tomatoes and cucumbers grew in an area along with other vegetables the cooks would use to make meals. Rosemary grew in small pots just outside the door.

Though, Ulquiorra preferred the flowers. They were his, for it was the only thing he was willing to take care of without the assistance of a servant. He picked up a small watering spout, which was already filled to the brim, and walked over to the large bushes.

He sprinkled water over the Casa Blanca Lily's and the Ghost Flowers. The Iris's glistened under the light shower and sparkled in the sunlight, but it was the Roses that Ulquiorra took the most care with.

He sat on a stone bench in front of the rose bushes once he had finished watering them, the sun already climbing into the cloudy sky. The air smelled musky and humid, and Ulquiorra inwardly sighed, not wanting to experience a rainy evening.

Ulquiorra leaned forward; running his thumb over a red rose petal nonchalantly, admiring its beauty, before he felt one of his other fingers prick a thorn and quickly jerked his hand back to his side.

Beautiful, but deadly, he thought, examining his pricked finger. A small drop of blood had gathered on his ring finger, but he knew it wouldn't be too serious of an injury.

"Good morning, sir!" A loud voice barked from the castle, the deep voice sounding all too familiar to Ulquiorra who closed his eyes in an attempt to control himself then turned to face his personal servant.

Grimmjow had been by his side for years, since before Ulquiorra had gained his inheritance, and while the man had been continuously friendly and cheerful to the young lord, he received no sort of acceptance in return. Nonetheless, Grimmjow remained enthusiastic, hopeful that one day the young lord would give him a word of thanks.

Grimmjow was only three years older than Ulquiorra, yet the age difference in the physical aspect looked remarkable. He towered over the young master who did not like being looked down upon by anyone, especially his own servant. Ulquiorra especially did not like the flamboyant look of the older man either. He thought his bright blue hair was too bright and his toothy smile too jolly.

But he managed with the man, by either ignoring his immature comments or blatantly putting him down whenever he suggesting something childish.

Ulquiorra stood, placing his hands behind him, straightening his back and lifting his chin as the servant walked up to him.

"Good morning, Jeagerjaques."

"Oh, come on, Ulquiorra-"

"Do not call me that."

"Fine. Lord Cifer, you know I would much rather you call me by my first name," Grimmjow smiled, bowing towards the young lord, "You've known me for over ten years. Shouldn't we be on better terms by now?"

Ulquiorra glared at him, as if saying how preposterous of a notion that was, and wrinkled his nose in disgust. He decided to not answer the question, and instead excused himself by saying, "I need to catch up on my reading."

He was about to open the large doors into the castle when Grimmjow appeared, once again, at his side.

"Look, sir, I know that when we were young you were rather harsh to me, but I always thought that by now you'd be a bit kinder. I had always hoped you would consider me as a… a sort of friend."

Ulquiorra stopped in place, looking at Grimmjow with indifference on his features.

"First of all, Jeagerjaques, I have never, nor will I ever, want or need a friend in my life. You know that better than anyone in this castle. Secondly, even if the time did come that I felt lonely and needed the companionship you speak of, you would be the last person I would come to." He said, his expression not faltering. The two men stood there for a moment or two – Ulquiorra's stoic face against Grimmjow's shocked features – before Ulquiorra decided he needed somewhere else to be and marched off.

Grimmjow watched his master walk off and once he was sure the young lord was out of hearing-range, he sighed and said, "Damn, what a prick."

The kitchens were bustling with activity as the many chefs worked to create a sublime dinner for their master. Among these cooks include a young woman by the name of Neliel, who had worked in the Cifer household for only a few months. Yet, she was an exceptional cook and, out of all the other chefs that stayed in the castle, she was the one Ulquiorra favored.

No, it was not in a romantic sense that Ulquiorra admired her, but for the fact that before she arrived at the castle he found many of the food dishes bland and tasteless. He enjoyed how she would experiment with different spices and herbs, adding much more flavor to the foods they would serve him, and thus appointed her head chef only a short while after her inception.

Ulquiorra wasn't the only one in the castle who favored the hazel-eyed beauty. Grimmjow had taken a hobby to visit her in the kitchen many times a day, if only to speak in cheerful conversation. The moment she had entered the fortress, she had caught the blue-eyed servants attention. He was drawn to her, found her pale green hair exotic and her plump bosom alluring. Countless nights he had dreamed of his hands roaming along her hourglass figure and his lips against her creamy neck, but he was a gentleman. He could treat any other woman like a plaything, but Neliel was different.

She was preparing Ulquiorra's lunch when Grimmjow had decided a visit to the kitchens would suffice his frustration with his master, for Neliel was a woman of reason and honesty and, above all, an excellent listener.

"Good afternoon, Nel," Grimmjow said as he walked into the kitchen, seeing Neliel hard at work. She looked over at the servant who strode up to her, a friendly smile on his face.

His smiles are contagious, she thought as her lips turned up in a grin. "Hello, Grimmjow. How is everything out in the castle?"

Grimmjow sighed, leaning against a counter top as Neliel turned back to her work, preparing a lovely lunch plate for the young lord.

"Well…" Grimmjow started, but Neliel interrupted him.

"Oh, that doesn't sound too good," She laughed, "Is Ulquiorra being mean to you again."

"You have no idea," Grimmjow scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling at the floor, "I try to be nice to him, his whole fucking life, in fact, and yet he continues to be a little bitch about everything…"

"Language, Grimmjow," Neliel scolded playfully, "Just give him time. He'll warm up to you-"

"It's been twelve years, Neliel!" Grimmjow growled, walking up to her in anger, "It would have happened by now, but the little prick has something stuck up his ass."

Grimmjow's rage did not cause Neliel to hesitate in her calm demeanor. She stopped her work, and turned to him, placing a hand on his cheek and staring into his furious eyes.

"Ulquiorra is different than most, Grimmjow. He doesn't understand the joys of companionship, but instead finds solitude in his books and flowers. Yes, he is a cold man, but one day he will have a revelation and realize that he gains nothing from being so detached from the world. Give him patience, Grimmjow… you both need it."

Grimmjow looked at hear, calmed by her soothing voice as she spoke. She really was a marvelous woman, he thought, as he placed his hand over hers, keeping it against his face. How right she was, he thought, for he knew that Ulquiorra could not spend his whole lifetime as the ghost of the palace.

"Thank you, Nel," Grimmjow said to the young woman, who smiled lovingly at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, an embrace that Grimmjow gladly returned. The two of them stood there for what felt like hours, and when Neliel finally drew back Grimmjow felt discouraged, for he wanted to remain in that position for longer.

"Grimmjow, could you do me a quick favor?" Neliel asked.

"Anything."

"Could you fetch Stark? Ulquiorra's lunch is ready."

Ulquiorra sat in his large chair in the den, staring aimlessly at the burning fire in front of him. The flames cracked and danced in the fireplace causing an orange glow that illuminated the young lords features.

The door behind him opened, and footsteps were heard, becoming louder as the servant walked closer to Ulquiorra. The clink of dishes sounded as the servant placed the lunch on the wooden table next to Ulquiorra's chair.

The green eyed man turned to see his butler, Stark, placing and arranging the small plates and cups in an appealing way. Stark was an older man, someone who had worked for the Cifer family for years, just as his father had, and his grandfather. His hair was dark brown and slicked back out of his eyes. He sported a small beard, of which Ulquiorra thought didn't suit a butler very well, yet he never voiced this – he didn't see the need to.

"Good afternoon, my lord," Stark said lazily. Ulquiorra nodded in response. "Neliel prepared you some lovely roast duck with grilled tomatoes and potatoes, and a hint of rosemary."

Ulquiorra watched his butler scoot the splendid display of duck towards him. "Thank you, Stark," He said, "How is your daughter?"

"Lilynette is doing fine, sir," Stark said. Ulquiorra nodded in response yet again, knowing that the young girl lived in the palace as well. Stark had been married, once, a long time ago but his wife had died in childbirth, leaving with Stark a young baby girl. Lilynette was just a young girl when Ulquiorra became master of the house, so she had been around the castle for most of her life.

"Tea, my lord?"

"Yes."

Stark poured a generous amount of tea into the small teacup and handed it to the young lord, who took it graciously, taking a generous sip of the warm liquid.

"Would you like anything else, sir?"

"No. This is fine, thank you." Ulquiorra said once he had swallowed, dismissing his butler who bowed before sauntering out of the room. Ulquiorra set his tea down, picking up the plate and a small silver fork, beginning to slowly eat the roast duck. He looked up to the large portrait hanging over the mantle place, the fire burning underneath it.

It was a large portrait of the Cifer heir, himself, from the waist up. He stood straight backed in the painting, his right hand placed carefully on a pedestal, his left hand holding the collar of his jacket. The portrait's eyes glowed eerily green, looking out upon the large room, his dark hair falling down his neck and onto his shoulders.

Ulquiorra took another sip of his tea, admiring the painting of his sixteen-year old self in front of him. It made him feel powerful, the portrait, of which was painted by one of his parent's friends.

He sighed, setting his teacup on the table adjacent to him. His parent's were gone, he thought, feeling suddenly saddened. They had left the castle many years ago in order to travel the world, and he was sure that it would take many years – decades, even – for them to return. They trusted him with the Cifer household, and thus presented him with his inheritance at an early age, and left the young lord alone with his servants at the age of sixteen.

Before his parents had left, the Cifer family was well known and well liked. The husband and wife had hosted many royal parties and banquets in their home, including weddings and birthdays, but everyone always found their only son to be a little bit strange.

Ulquiorra was nothing like his parents, even as a young boy. He was very silent when company was over, and only spoke when directly addressed. His mother spent years trying to get him to open up and make friends by showering him with attention and gifts, yet he continued to remain detached.

His father, on the other hand, saw nothing wrong with his son's behavior. He would say that his silence would, one day, make him a good leader, that his lack of spontaneity made him a deep thinker, a good strategist, and forced him to grow up more than he needed.

Maybe that was why Ulquiorra was such a cold twenty-one year old man, for he never really had a childhood. The only person he ever met that was anywhere close to his own age was Grimmjow, who was twelve when he was appointed Ulquiorra's personal servant. The young lord was nine at the time. Even at the young age, Grimmjow would be very kind to the young boy, always suggesting a game of hide and seek in the gardens or within the castle, always wanting to explore the large fortress, yet Ulquiorra continuously refused and instead read the days away.

Books became the closest thing to a friend for him.

Ulquiorra finished his lunch and called for a maid to collect the dishes, deciding to stand up and browse the many shelves of books for something to pass the time.

The servant's quarters were placed on the second floor of the castle, which was where the servants spent their time when their master was not calling on them. Stark was one of the servants who actually spent all his time – rather than in the common room chatting with other servants – sleeping.

And keeping his daughter out of trouble.

Lilynette was a very hyperactive girl, being eleven years old; she loved running around and causing mischief. The only reason Ulquiorra had yet to hear of the young girls adventures was because Stark was very good at keeping her from doing anything too damaging to the castle or to herself.

Currently, Stark was dozing on the small couch, vaguely listening to Neliel and his daughter as they engaged each other in conversation.

"And then the butterfly landed on my finger! It was the coolest thing in the world, Ms. Nel!" Lilynette said, waving her arms around in excitement as she recalled her outdoor fun from earlier that day. Neliel giggled into her hand at the young girl. Every servant in the castle loved Lilynette for her youthful excitement and joy, a trait that was hardly seen throughout the palace. She was girlish and everyone enjoyed her company.

Everyone, except Ulquiorra, of course, who merely just tolerated her.

"You must have had a lovely day, Lilynette," Neliel said to the young girl who was jumping up and down in joy.

"It was! It was!" Lilynette said as she ran around the room. Stark, as if knowing of his daughters excited emotions, sat up slightly.

"Stop running, dear. You'll get hurt." He said before collapsing back onto the couch. Lilynette looked at him and pouted before she realized he could not see her facial expression. She then turned to Neliel.

"Ms. Nel, I was wondering… why can't I ever go play in the North Tower?"

Neliel looked at her with wide eyes, surprised of the question but knowing quite well where the young girl's curiosity had come from. The North Tower was something that was silently forbidden to speak of, yet people would whisper of the building in secret when no one else – especially the master of the house – was around.

Neliel, herself, had never even seen the doors to the tower since she had never found the curiosity to go searching for it, nor had she stumbled upon it unknowingly. She knew that it acted as a sort of attic for the master of the house, who would store his old yet personal belongings. For this reason, he would get enraged when he found that someone had entered the North Tower. He found the act to be an invasion of his privacy.

Neliel sighed, preparing herself for an abundance of 'why's from the young girl. "Well Lilynette, it's because Sir Ulquiorra doesn't want anyone to go up there."

"Why not?" Lilynette asked with child-like innocence.

"I…" Neliel said, thinking about how to retort, "I'm not sure. Just, please, don't go up there and don't go looking for it. Sir Ulquiorra would kick you out of this house for sure if he caught you up there."

Lilynette looked defeated as her eyes cast downwards to her palms. "Oh… okay Ms. Nel." She said quietly. Suddenly, her face shot up in excitement and she looked at Neliel again.

"If we can't go into the North Tower, then can we go back outside? Please, Ms. Nel!" She wined, clasping her hands together as if begging. Neliel smiled down at her and ruffled the young girl's hair.

"I'm afraid we cannot. It's started to sprinkle a bit outside, and there is lightening in the distance." Neliel replied to the discouraged girl who frowned and took a seat on one of the chairs, crossing her arms.

"I sure hope Shiro doesn't get caught in the storm," Neliel mused out loud, causing Stark to open one of his closed eyes.

"I agree. I need him back alive, I'm running out of my ale." Stark said, causing Neliel to laugh. She found it strange that Stark cared more about his booze than his fellow servant.

"Yes, I am running out of food ingredients as well, Stark, but really, Paris is a long way's away. I just hope he doesn't get into trouble on the way home." Neliel said, worried about the young albino who would regularly help her out in the kitchen and who, at the moment, was picking up supplies from the beautiful city of Paris. Stark scoffed.

"I would be surprised if he didn't get into trouble with that mouth of his," Stark said, closing his eyes, "I'm sure he'll be fine, Neliel. He's a big boy. He can take care of himself."

"I guess you're right," Neliel said quietly, ending the conversation. Lilynette had not been listening at all, instead was looking longingly out the window. Her eyebrows furrowed as raindrops began to hit against the small window, creating a calming pitter-patter of noise.

"I hate rainy days," The young girl said. Neliel looked at her, nodding in agreement.

"Me too, Lilynette. Me too."

Ulquiorra had refused dinner that night, not feeling hungry for anything in particular. Instead he sat in the foyer, reading the same book he had picked out from his den earlier in the day. He was already halfway done with the thick novel after only a few hours of reading and had not yet seen the need to take a break.

Grimmjow had walked into the foyer in search of the young lord, glad that he now had stumbled upon his master. Lightening struck outside the windows, lighting up the room, yet Ulquiorra did not look up from his book.

"It's raining rather hard out there, isn't it, sir?" Grimmjow said, walking up to the couch Ulquiorra was seated on. The young lord continued reading, turning a page nonchalantly.

"I am reading, Jeagerjaques," Ulquiorra said, slightly annoyed.

"Yes, my apologies," Grimmjow said in a kind tone, though his face did not look kind at all, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes squinted in aggravation. "I just wanted to come and see if you needed anything, Lord Cifer."

Still not looking up from his book, Ulquiorra spoke, "It would be lovely if you could have someone run my bath for me, Jeagerjaques."

"Yes sir. Right away, sir." Grimmjow replied, walking out of the room. Before he exited, though, he turned to glance back at the young lord with a pitying look on his face. He watched the young lord for a few moments as he read his book, his eyes cold as they scanned the pages. Grimmjow sighed, then turned his back to go find a maid to start the bath, not knowing that it would be the last time he would see his master in a normal state.

Ulquiorra licked his finger and turned another page, just as another bolt of lightning flashed across the night sky, illuminating the room. Rain could be heard heavily beating on the roof and windows of the fortress, creating a sort of natural lullaby.

Underneath all the pitter-patter of rain, Ulquiorra thought he heard a small knock on the large mahogany doors behind him. He dismissed it, thinking it was his imagination, and looked back down at his book.

Another lightning strike, then another knock, this one louder and more distinct. Ulquiorra was sure someone was at the door of his palace, but thought that a maid or servant who was cleaning nearby would hear it and hurry to answer the door. By the third knock, Ulquiorra realized that he was the only one who heard the visitor at the door and, displeased with his interruption, marked the page in his book and stood to answer the door.

Ulquiorra tried to remain inside his household as to not get wet from the showers as he opened the large entrance doors to his palace. He looked down, faced with a hunched figure, surrounded by a dark cloak. The person turned their face upward, revealing a wrinkled, womanly face, causing Ulquiorra to cringe in disgust, for she was a rather ugly creature.

"Good evening, kind sir," The old woman croaked in a hoarse voice, "I am very, very lost. Would you mind sparing a room for the evening?"

Ulquiorra looked at her, puzzled, as she reached into her cloak to pull out a single, beautiful rose.

"I am willing to give this lovely flower in return, good sir," She said, her glassy eyes looking hopefully at the young lord. It was a beautiful flower, Ulquiorra admitted to himself, but she was such a strange looking person he would rather not have her stay in his palace. If she looked more… appealing, he may have allowed her entry, but he didn't trust her for he had no idea if she was a thief or a murderer. He cleared his throat.

"Sorry, Madame, but I have enough roses. I need no more. Besides, I am very against allowing travelers into my home. Especially ones so…" Ulquiorra paused, looking at her up and down with his emerald eyes, "haggish."

The woman looked taken aback as he said this, then her eyes squinted in a scowl. She shook a thin, wrinkled finger at him, "You must learn, boy, that beauty is not skin deep! Would you, please, let me in?"

Ulquiorra ignored her, thinking her crazy as he readied to close the door in the woman's face, "I must tend to my castle. Good evening, woman-"

He stopped mid-sentence as he noticed the old hag had begun to glow slightly, a shining a blue light emitting from her skin. The age melted off of her face as she removed the cloak to reveal a completely different woman - and she was beautiful. Her black hair hung down to her shoulders, a single strand falling down the middle of her face between her two, large, violet eyes and while her figure was rather flat, she was thin and appealing. She floated there for a moment or two before setting her feet onto the ground, and while it was pouring rain outside, she remained dry, as if it was an average, spring day.

Ulquiorra stumbled backwards, falling onto the floor of his foyer.

"Forgive me, my lady," Ulquiorra said, "I had no idea-"

"Of course you didn't," She scolded him, "That was the point." She walked into his house without invitation, glowing brightly, illuminating the entire room with a pale blue glow. She looked down on the young lord, her nose wrinkled in disgust, "My name is Rukia Kuchiki," She began, "And you, Ulquiorra Cifer, are the most selfish, despicable man I have ever met! You'd rather serve yourself than others, and you look only at appearances rather than the heart."

Ulquiorra bent on his knees and clasped his hands together, "Please!" He begged, feeling fear for the first time he could recall, "I am terribly sorry!"

"It is too late, Ulquiorra," She said, "You have decided your own fate, along with the fate of all who serve in your house. A curse will be set upon this palace, for you will become the beast that you are. The only way you could break this curse is by the love of a woman, the love that comes from the heart and soul. If a woman can look past your appearance and fall for the man you are inside, the curse will be lifted. If, by your twenty-fifth birthday you have not been able to lift this curse, you will remain a beast for all eternity."

Ulquiorra looked at her, stunned, and for the first time in his life felt fear and sorrow and regret. "Please! Just give me another chance!"

She looked down at him and laughed, "Farewell Ulquiorra, and good luck," she said as she walked out of the castle, slamming the door behind her.

Ulquiorra looked stricken, suddenly aware of his situation. He looked around the room, afraid something was going to jump out at him or attack him, yet he could see nothing out of the ordinary. After a minute or two, Ulquiorra was sure that he had hallucinated the entire ordeal, but before he could stand up and clear his mind, he was met with a terrible pain.

It shot up his spine, eliciting a distressed scream from his lips as he felt his bones twisting and turning in his own skin. He fell onto the floor, his back arching and twisting as he continued to scream into the air. He couldn't think about anything except for the pain.

His eyes began to burn, as if they were on fire, and when tears finally fell onto his cheeks he felt the skin on his face burning off as well.

What sort of magic is this!?

The pain in his back continued, moving from his lower spine up to his shoulder blades, as if something was stabbing him over and over again in the back. He felt himself getting a headache and as he placed his hand on the top of his head, he couldn't help but scream yet again.

For his hands were met with a pair of bone-like horns.

"Who is she who looks forth as the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, awesome as an army with banners?" - Song of Solomon 6:10

The small village of Ousse-Suzan resided deep within the Forêt des Landes, the largest forest in France. There wasn't much to the small town, a market and a few basic stores – clothing stores, a bookstore, a cobbler's house, and a barber-surgeon. Yes, there were many lovely things in the small, quaint town.

The loveliest, as said by many of the village men, was a young girl of only eighteen by the name of Orihime Inoue. She was petite, a large personality in a small package, with hair the color of the sunset and eyes that sparkled like the stars. Yes, Orihime was beautiful, yet, as said by the townsfolk, utterly strange.

It was the middle of autumn when Orihime walked out of her small cottage on the eastern edge of town and headed for the main street, a small basket and some money in hand. The narrow dirt path soon turned into a wide, brick road with shops and small apartment-like housings. Citizens were out on the streets, merchants selling their food and jewelry and clothing to passerby's, house-wives beating the dust out of carpeting, children chasing each other playfully around the streets and between the buildings. Orihime found herself saying 'hello' to every man, woman, and child she passed, buying bread and cheese and fruits from the venders on the main street.

She would be cheerful and sweet, always friendly to the citizens of Ousse-Suzan. Yet, when she was out of hearing range, the citizens would lean into each other and whisper quietly.

"She's beautiful, isn't she? I'm surprised she isn't married yet!"

"I heard the doesn't want to get married! How peculiar!"

"And she's always holding some kind of book. Does she think she's smarter than us other women!?"

"Oh… I feel sympathy for her brother, having to live with an oddball like her."

It was unknown weather Orihime knew about this gossip or not, yet either way she remained outwardly oblivious to the criticism from the other townsfolk and continued turning down proposals and reading publicly.

Orihime found solace in wandering around the town aimlessly, something she found herself doing almost every day. This particularly warm autumn day brought her to the southern edge of town. Unknowingly, Orihime had guided herself into the grounds of the Ousse-Suzan Asylum; the one place the young girl dreaded the most. Her mother, who died when she was young, had spent the last few years of her life in the dreaded building.

The Asylum was the one place in the town that Orihime absolutely despised – hated, even. She had a few terrible memories in there when she and her elder brother, Sora, would visit her insane mother, who suffered from a terrible mental illness that forced her to have an altered sense of reality. Yet, it wasn't always like this. When Orihime was only four years old her father was brutally murdered while traveling, by a thief looking for a horse to ride away on. This incident destroyed her mother, causing her to spiral down into insanity.

Whenever she and Sora had visited, her mother had thought them royalty and would address them as Lady Inoue and her master servant, Sir Sora, then try to be as hospitable as possible.

Those memories weren't the only things that haunted her about the Asylum. The residents were frightening and unpredictable, always acting rather strange and rude, yet compared to the warden the resident insane seemed like saints.

His name was Souske Aizen, and while he never acted it, Orihime was sure that he was an evil and cruel man. It was his eyes, she thought, that put her off. While he had appealing features – a nice, professional face, chocolate hair, and good posture – his eyes showed a sort of internal malice and hate. It was as if he felt total dislike for the world and it's inhabitants, as if he wanted nothing but to watch the world burn. To Orihime, Aizen always seemed like he would be the cunning antagonist in one of her stories: the evil wizard, or the fire-breathing dragon, or maybe even the murderous assassin. She hated him, the way he looked at her and the way he spoke to her sent shivers down her spine.

The tall, concrete building loomed over her ominously, casting a dark shadow over the forest treetops. Orihime gasped as she thought more and more of the dreadful memories of the establishment. She placed her hand over her heart, wondering how she could have wandered into this part of the woods.

The Asylum looked just as uninviting and disturbing as it had when she was a young girl and it scared her to death. She half expected for Aizen himself to walk out of the front door, glide down the steps, smile his fake smile and say "Hello beautiful Ms. Orihime. Here to see your mother, hm?"

But he didn't. And she prayed that she would never have to see that evil man again. She probably would have stood there longer, mentally cursing the terrible place, but she realized that there was one more place for her to visit: the village bookstore.

She decided to start wandering off back into town, with no true destination, and nothing on her mind except to turn in the book she had borrowed and find another to spend her time reading. Books were Orihime's life, her favorite pastime, and it was the primary reason why she had refused to marry yet.

"Why have a husband when I have all the excitement I need here in these pages?" She would say to her brother, who would smile lovingly and reply with a sweet reply of, "Of course."

Orihime found the town bookstore rather easily, a bell ringing as she opened the door into the small shop. "Hello, Mr. Urahara!" She called to the tall shop owner as she held up the book she had kept in her basket, "I came back to return the book I borrowed!"

"Done, already?" Urahara said as he walked over to her, the blonde man taking the book from out of her hand and placing it on a small desk, "You go through books faster than anyone I've ever met!"

"It get's boring out in the cottage once you finish all the housework!" Orihime said as she skipped to the shelves, scanning the book spines for something she had yet to read, "have you got anything new in?"

Urahara was an older man, yet not at all gray or frail, in fact he was rather healthy. There was nothing strange or unappealing about him, other than his strange tastes of fashion. He would tell people it was the latest trends from Paris, itself, yet that claim was hard to believe. He always wore mix-matched clothing, and no matter what color trousers he had adorned that day, he wore the same green and white striped hat that shaded his face from the sun.

Urahara chuckled at the young girl's enthusiasm, pacing over to his shelves and scanning them with a thin finger, "Hm… no, nothing terribly new at the moment. In fact, I think you've read practically all my books, young lady."

"I'm terribly sorry, sir!" She said quickly, tugging a small book off the shelve, "I guess I'll just get one I've already read. I don't mind it, this one is my favorite, anyways!"

"Really?" Urahara said, a light shining in his eyes. He always thought Orihime as smart, well-rounded girl, and was glad that she had found an excitement in reading. "Well," He continued, "If you love it so much, you can keep it."

Orihime beamed at him, her mouth agape in shock until she smiled widely at him and held the book up to her bosom.

"Oh, really, Mr. Kisuke! You're not just saying that, are you?"

"Of course not. Go ahead, keep it."

She jumped enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around his neck in happiness. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" She cried joyfully, quickly unwrapping herself from him and hurrying to rush out the door.

"Goodbye Mr. Kisuke! Have a good day!" She called, waving behind her. Kisuke waved back, shaking his head at the happiness of the young girl.

Orihime decided before walking out of the bookstore that she wanted to begin reading her new book as soon as possible, for it was the first book she had ever officially owned and she was tickled with excitement at the mere thought of it. She sat herself at a small bench alongside one of the roads and opened her book to the first page with gusto. She looked lovingly at the colored page, a drawing of a beautiful princess, protected by a knight who was fighting off an evil-looking dragon. Yet, while she looked longingly at the book and began to read it's pages, she was unaware of a set of chocolate eyes watching her.

Ichigo was only a few years older than Orihime, with bright orange hair and a strong build. He was known as the town hunter, who would bring game back for the many restaurants and meat venders who asked for his assistance, but he was also known as a great warrior, having protected the town from various forms of thievery and criminal acts. His preferred weapon – a long, Japanese sword that he said he had acquired during his travels as a young boy. Though, when needed, he did carry a small pistol on his belt.

Yet, while Ichigo was said to be the most desirable man in the town of Ousse-Suzan, he was rather cocky and full of himself. Years of being admired for his valor and skills as a hunter had caught up to him and made him a stuck up, overly confident twenty-year old. Yet, this did not deter the affection many of the town's young girls who ogled at him longingly as he walked through the city streets.

A young boy, no older than ten or so, would follow Ichigo's every step and order. His name was Kon and he was, in fact, Ichigo's younger cousin, which explained why the two looked as if they could be father and son. Kon was a lovely child, very happy and carefree, yet dedicated to assisting his older cousin who contrarily treated him quite terribly. Nonetheless, Kon continued to look up to Ichigo as if he was a saint.

Kon had noticed his cousin staring at the young Orihime and eventually was able to put two and two together. He smiled mischievously up at the red head.

"Go your eye on Ms. Orihime, huh Ichigo?" Kon said happily, in a teasing tone. Ichigo looked down at the young boy, sort of glaring before his features softened slightly.

"Yes of course." Ichigo said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "I think everyone in this god-forsaken town has their eye on her."

"I don't see why not," Kon said, looking at the young girl dreamily, "She's beautiful…"

"And she's too old for you, Kon." Ichigo interrupted, scoffing at his younger cousin who flinched at the redhead's tone. He looked back over to the young girl, who was lost in her book, turning the pages fervently as her eyes darted back and forth. Countless time had Ichigo ask for her hand in marriage, and each time she refused. He couldn't understand it, he couldn't fathom how every woman in the village would do anything to marry him with the exception of her.

In a strange sense, it angered him. Yet, he knew that one day she would have to give in – sooner or later she would be his, weather she liked it or not.

"You should go talk to her," Kon said, nudging his cousin in the side, "She's not going anywhere."

Ichigo smiled at the younger, ruffling his hair, "You remind me of myself when I was your age. Always chasing women."

Kon laughed cheerily, "Yeah, but I don't have a chance. You're the Ichigo Kurosaki! Girls fall at your feet!"

"Yes, they do."

"Any women would die to be yours!"

"That is true."

"Then go, get her!"

Kon, having successfully boosting an ego that was already fairly large, watched anxiously as the elder Kurosaki marched towards the reading beauty. Kon hid behind a wooden barrel, watching the scene from a distance.

It was a pastime of Kon's to observe his older cousin, thinking he could learn a few things from the elder Kurosaki – how to hunt, how to fight, how to charm women. Yes, Ichigo was good at all of these things, which is why Kon aspired to be like him, to be the greatest young man in the village.

Orihime was oblivious to the two men who were watching her, too engrossed in her book. It wasn't until the eldest was towering of her, casting a shadow over the pages, that she realized someone was next to her. Reluctantly, the auburn-haired beauty looked up at the figure to see the red-haired hunter grinning down at her.

"Good morning, Ms. Inoue." He said in a sultry voice. Orihime smiled at him politely, only vaguely aware of the glaring eyes of the town's young girls. She knew they were jealous, it was obvious they were, for she was the only girl in the town Ichigo talked to of his own will.

It flattered her that the most egotistic man in Ousse-Suzan would speak to her without acknowledgement, yet it was that same reason that she found him to be… unattractive.

She thought he was handsome, yes, but it was his personality that turned her off. She disliked how completely confidant he was, how he thought he could do anything he wished, and there were stories her brother would tell her. Stories that the hunter would brag about in the tavern, about women he'd been with. That, above all, disgusted her – in her eyes he was a pig.

Yet, she was polite to him, for she was taught to always be polite, no matter how rude or arrogant she thought someone to be.

"Good morning to you too, Ichigo." She said, turning back to her book, uninterested. Ichigo scowled, his smile on his face faltering slightly until he recovered from the young girls incuriosity.

"You look like you're reading something quite… interesting." He said in a feeble attempt to entice conversation.

"Yes. It is very interesting." She said, turning a page of the book nonchalantly. Another wave of silence passed between the two and Ichigo began to feel slightly frustrated, though tried not to show it.

"I think it may also be a bit interesting if you would, perhaps, join me tonight for a nice dinner." Ichigo said casually. Orihime looked at him, raising an eyebrow in confusion, though Ichigo saw this as a gesture to continue, "Think of it as an apology for always attacking you with proposals. I feel remorse for always treating you like an object and, well, I hope that maybe we could get to know each other a bit more-"

"Sorry," Orihime interrupted him, closing her book and standing up, smoothing the front of her skirt as she turned to walk away, "But I would find it much more interesting if I stayed home and caught up on my cleaning. My brother is leaving for the coast this afternoon, you know, and I want to make sure he leaves knowing that I will be safe in an immaculate home."

Ichigo, yet again, felt himself getting frustrated and grabbed a hold of Orihime's shoulder, a bit too forcefully, to stop her. For a moment he glared at her, angry that she would deny his rare bit of hospitality, yet his face relaxed within a second and he chuckled awkwardly.

"Well then, perhaps I could bring dinner to you. That way you wouldn't have to leave the safety of your home."

Orihime pulled her arm out of his hand and looked annoyingly at the redhead, "Sorry, Ichigo, but I'd rather not see you in my home tonight, or any night, for that matter. Good day." She said, turning to walk back to the small cottage, leaving a flustered and angry Ichigo in her wake.

Sora was preparing for his trip, packing the bread and cheese that Orihime had picked up in town that day into a small bag. He had already settled his horse and was prepared to get to the docks to receive the money he gained from his sales across seas. Those Americans really love wine, he thought.

Sora was fairly young for such a successful merchant, at the age of twenty-seven. He sustained his and Orihime's life by his selling of various goods and items, though his most triumphant product being the wine he would buy from a friend in a neighboring city. The dark haired man has already gotten in a shipment of wine from his acquaintance and was prepared to leave in haste.

"Hime!" Sora called out to his younger sister, "I'm going to be leaving in a minute." The young auburn haired girl poked her head out from an adjacent room to smile at her brother.

"Are you? Well, be careful, alright brother?" She said, setting down her towel and soap and rushing to envelop her brother in a tight hug. Orihime adored her older brother to death. She thought the absolute world of him, for he was literally the only family she ever had.

"Of course I will be," He said, squeezing her tightly. When they parted he touched one of the two flower hairpins that were stuck in her hair, smiling, "I may have made enough profits to bring you back another gift like these, you know."

The last time Sora had made money off of the wine, he had enough to spare to buy his sister the pair of blue hairpins as something of a surprise when he had returned home. They were the young girl's most prized possessions because of that reason, though she would have never asked for a gift as extravagant as the flower pins.

"Is there anything in particular you would like?" Sora asked his sister, patting her on the head. Orihime usually refused to allow Sora to buy her anything too expensive, for she was a woman who enjoyed the little things rather than the larger ones. She would have wanted nothing more than to see him return safely as a gift, rather than being adorned with gold and jewelry. Yet, she did not want her brother to think she was completely refusing his offer. So, she thought of the single most simplistic thing.

"It would be lovely," The young girl began, "If you could bring me back a single red rose. That would be the greatest present you could give me, Sora."

He smiled down at his younger sister, giving her a kiss on the forehead, "That sounds like a lovely idea," He said as he pulled on his coat and went for the door. Orihime followed her brother outside, to see him off. She watched as he mounted his horse and settled his supplies.

"I'll be back in a fortnight. Be safe," He said, finally, snapping the reigns of the horse as he began to ride off down the road. Orihime waved after him, cheerily.

"Be careful!" She called out, watching his hand wave back as her as he continued on his way.

I really hope you enjoyed the first chapter of Beast. It would be lovely if you could send some sort of feedback or encouragement because I'm still not entirely sure if I want to continue with this or just put it away for later so that I can finish my other FFiction Devil.

Thank you so much for taking time to read this story. This tale would be nothing without you, o faithful reader. (: