Disclaimer: This story is based on "Beauty and The Beast." I do not own the story line nor the general basis for the characters.

Piper's Rose

The rose lay in the exact center of the oak table like a dying child, the colour of its brilliant petals as red as fresh blood. It was a perfect rose: perfect and deadly.

"It would be like Piper to pick a present that would cause us all heartache and misery," sneered Jeanine from her position on the left hand side of the table. "This rose will ruin us."

"No more gowns or fashionable jewelry," Veronica said, her hands clenching. "Piper has ruined us already, Jeanine."

"I shouldn't have stopped." The old man was berating himself endlessly, hands trembling and mouth quivering as if somehow that could change the past. He rubbed his temples with worn fingers and ran a hand through his grey hair. It looked as if he had aged ten years in the past day.

The front door slammed and all three jumped. The old man looked as if he wanted nothing more than for the floor to swallow him up at that instant.

"Hello?" Footsteps sounded in the hallway and then in walked a girl. She was about seventeen years of age and had brilliant grey eyes that held a strange sadness unaccounted for. Her long auburn hair was neatly pulled back in a simple braid and she was clothed in peasant's garb. Jeanine's lip curled as she looked at her younger sister.

Since the day Piper was born, she had been, in the opinions of her family members, nothing but trouble. Their mother had died giving birth to Piper and old Mr. Harris had never quite forgiven her for that, as if it was Piper's fault that his wife had died. It didn't help that Piper grew to look astonishingly like her mother ... except for the inescapable sadness that always seemed present in her dark grey eyes.

Jeanine and Veronica hated Piper with a vengeance and so they endeavored to make her life miserable in every possible way. They didn't allow her to have any friends and her natural shyness soon made her become so introverted that it had taken quite a bit of convincing to make Piper ask for a job as a maid at the Bowstring Inn when the family had fallen on hard times after their father, a once prominent merchant in the area, had had his most expensive cargo fall to pirates. Since then, the family had been living in a tiny village on the outskirts of a huge wood that was said to be enchanted with a number of spells and such.

"Good day, Piper," Mr. Harris said stiffly, as if he were speaking to a peasant instead of his own daughter. Piper's eyes flew to the lone rose in the middle of the table and her eyes brightened for a single minute and then dropped to the floor.

"Yes, it is your rose, Piper," Veronica said, exasperated. "But our father got it only at great cost to our family."

"What do you mean?" Piper asked, her voice soft.

"Tell her the story, Papa," Jeanine said. And so Mr. Harris began.

It had been a cold night when he had gotten lost, so cold that his eyelashes had nearly frozen together and he couldn't see a thing with the snow blowing around.

He had just begun to think he would never return home again when suddenly, directly in front of him, a tall stone fence appeared in his path. Despite the fact that he could hardly see, he had been certain there had never been a fence there before, as tall as two men standing on each other's shoulders.

Following the path, he made it to a gate that was surprisingly easy to open, despite the massive size of the iron gates. Inside the gate, the snow was no less fierce, but he was able to find his way to, of all things, a castle. What surprised him most of all was a little rosebush growing just outside the castle door. It was not the kind of weather roses flourished in but yet these roses were growing as if it were summer and they were as perfect as a newborn babe. Remembering Piper's wish, he knelt down to pluck a rose and his finger was pierced by a thorn as he separated the beautiful rose from the bush. Instantly, his world went black and he fell, still clutching the rose.

When he woke, he was in a four poster bed across from a blazing fire. His clothes were hanging neatly by the fire to dry and his shoes were placed evenly next to the door. He didn't remember coming inside; the last thing he remembered was the rose.

The rose! He opened his hand. Four neat puncture wounds in his palm and one in his finger had been cleaned. He looked around. The rose was nowhere in sight.

"Are you looking for this?"

A cold voice interrupted his thoughts. He would always remember that voice: it was as if the snow had found its way into someone's soul and now fell in the form of cold, level, uncaring words.

The owner of the voice stepped from the shadows and Mr. Harris nearly fainted. The beast was something from a horror story, from one's worse nightmares. He was as tall as a man and walked as a man walked, but he was covered in thick grey fur.

He was a wolf. Uncompassionate dark eyes gleamed from above a long, slender snout. Teeth as white as ivory and sharp like a knife winked at him from a gaping maw. Mr. Harris closed his eyes, waiting for the final blow.

"You needn't worry about me," the wolf said. "I've already had my meal."

Mr. Harris opened his eyes. The wolf-man was sitting on his haunches, watching him with eyes as cold as ice.

"Good," Mr. Harris managed.

"Well, I suppose so. But I will not be full forever."

Mr. Harris shivered. The wolf-man smiled (if it was possible for a wolf to smile) and leaned back.

"Now onto the matter of this rose. Those bushes are special to me and I do not take kindly to my roses being taken without my permission."

"Please, sir, I have three daughters at home who desperately need me--" Mr. Harris begged, hoping to appeal to what limited compassion the wolf-man had.

"Three daughters?"

"Aye."

The wolf-man smiled again. It was not a nice smile.

"Very well, I may spare your life yet, you pitiful wreck of a human being."

"Thank you, thank you ..."

"On one condition. You may take this rose and go home, so long as you return in one week's time with one of your daughters. This daughter will spend the remainder of her days here, and may never leave this castle. If none of your daughters are willing, I will come and fetch you and you shall never again see the light of day."

"But ..."

"I have the power, so I will make the rules. My servants will see you to your house. Good day."

And the wolf-man left without a backwards glance. Mr. Harris picked up the rose and started home.

Piper sat very still, her eyes on the rose at the center of the table as her father finished his story. It was silent for a long moment and then Veronica spoke.

"We are ruined forever," she said. "No more will the fashions of the city grace our figures or the jewelry of nobility hang around our slender necks. Beautiful gowns will never be ours and --"

"I'll go," Piper said softly and it became so quiet that the snow could almost be heard. Mr. Harris cleared his throat.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, though he had heard perfectly.

"I will go in your place, Papa," Piper said, looking up at him. "You are needed here more than I."

"But you are so young!" Mr. Harris argued feebly. "You have your whole life ahead of you."

"You supply my sisters with their wants," Piper said. "I do nothing. Let me go instead."

In the end, it took hardly any convincing for Mr. Harris to agree to let Piper go. Despite his protests, he was actually quite glad. He knew that Veronica and Jeanine would never consent to go to the castle and he didn't want to die nor live the rest of his natural life at the castle. Piper solved that little matter. He sighed in relief as he readied for bed. He had killed two birds with one stone. Only a few could do that.