Chapter One
Vincent

The young lord of Eaton muffled a laugh behind one hand. Tomorrow was his tenth birthday, but he wasn't quite ready to go to bed. His valet insisted, however, and had gone ahead to have the bed turned down. Vincent did feel a little sorry for the man, but Vincent was the lord, and his valet was the servant. If Vincent wanted to play hide and seek before bed, then he'd play hide and go seek.

The only problem was Nurse. He'd outgrown needing her, but she was still the only servant with any real authority over him. If she caught him out of bed, she'd be furious. He needed a hiding place that would fool Nurse as well as the other servants. An in a flash, he had it. The door keeper had the night off, for tomorrow would be busy. Vincent could hide behind the screen that shielded the door keeper's pallet, and no one would think to look for him there. It was wood, too, and went from the floor to seven feet up, so no one would see his shadow or his feet. It was perfect.

He hurried to the Great Hall, ducking behind couches in the halls, or into other rooms completely, whenever he heard a servant's footsteps heading towards him. He ended up covered in cobwebs and dust, but that was just part of the adventure, he told himself.

The Great Hall was empty. Vincent settled down on the door keeper's pallet, and leaned back against the wall. From where he sat, he could just see the great clock, if he craned his neck. It was nearing eleven o' clock. Surely his servants would be looking for him now. His valet would be frantic, wringing his hands and sweating. Nurse would be furious, muttering and stomping around.

He saw a few servants run past the Great Hall, but none of them so much as looked in, let alone behind the screen set up in the one corner. Eventually, the servants stopped running by, and Vincent had nothing to keep his attention.

He was tired. It was very late now- midnight. He'd never been up so late before that he could remember. The castle was probably asleep, the search for him put off until morning. Or probably Nurse had told everyone to go to sleep. "A night wherever he's hiding will surely put a stop to this nonsense," he imagined her saying. It sounded like Nurse, anyways.

Without meaning to, he fell into a light doze, chin nearly touching his chest.

A loud knocking woke him up. Blinking hard to try and get his mind working, Vincent couldn't figure out where he was or what the noise was. After some more knocking, he realized someone was pounding on the door in the Great Hall.

"Door keeper, answer that," he snapped, before realizing just where he was. He was in the Great Hall, in the door keeper's customary place. It was the night before his birthday- or very early the morning of his birthday, he couldn't be sure- and someone was knocking on the door. There was no one to answer whoever it was. It might be a guest, and it would be rude to keep them waiting.

Vincent got to his feet and stumbled to the door. He grabbed one of the handles, and pulled. His feet skidded over the polished wood floor, and he grunted. The door was horribly heavy. Still, he should be able to open in. He braced one foot against the other leaf of the door, and continued to tug.

The door cracked open, and then it was a challenge to get it to stop swinging further open. He was busy with that for a minute, before he could look over at his guest.

It was an old hag. Vincent felt disappointed. He'd been hoping for his uncle, maybe, or a cousin, resplendent in the latest fashions.

"Who're you?" he asked.

"Surely you're not the door keeper," the old woman said, not answering his question. "My, you're young."

"I'm not the door keeper, I'm the lord of this castle!" Vincent drew himself to his full height, which was still a foot less then the woman's stooped over posture. "Now, answer me! Who are you?"

"Me?" The old woman chuckled, and waved one crooked claw of a hand. "I'm just a little old woman. Please, sir. Won't you give me food and lodging for the night?"

"No!"

"Why not?" The woman paused, and considered Vincent. "Are you afraid of me?"

"Of course not, peasant." Vincent didn't really know what a peasant was. He'd just heard it used a couple of times before, generally about people who didn't work at the castle. "Anyways, there's no room for you."

"Not even in the servants' quarters, or the kitchen? Please, my good lord, I can pay you." The hag reached into her rags and pulled out a flower. She held it out towards Vincent, and smiled. The expression only made her look more hideous then before.

He studied the flower, but didn't take it. It looked a little like the lilacs in the garden, but there were only eleven purple flowers, and they were bigger then usual. "No, I'm sorry." What did he want a flower for, anyways?

"Please, good sir, reconsider. And remember, beauty lies within."

Now just what did that mean? "No, old hag!" Vincent folded his arms. "Now go away and bother someone else!"

"So!" the hag thundered. "I can see that you have no love in your heart!" Even as Vincent watched, the hag straightened, before he was blinded by a flash of light brighter then anything he'd ever seen before.

When the spots cleared from his eyes, he saw some great princess standing over him. She was tall, slender, with pale gold hair curled and loose down her back, wearing a dress of the latest fashion in dark silver. In one hand she held the flower the hag had offered him.

"Wh-what's going on?" Vincent tried to back away, and tripped over his own feet. "Who are you? What do you want with me?"

The woman stepped closer, and pulled a slender, straight stick from somewhere in her dress. "You, cold hearted boy, shall be punished."

"What'd I do?"

The woman ignored him. "You shall be cursed until you can find it in yourself to love another. If you can earn her love in return, the curse shall be broken. If, however, you cannot manage this by your twenty-first birthday, then the curse shall never be lifted and you will be doomed forever to live as a beast!"

The woman pointed her stick at Vincent. His eyes widened, and then he fell to the ground, screaming.

Everything hurt. It felt like some vindictive God had grabbed him by his head and feet and was stretching him out. He could feel himself getting bigger, his muscles swelling. He'd always been a scrawny boy- well, obviously not any more. His clothes only stretched so far before the seams burst and the ruined cloth fell away.

His screaming grew deeper, and hoarse, until he sounded like one of the field laborers. One giant itch covered his body, and then it ended. So did the minor chill coming from the open door.

The pain finally stopped, but not before he felt strange things happening to his spine and feet. Eyes closed, he panted against the floor, waiting for whatever was to happen next.

He heard the woman- no, the sorceress- step closer. There was a rustle of cloth as she leaned over. "Very well, Beast. Now, a curse upon this castle and your lands. This place is now your prison. You shall have no company, nothing to stave off loneliness. Your servants are gone, boy, but don't worry, you shall be cared for. But not by humans." More cloth rustled, and then as he opened his eyes, the lilac was dropped in front of his face. It didn't hit the floor, but floated. "Good day, Beast."

Vincent closed his eyes and gave in to unconsciousness. It seemed the best option all around.

--

When he woke up, the first thing he saw was the flower, floating in the air.

With a strangled yell, Vincent recoiled from the thing, raising one arm as if to defend against a blow. A large, hairy brown arm. He yelped, and tried to leap to his feet, only to crash to the floor.

What had she done to him? Vincent lifted one hand to his face, and shuddered. It was larger then his hand had a right to be, covered in coarse brown fur, except the palm, which had a leathery pad like a dog's paw. His fingers, he noticed in a detached way, were tipped with sharp black claws.

His other hand was exactly the same. His arms were big, thick with muscle and covered with more of the coarse brown fur. His shirt hung in tatters, barely managing to stay on his suddenly large frame.

Ignoring the flower, he tried to stand up and move to a mirror, but he stumbled and nearly fell again. He looked down at himself, and nearly yelled in terror. His britches were ruined, but that wasn't what frightened him. His legs looked human- if large and covered in fur- but his feet had become like a dog's! And- when he craned his neck- he could see a dog's tail, sprouting over the top of what was let of his britches.

What had she done to him? Hysteria was threatening. Vincent tried to crawl towards the nearest mirror, but it hurt his knees. It was easier to walk on all fours, like an animal. His legs and arms were mostly even in length, with his legs a little shorter. It was certainly easier to move around.

He had to lever himself up using the wall. His claws dug into the wood, gouging chips from the surface, but he didn't care. He had to see- and then he saw, and was horrified.

His face had changed. His nose had been squashed mostly flat, giving him a bestial appearance that wasn't helped by the fur. Horns curled up from his forehead and back over his head, ending in sharp points. His ears were pointed and kept twitching. Only his eyes had stayed the same, human in shape and color.

"Oh, please, God, no…" he whispered, but even his voice was different now, as deep as a grown man's, and rough like he had been talking for hours.

What had he become?

…A beast…

Vincent shuddered, and, on his hands and feet, walked back to get the lilac. He was cursed. If this thing was going to be part of how he'd break the spell, he'd better find some way of keeping it safe.

Somehow, a table had made it to his room, with a bell jar atop it. Vincent stared at the new piece of furniture, and then sighed. His servants were gone, he could tell that much, but the sorceress had said he would be taken care of…

He placed the flower under the bell jar, and stared at it. Then, with another shudder, he looked away. The balcony. He had to get out outside- not out of the castle, necessarily, but just out.

The castle grounds had changed. The forest had become dark and forbidding, the gardens were now a maze of tangled bushes and long grass. The castle itself had gone from a pale colored stone to dark, rough granite.

Leaning against the stone railing, Vincent cradled his head in his hands. He tried not to flinch when his claws scraped against his horns, but he didn't quite manage.

Rose

Rose couldn't stop looking around. Such a small town, nothing like Grantham, which was probably three times the size of Waltham on the Wolds. All the houses had thatch for roofing, instead of wood or slate tiles. There was so much stone used, too! There were stones for the fences, and stones for the lower halves of buildings, so different from the wood buildings in Grantham! And so many animals, too! She'd already seen a whole flock- was that right?- of cows, and there were dogs and cats and chickens everywhere! It was all so exciting!

"Well, my little flower, how do you like Eaton?" Morris, Rose's father, asked. He clucked at their little donkey, urging it away from a tempting flowerbed.

"This isn't Eaton," she said. "This is Waltham on the Wolds." She smiled, though, and giggled. Morris laughed, and shook his head.

"Such a stickler for details," he said.

Rose nodded. Waltham on the Wolds was part of the Eaton lands. It was ruled by a lord, some very distant cousin to the king, but over saw by, well, no one, really. Morris had explained it all to Rose very carefully, since she'd asked so many questions. They would still have to pay their taxes, but there was no ruling lord to worry about. It would be so much simpler then Grantham, where you needed permission to do just about everything.

Morris pulled the donkey to a stop in front of a large, two story building, and set the wheel brake. "Here we are. This would be the tavern, Rose. I'll just step in for a moment and be right out."

"Alright, papa." Rose shifted on the bench seat, and continued to look around. There were people, all out doing something. She managed to get a few odd looks, but for the most part people seemed content to simply glance at her once and then get on with things. She didn't see any girls her age, though.

"Who're you?"

Rose looked over, and blinked down at a grubby boy. He seemed friendly enough, she thought. He had dirt and twigs in his hair, which made him look funny, but his blue eyes were bright and he was smiling at her. She smiled back.

"I'm Rose. My papa and I just moved here. He's the blacksmith- and he invents things too!" She pointed at the tavern. "He just stepped in there to talk to someone, I think it was about our house."

"Probably. I'm Gaston- my Père owns the tavern. He's probably the one your Père is talking to."

"I'll take your word for it." Rose clasped her hands in her lap, and tilted her head. Now what? She'd had several friends back in Grantham, but they'd all been girls. Surely boys couldn't be too different, could they? "What do you do around here? For fun, I mean," she asked.

"Well, it depends. Usually I go out into the woods or ride my horse. Do you like horses?" Gaston climbed up onto the wagon, and sat down next to Rose. His clothes were very dirty, she noticed, and one knee in his trousers was ripped.

"I like them sometimes," she said. "What else?"

"In the summer we can go swimming, and Père said I could learn how to hunt this fall! And there's always the festivals- there's the harvest festival, and we have a Christmas celebration, and there's a festival in spring, just before we start planting. And there's one in summer, too, I don't know what we celebrate then but its lots of fun." Gaston peered at Rose's face. "Do you have a horse of your own?"

"N-no, I don't." She leaned back, a little, and looked down. Did all boys talk so quickly, or was it just Gaston?

"You should get one," he said. "Then you and I can go riding together. I'll show you everywhere!"

"I can't. I'm sorry." Rose felt her face heating up. She glanced over at Gaston, who looked surprised- and a little disgusted. He probably thought she was afraid to ride or something, she thought, and nearly sighed. "It's my ankle. I broke it- it never healed right- I can't really… ride." Or run, or take stairs very easily, or- sometimes she got very tired of having to be so careful.

"Which ankle?" Gaston asked, and then peered down at her feet, as if he could tell that way. He couldn't- her feet were covered by her skirts, and both ankles looked normal.

"My left," she said, and sighed. "So I can't ride side-saddle, you see." Not that girls were supposed to ride astride. It was so annoying. Old Jenkins, who had taught her to ride, had taught her astride riding, and it was so much more secure then side-saddle.

"Well, that's simple enough to fix. Get a saddle so you can use your right leg." Gaston nodded, once. "Simple enough."

"But then you have to train the horse to accept cues from a right leg instead of a left," Rose pointed out. "I don't know how to do that. Do you?"

"No, but I bet Phillip knows. He owns the inn and trains horses. He's sold hunting horses to lords- oh, everywhere! And he's real smart about them, too. I could introduce you." Gaston threw his shoulders back and lifted his chin. "He would train a horse special for you if I asked him. I'm his best helper."

"Oh, do you work at the inn?"

"In the stables, so I don't have to pay to keep my horse there. Tristan's a beauty. You should see him."

"Maybe I will," Rose said. She looked over at the tavern door, and grinned. "Oh, papa! Come and meet my new friend, Gaston!"

Morris walked over, accompanied by a tall, broad shouldered man who looked so much like Gaston Rose decided he was either Gaston's father, or a much older brother.

"It's nice to meet you, Gaston," Morris said, and held out his hand. Gaston solemnly shook it.

"It's nice to meet you too, mister."

The older version of Gaston folded his arms. "Why are you not at Phillip's?" he asked. "I thought you were working there today."

"Oh, I am Père, but I wanted to say hello to Rose first." Gaston looked back at Rose. "Maybe I'll talk to you tomorrow? I could come over and then I could take you to Phillip so you could talk to him about maybe getting a horse?"

"Gaston!" Gaston's father smacked the boy upside the head. "That is enough of that. Get on with you, I have to show monsieur Endicott to his new home."

Gaston leapt down from the cart with an ease Rose admired and envied. "I'll see you tomorrow, Rose!" He waved as he jogged down the road, towards a two story building with a stable on the side. The inn, she decided.

Morris got back up onto the cart, and released the brake. "Lead on, good sir," he said.

Gaston's father nodded, and started walking. Morris got the donkey walking, and smiled down at Rose.

"It's good that you have a new friend," he said, "but what's this about a horse?"

"Oh, papa! Gaston had such a wonderful idea!" Rose clasped her hands together before her chest. "He thinks that if I had a side-saddle made so it was my right leg giving the cues, Phillip the horse trainer could teach a horse to accept it!"

"Ah, that's why you looked so happy!" Morris chuckled. "Mister D'lsigny, do you think this Phillip fellow could do that?"

Gaston's father looked back over his shoulder. "I do believe so, monsieur. Monsieur Phillip has a good hand with horses."

"Well." Morris chuckled. "I suppose I'll be talking to him soon enough."

Rose took a deep breath and smiled. Oh, to ride a horse again!

0O0

The very next morning, Rose let Gaston into the new house when he pounded on the door. "Come in, come in!" she said. "Papa wants to talk to Phillip too, so we have to wait for him."

"Alright." Gaston very obviously looked around the sitting room. "It's really empty, isn't it?"

"We weren't able to bring very much of our furniture here with us," Rose said, a little sadly. They hadn't been able to bring any of her books, either. "But Papa says we'll soon be able to buy new things, so I suppose I won't miss anything too much."

"Don't worry, Rose! We really need a blacksmith here, so your Père will never be out of work! You'll have all sorts of furniture and things you don't need before long, you'll see!"

Rose smiled. "Thank you Gaston. You're a good friend."

Morris stepped out of the kitchen. "Ah, I thought I heard you come in!" He brushed his hands on his trousers. "Give me a moment and we'll go, alright?"

Gaston nodded, and clasped his hands behind his back. "You'll like it here, Rose," he promised. "You'll see."

"I'm sure you're right, Gaston." Rose took a deep breath and looked around the mostly empty sitting room. She could just imagine bookshelves against the one wall, a comfortable couch, maybe a pet cat if she could convince her father… "I'm sure you're right."

End Notes

Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Several things now that I've started this new story. First- this is something that's lurked in the back of my mind for, oh, probably close to two, maybe three years now (along with a werewolf-Beauty/anthromorphic-cat-Beast, but I haven't figured out how to make it work just yet). It will be following the Disney plot, with a few changes. Not sure how significant they'll be, but we'll see.

Alright, about the names and before anyone reviews to tell me the Beast's name is really Adam- I know. I just happen to prefer Vincent over Adam. Furthermore, Adam is kind of a bland name. Vincent, on the other hand, is not only somewhat less heard then Adam, it also gives a few nicknames.

Morris/Maurice- Morris is just the anglicized version of Maurice. Since this is set in England, his name's English. Gaston and his father are French immigrants, however, so they get to keep their French names and the occasional French word and phrase. (D'lsigny was just chosen because it looked interesting. If there's an official last name for Gaston, and you know it, let me know and I'll edit this to fit, alright?) Belle is now Rose because I don't think any reasonable father is going to name his daughter Beauty, and Rose is the name of a beautiful flower.

And finally, there's a method to my madness in making Morris a blacksmith as well as an inventor. You'll see later. Anyways, before this note gets too long, let me just give you a reminder to please, leave a review, tell me what you think. Goodbye for now, I'm just going to run off and start writing the second chapter.