Thaw

"𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭."

❅

Belle hates mornings. She always has. As beautiful as the rising sun on the horizon could be, she found that she saw equal beauty in the moon and stars in the sky at night. Especially mornings in Villeneuve.

Every day seems to just be a repeat of the last. Every day, just the same.

"Good morning, Belle!" Monsieur Vision calls out, snapping Belle out of her reverie.

"Good morning, Monsieur Vision! Have you lost something again?" Belle questions, seeing as though the older man looks quite perturbed.

"Well, I believe I have," he sighs, "the problem is, I can't seem to remember what!"

Belle laughs a bit at his words, not enough to seem rude or mocking, but not too little to appear disinterested.

"I'm sure that it will come to me eventually," the man continues. "Say, where are you off to?"

"I'm going to return this book to Heimdall at the library," Belle answers, gesturing to the slightly-tattered red book in her arms, the spine being just tattered enough to indicate that the novel was well-read. "It's about two lovers in Verona."

"Sounds boring," Monsieur Vision scoffs, returning to his work as the girl simply laughs off his words and continues on her way.

As Belle wanders through the market, she observes several of the townspeople going about their daily routines, seemingly content with the boring and repetitive nature of it all.

There must be more than this provincial life, Belle thinks to herself as she nears the town's library.

"Ah, well if it isn't the only bookworm in town," Heimdall, the library's keeper, remarks as he sees Belle enter through the small doorway. He raises his feather duster in greeting, and turns back to dusting the shelves as he asks, "so, where did you run off to this week?"

"Two cities in Northern Italy," Belle sighs, replaying the novel's plot in her mind. "I didn't want to come back! Have you got any new places to go?"

"I'm afraid not," Heimdall answers, turning from his work to see Belle examining the small collection of books in front of her.

Well, to call it a collection may even be giving it more credit than due; there were no more than 10 tattered, badly-worn books sitting unimpressively on a small shelf cluttered with other junk.

"But you may reread any of the old ones you'd like," the shopkeeper continues, pitying the girl before him.

"Thank you," Belle smiles at him, picking up a copy of one of her personal favorite books, Frankenstein.

Heimdall sings a small goodbye to the young woman as she opens the door once more, waving at him politely before exiting the small library.

As Belle wanders aimlessly through the small market, she is unaware of the presence of John Walker behind her, quickly trying to rush to meet her but getting caught in the crowd of townspeople.

"Good morning Mademoiselle Sif!" She stops, waving softly to the woman selling fruits in the stall to her right.

"Good morning, Belle," the woman smiles back, although her eyes tell a different story. Several years back, Sif had lost her husband, Thor, in a small skirmish in the Northern territory. She had received word via post, and was told that his body was never recovered. Although she acts quite upbeat around others, Belle knows that she misses her beloved dearly.

"It's nice to see you," Belle says, simply yet kindly, grabbing an apple from Sif's stand and handing the slightly-older woman coins in return.

"You as well," Sif responds plainly, accepting the payment and waving goodbye to Belle before turning away and pocketing the money.

"Good morning, Belle!" Belle hears for the billionth time this morning, sighing as she turns and recognizes the person who the voice belongs to: John Walker. "Wonderful book you have there," he remarks, slightly out of breath from chasing after her through the market stalls; although he'd never admit it.

"Have you read it?" Belle asks back, shocked that a man so arrogant and, as he would put it, 'athletically inclined', would enjoy literature such as her.

"Well, not that one..." he trails off, rubbing his neck uncomfortably. "But, you know... books. Anyways, I got these for you."

Belle simply stares at the bouquet of flowers that John is offering her, slightly taken aback but even more so repulsed by the man's gesture.

"Shall I join you this evening?" John continues after a pause, Belle making it clear that she isn't going to say anything more.

"Sorry...uh, not this evening," Belle murmurs back, still trying to subtly push the gift away.

"Oh, busy?" He responds blankly, clearly not getting the, 'I'm not into you, so piss off before I knee you in the crown-jewels' vibe that Belle is giving off.

"Nope," Belle states simply, popping the "p" before turning and hastily walking away.

"So...." Lemar, John's self proclaimed 'right hand man' asks, stifling a laugh at his friend's utter and complete failure.

"It's the ones who play hard to get who are the sweetest prey, Lemar. That's what makes Belle so appealing--she hasn't made a complete fool of herself just to gain my favor. What would you call that?"

"Dignity?" Lemar deadpans.

"Well, whatever it is, it's outrageously attractive," John continues.

"Yeah, so is the bare minimum, you know, like consen-"

"What was that?" John snaps back, turning to his friend who suddenly seems to be very interested in one of the booths to his right.

"Uh, nothing," Lemar says, walking away before he can further piss off his friend.

Meanwhile, Belle approaches the small home she shares with her widowed father, Phil. Ever since he lost his wife in childbirth, Phil had always been quite reserved, although did that in no way affect his parenting skills.

In fact, Phil is a great father to Belle. He was always getting himself into complicated projects and tasks, and Belle always loves to help and learn from him in any way she can.

"Ah, Belle," he says, looking up from his work to see his daughter walk in the front door to their small cottage. "Say, could you pass me a-"

However, before he can get out the rest of the sentence, Belle hands him a small gear, having already anticipated what he needed.

"No, actually, what I need is a..." he trails off, looking at the golden gear in his daughter's hand before shaking his head, "actually, yes, that's exactly what I need."

The room grows quiet for a few moments as Phil continues his tinkering on his latest project, a small windmill made out of metal parts.

"Father, do you think that I'm odd?" The girl asks very suddenly.

"Odd?" Phil repeats, half to his daughter and half to himself before pondering in thought for a bit. "...This is a small village, Belle. Naturally, it is also very small-minded. However, you'll find that wherever you go. Even back in Paris, I knew a girl like you who was so... ahead of her time. Different. People mocked her. Until the day they all found themselves imitating her."

Phil trails off, seemingly lost in the vast pool of memories and long-suppressed emotions inside his heart.

"What else was she like?" Belle asks, encouraging him to keep talking.

"Your mother was....fearless," he finally says, a thin smile forming on his lips as he relives a memory unknown to anyone else.

"Like Taylor Swift..." Belle trails off, thinking to herself out loud for a moment.

"Who?"

"Oh, sorry, I, uh, read about her somewhere in a book," Belle answers hastily, tucking a thin strand of brown hair behind her ear.

The father and his daughter sit in silence for some time after that, Phil finishing his latest piece and Belle fashioning a makeshift bag for him to carry with him on his journey.

"So, what can I bring you from the market?" Her father says after a while, smiling knowingly as he heads to the door with his project safely wrapped in a brown box.

"A rose. Like the one in the painting," the girl answers without missing a beat.

"You ask for that every year," Phil retorts playfully as he saddles up Fury, his horse.

"And every year you bring me one," Belle answers, smiling as she helps her father up onto the horse and tucks away the box and bag of bread and fruit into the small carriage behind him.

"Than I shall bring you another. You have my word," he smiles at his daughter. "Goodbye, Belle."

"Goodbye, Father. I'll see you tomorrow!" Belle calls out as she backs away from her father and his steed, watching as they disappear into the forest.

"Stay safe," the girl adds once he is out of sight. "I love you."

❅

"Assholes," Belle whispers to herself as she rushes back to her house, cradling her soaked and now dirtied clothes in her hands.

"Belle!" She hears John Walker's infuriating voice call out her name for the second time today, and she quickly picks up her pace to try and outrun him. "I heard that you had trouble with the Headmaster. He never liked me, either," he says, catching up to her, much to her dismay. "Can I give you a little advice about the villagers, though? They're never going to trust the kind of change you bring."

Belle scoffs as she turns to see John cutting through the small garden outside of her home, effectively crushing every crop in his path.

"All I wanted was to teach a child to read," she huffs, placing the basket of her sopping clothes by the door. However, before she can enter, John slips between her and the doorway. "And they soiled my clothes because of it."

"The only children you should concern yourself with," John says, moving from side to side to block Belle's entry into her home, "are your own."

"I'm certainly not ready to have children," Belle scoffs again, trying and failing to get around the man in front of her.

"Maybe you haven't met the right man," John continues.

"It's a small village, John. I've met them all."

"Well, maybe you should take another look," he dubiously suggests. "Some of us have changed."

"John... we could never make each other happy," Belle finally caves, losing her patience with the man. "Nobody can change that much."

"Oooh, burn," Lemar murmurs from his place behind the nearby tree, definitely not spying on his best friend.

"Belle, don't you know what happens to spinsters in this village after their fathers die?" John suggests, changing route from his 'saving the damsel in distress' tactics and going right for the 'basically threatening her with her father's death' tactic. "They beg for scraps, like poor Hela over there. It's a simple life for us, and we're simple people."

"I may be a farm girl, John," Belle says, finally pushing her way past the brute and to her doorway. "And I am never going to marry you," she exclaims, slamming the door shut in his face.

And for once, it might be grand, to have someone understand; I want so much more than they've got planned, Belle thinks to herself as she slides down the back of the door, gazing around aimlessly at the confines of her small cottage.

❅ ❅ ❅