Once Upon a Time...

~One~

"Fee, fie, fo, fum; ask not when the thunder comes"

"What big eyes you have grandma"

"She pricked her finger on the spinning needle"

"The clock struck twelve and she fled"

"And they all lived happily ever after"

My thoughts have always been filled with the classic lines from classic fairy tales, my eyes always been searching for a new retelling of old favourites, my hands always drifting across flower crowns, my heart always waiting for my Prince Charming.

Mother tells me to get my head out of clouds, these stories of old should not be lingered on, they are bad luck she says. These stories were the prophecies of many years ago, of how our Kings and Queens were supposed to live. The stories are bad luck, for the Kings and Queens, so delighted in their futures, grew careless and died young. The Clairvoyants say these fortunes were for the wrong time, and soon the times of Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Jack and the Giant Bean Stalk, Little Red Riding Hood and all the other common tales will come.

No one a really knows these tales names, common folk gave them shortened names that over grew the Latin ones and this all we know today. Everything we know grows from these stories, children's names, superstitions, even precautions taken by everyone have roots from stories.

We aren't supposed to linger on the tales of old, we are meant to carve our future for ourselves but I can't help it. Everyone I know don't even like the stories, they scorn at the happy endings and romance, they don't see them as an opportunity as I do.

Born as a commoner and raised working as a peasant, I took comfort in anything that might suggest being able to move up in society. I don't let anyone know this, I am of enough trouble as it is.

Being called Belle, a less common story derived name, yet not possessing great beauty frustrates me, though not vainly. All my friends have abilities which remarkably link back to the stories characters. My best friend Jack has ambitiousness and great skill in climbing. My friend Ella seems to talk with animals and Red never heeds her mothers advice though she is clever and cautious.

I have twelve sisters, all named after the Twelve Dancing Princesses. I am the youngest and unplanned child, forever being mocked by my beautiful sisters that perhaps I should marry an ugly beast rather than waste my family's efforts to find me a suitable, respectable and hopefully richer husband. Due to this scorn I often find myself reading in the woods that dominate the outer edge behind my fathers farm. When I was younger I used to not be able to walk that far, but now, when I am angry I break the rules and run to my woods in ten minutes.

Though the woods are large and the shadows big, their are greater terrors than woods.

My sisters, more feminine and rule abiding have never run, been dirty, shot a pig with a hand carved bow and arrow, snuck out of the house or even climbed a tree, not even when they were younger as my parents tell me.

I am in my woods now, it is my favorite time to vist, it's time for the sunset, the pink and red and yellow streak across the horizon like and painting that an artist grew bored of. It looks unfinished but it's complete for me in this moment. I know I will have to go home soon to bossy sisters, unhappy father and a disapproving mother to wash and eat and cook with the family. I have never been good at the homily skills, naturally, all my sisters excell at cooking, cleaning, ironing, folding, painting, dancing and singing. I can only hold a tune when I am alone, my voice just seems to dry up in front of others.

I sigh and lift up the green skirt of my favorite dress, it is plain green fabric of cheap material, but I had my mother embroider it a while ago when she was in one of her better moods, it has gold flowers and stars all over it, weaving together to make a charming pattern.

I flick the skirt of my arm, hitching it up (scandalously so) over my knees so that I climb down from my tree without ripping it. I walk slowly and carefully through my familiar forest, listening to the birds call and sing. Their song is the only thing I love to hear, apart from the stories but I don't talk about those, I learnt along time ago not to talk about them.

"Belle!!!?" I hear my father call for me, I have stayed out for too long, I should of been bathing by now. I run quickly but carefully, if he is just outside the back of our house, I can stop running around the corner and walk calmly so I won't be told off. I still have one more corner to go before I need to stop, I turn the corner, still running and run straight into my father. My eyes grow wide in fear as his do the same but in anger.

"Been running, have we?" He says gruffly as he grabs my upper arm.

"Papa please no, please don't tell mama!" I beg, my eyes start welling up, I angrily force the tears away, I have never been a big crier.

"Not the first time I knew you been runnin Belle, this jus' the first time I caught ya in the act"

He keeps pulling me towards the shabby wreck of house, if you can even call it that. The roof is made of straw, thatched cheaply so that it has many holes and leaks constantly in the winter. He pulls me into the house and pushed me into one of the kitchen table chairs, finally releasing me arm which was growing numb, I rub it, flicking my eyes to my father to let him know he was too harsh.

"What's this?" My mother asks, her brunette hair swept up into a braided pile on her head, an apron around her waist as she spins around from the pot of soup on the stove.
"Mud on your dress, twigs in your hair, sweat on your brow! You look like a scruffy farmer boy! Not a lady, not a women whom is to be 16 soon!" She rants at me and I now my head, admiring the wooden grain on the scrubbed table.

"...you look at me when I talk to you Belle!" I raise my head to see my mothers hands on her hips, her delicate eyebrows pulling together, her eyes sharp and displeased.

"I'm sorry" I mumble, dragging a finger nail beneath another.

"Sorry? Oh your sorry? Of course your "sorry" but that won't be stopping you will it? Out in the woods for god knows how long doing god knows how many unladylike things! Belle this needs to stop. You need to start being more like your sisters, learn to cook or paint or draw or dance or sing or sew just something that can make you look presentable. You need to get out into town with your sisters, put yourself out there. Belle, you can't live here forever, you NEED to get married, for your own good." My mothers expression softens and I can definetly see how she managed to win the heart of my father, a slightly richer farmer. Her pale green eyes and dark hair, her high cheekbones and pouty pink lips, I don't look very alike to her.

"Your going to go to the dressmakers tomorrow and get a new dress along with Gabrielle and then you are going to acompony her to Lord Edwards party. She has managed to win favour with his son, I am hopeful he may wed her, unlike you she has charm, poise and elegance. And she goes to town nearly every day, she knows many people and has managed to help several of your married sisters into that position."

I blush and bite the inside of my cheek, she said I had no charm and besides, I hate town and avoid it as much as I can, too many people,all out to impress land graze at the selection of potential husbands. I know I am in a bad position anyway so I don't argue though I wish to.

"Go bathe and then eat a nice hot bowl of soup and then we can get you looking all nice and pretty tomorrow and find you a nice boy, alright?" She strokes my arm but I'm too upset to say anything so I just nod meekly, and drag myself up from the table to wash mayself and maybe even my worries in a nice hot tub of water.