Free As Old As Time: A Twisted Tale (Twisted Tale, A) by Liz Braswell Page B

FRIENDS.”
    Trying not to weep at the other girl’s callous statement, she pulled out her latest book and deliberately and firmly turned to the last page she had read, the one right before the picture of the galleon being tossed about in the waves.
    A quick pitter-patter of six feet sounded in the next room, away into the outside world. The girls were gone, free to enjoy the day as they chose, which probably meant avoiding the sunshine so they wouldn’t ruin their creamy complexions.
    Belle’s father sighed and sat down heavily at the edge of her bed. He smiled when he saw what book she was reading and shook his head.
    “Belle, girl, you can’t find real adventures that way. You have to go out into the world…you have to
meet
people…”
    “
You
don’t,” she protested.
    “I did when I was younger,” he said gently. “That’s how I met your mother. True love doesn’t just fall into your lap. You have to go out and find your other half.”
    “But your…my…she fell
out
of your lap. She just kept going.”
    Maurice blinked, obviously surprised by this pithy, intelligent observation from his daughter. Then he put his arms around her and pulled her until she was sitting in his lap like a much younger girl. She didn’t resist, snuggling into him.
    “You can’t have adventures without risk. You can’t have great things if you constantly fear loss. And I am a much, much better person because of your mother. If nothing else, she gave me you.”
    He kissed her on the forehead and hugged her tight.
    “Oh, Belle, what are we going to do with you, my little dreamer?”
    Adult Belle shifted uncomfortably on the bed and shed a few more tears at this memory. She was finally having her adventure—and it had cost her
everything:
her father, her home, her books, her life. It was too much.
    She was shaken out of her reveries by a loud banging on the door. Thundering, really; the whole thing shook. A lesser door would have been torn off its hinges.
    Of course it was the Beast this time.
    “I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO COME DOWN TO DINNER!”
    “I’M NOT HUNGRY!”
she screamed back, rage billowing out of her more forcefully than she had imagined possible. Thinking of the triplets and their behavior hadn’t improved her mood.
    “YOU’LL COME OUT OR…I’LL BREAK DOWN THE DOOR!”
    “HUFF AND PUFF ALL YOU LIKE, YOU MONSTROUS WOLF!”
she spat.
“GO RIGHT AHEAD! IT’S
YOUR
CASTLE, AFTER ALL. DO WHATEVER YOU WANT WITH IT. I’M JUST YOUR
PRISONER!”
    There was a pause. She thought she heard voices in the corridor besides the Beast’s own, entreating him.
    “willyoucomedowntodinner?” the Beast finally muttered.
    “NO!”
    “It would…give me…great pleasure…if you…would…join me…for dinner. PLEASE.”
    “No. Thank you,” Belle replied just as formally and twice as icily.
    “YOU CAN’T STAY IN THERE FOREVER!”
the Beast roared.
    “JUST WATCH ME!” Belle spat back.
    “FINE! THEN GO AHEAD AND
STARVE
!”
    “I ALREADY
PLANNED
TO!”
    The Beast let out a wordless snarl. He made no noise leaving, no stomping off. Much like the now-still wardrobe, there was just the utter silence of an absence of presence.

Maurice hadn’t thought it possible to fall in love with another human even more than he had with his dear wife…and yet he had to be forcefully persuaded to give up tiny infant Belle when it was time to feed her. He handed her over reluctantly, utterly taken by twinkling topaz eyes and chubby pink cheeks.
    Her mother loved her differently: with a fierceness that grew warier as the days drew on.
    Smoke from arson fire was a more than occasional sight first thing in the morning, and always of a
charmante
business or house. It was not safe for
charmantes
to walk the streets alone at night now; disappearances were becoming more common, and their bodies rarely showed up.
    It was hard to say which was more frightening, the growing list of the missing—or the utter mystery of how it was done.
    The fever