Belle: A Retelling of “Beauty and the Beast” By Cameron Dokey Read Online Free Page B
Author: Unknown
way her laughter sounded like clear water dancing over stones. Everything about April was like a hand outstretched, inviting you to reach out to join her.
That is truly what makes her Beautiful , I thought.
I lifted myself up onto one elbow now, straining to see beyond April to Celeste’s sleeping form. My oldest sister did not give off her own light. If anything, it was just the opposite. The place where she lay seemed plunged in shadow, as if Celeste always
carried some part of midnight, the time of her birth with her.
Whereas April’s look shone out to meet you, Celeste’s looks were of a different
kind. Something about her always seemed mysterious, hidden from view, even when she was standing in direct sunlight. She made you look once, then look again, as if to make certain you hadn’t missed anything the first time around.
That is Beauty too , I decided. Not as comfortable a kind of Beauty as April’s, perhaps, but Beauty just the same, for it made you want more. So that made both my sisters Beautiful with a capital B.
Where does that leave me ? I wondered.
Yes, I know. It sounds as if I was edging right up to self-pity, but I swear to you that wasn’t how it seemed at the time. It was simply the logical next question, the next piece of the puzzle I had suddenly discovered I needed to solve.
All of us come to some moment in our childhoods when we realize that the world
is bigger than we imagined it could be. Wider than the reach of our arms, even when they are stretched out as far as they can go. That is what happened to me on the day of Monsieur LeGrand’s visit, I think. As if standing between my two sisters had hidden me from view, but opened up the world all at the same time.
Before Monsieur LeGrand’s arrival, I had never really taken the time to consider
my relationship with my sisters. Or if I had, it was only to think about our order: Celeste, April, Belle.
But if my name was not the true match to my face, was last my true place in line?
What if there was something different mapped out for me? If I didn’t even know myself, how could I begin to find out what that something was?
All of a sudden, I could bear lying in bed on moment longer. My body felt
foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. So I tossed back the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up, hissing ever so slightly as my bare feet hit the cold floor. Quietly, so as not to awaken my sleeping sisters in all their loveliness, I pulled a robe on over my nightdress, slid my feet into my oldest and most soft-soled pair of shoes, and slipped out the bedroom door.
A house is a strange thing at night, even when that house is your own. For even
the most comfortable, well-lived-in houses has its secrets. If you get up unexpectedly in the night, you can sometimes catch a glimpse of them. Our house seemed to whisper to itself in voices that were quickly hushed as I hurried along its darkened corridors.
Was it talking about me? Discussing my lost Beauty, perhaps? I pursed my lips,
pressing them tightly together so I wouldn’t be tempted to pose the question. I wasn’t all that sure I wanted to know.
I sped along the upstairs hallway on swift and silent feet, then hurried down the stairs at a pace I would dearly have loved earlier that day. I swung right, toward the kitchen at the back of the house. Easing open the door, I poked my head around it, then slid all the way inside.
There, resting on the kitchen windowsill, between a pot of marjoram on one side
and oregano on the other, was a single lantern, its flame burning clear and bright. At the sight of this, I felt some of the terrible strangeness that pulled me out of bed begin to ease.
Papa was working late in his workshop.
Do you fee closer to one of your parents than to the other? I do, and I here admit that, much as I love my mother, I have always been closer to Papa. I think it’s the way his mind works makes sense to me, in a way that Maman’s never
That is truly what makes her Beautiful , I thought.
I lifted myself up onto one elbow now, straining to see beyond April to Celeste’s sleeping form. My oldest sister did not give off her own light. If anything, it was just the opposite. The place where she lay seemed plunged in shadow, as if Celeste always
carried some part of midnight, the time of her birth with her.
Whereas April’s look shone out to meet you, Celeste’s looks were of a different
kind. Something about her always seemed mysterious, hidden from view, even when she was standing in direct sunlight. She made you look once, then look again, as if to make certain you hadn’t missed anything the first time around.
That is Beauty too , I decided. Not as comfortable a kind of Beauty as April’s, perhaps, but Beauty just the same, for it made you want more. So that made both my sisters Beautiful with a capital B.
Where does that leave me ? I wondered.
Yes, I know. It sounds as if I was edging right up to self-pity, but I swear to you that wasn’t how it seemed at the time. It was simply the logical next question, the next piece of the puzzle I had suddenly discovered I needed to solve.
All of us come to some moment in our childhoods when we realize that the world
is bigger than we imagined it could be. Wider than the reach of our arms, even when they are stretched out as far as they can go. That is what happened to me on the day of Monsieur LeGrand’s visit, I think. As if standing between my two sisters had hidden me from view, but opened up the world all at the same time.
Before Monsieur LeGrand’s arrival, I had never really taken the time to consider
my relationship with my sisters. Or if I had, it was only to think about our order: Celeste, April, Belle.
But if my name was not the true match to my face, was last my true place in line?
What if there was something different mapped out for me? If I didn’t even know myself, how could I begin to find out what that something was?
All of a sudden, I could bear lying in bed on moment longer. My body felt
foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. So I tossed back the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat up, hissing ever so slightly as my bare feet hit the cold floor. Quietly, so as not to awaken my sleeping sisters in all their loveliness, I pulled a robe on over my nightdress, slid my feet into my oldest and most soft-soled pair of shoes, and slipped out the bedroom door.
A house is a strange thing at night, even when that house is your own. For even
the most comfortable, well-lived-in houses has its secrets. If you get up unexpectedly in the night, you can sometimes catch a glimpse of them. Our house seemed to whisper to itself in voices that were quickly hushed as I hurried along its darkened corridors.
Was it talking about me? Discussing my lost Beauty, perhaps? I pursed my lips,
pressing them tightly together so I wouldn’t be tempted to pose the question. I wasn’t all that sure I wanted to know.
I sped along the upstairs hallway on swift and silent feet, then hurried down the stairs at a pace I would dearly have loved earlier that day. I swung right, toward the kitchen at the back of the house. Easing open the door, I poked my head around it, then slid all the way inside.
There, resting on the kitchen windowsill, between a pot of marjoram on one side
and oregano on the other, was a single lantern, its flame burning clear and bright. At the sight of this, I felt some of the terrible strangeness that pulled me out of bed begin to ease.
Papa was working late in his workshop.
Do you fee closer to one of your parents than to the other? I do, and I here admit that, much as I love my mother, I have always been closer to Papa. I think it’s the way his mind works makes sense to me, in a way that Maman’s never
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