Chapter Text
Holding one pale hand to her diaphragm, Belle forced herself to breathe in and out, slow and steady. She had always known that, someday, she would have to marry, but when the ogres came, she’d thought it would buy her time.
She hadn’t realized that it would start the clock for everyone in the Enchanted Forest.
Now, here she was, standing outside at her own pre-wedding feast, an intimate gathering the day before her wedding for only the fifty most important people across the kingdoms.
Standing outside was not exactly correct. Hiding was more accurate, but if Belle admitted that she was hiding, then she would have to admit that her life was over, that the rest of her life was not her own, and that not only had she been unable to save her lands from the ogres, she would never be the one to do it. Prince Gaston would not stand for a wife spending time in the war room. He would send soldiers and be done with it.
She wiped a tear from her eyes before it could ruin the careful paint. If anyone suspected that she’d been out here crying, they would fuss and draw attention and make it that much harder for her to escape into the library the second dinner ended.
“What ails you, my child?” a soft voice said, and Belle tried not to shudder. The blue fairy had been a kind and devoted ally to Avonlea during the ogre wars, but Belle couldn’t abide her pitying looks or alleged concern. She always got the impression that the blue fairy found her foolish.
“Just nerves.” Belle turned to face her with a forced smile. It didn’t matter how small her face was, it still managed to be condescending.
The blue fairy drifted closer, clasping her hands. “I know you’re nervous, Belle, but Gaston is a wonderful man and he’ll make a wonderful husband. You could spend your whole life looking for something like that.”
Belle nodded, swallowing her retort. Gaston was an oafish brute who cared more for conquest than conversation. She had no doubts what being his wife would entail.
“I know,” she said anyway. “It’s just—the crowd. It’s so lavish here. I—I needed some fresh air.”
The blue fairy gazed upon her dress, as if she hadn’t wished it into existence herself that afternoon.
“I understand, Belle. It’s a lot of change. But do hurry back before your groom gets worried!”
“I will.” Belle doubted that Gaston had any idea where she’d been all night, even when she was right next to him, but the blue fairy was as excited about this match as her father was, so she couldn’t say a negative word.
The blue fairy hovered, her glow lighting up the garden and ruining Belle’s mournful solitude. She and Belle stared at one another, smiling, so Belle cleared her throat.
“I promise I’ll just be another minute,” Belle said. “I just need to be alone.”
“Of course.” The blue fairy ducked her head, then flew off, back to Belle’s party.
Belle sighed, walking deeper down the path. If only she could spend the night solving the ogre problem, she could go to her father in the morning, slap a solution on his desk, and tell him she didn’t need to marry a prince because she could save Avonlea as a spinster.
A well sprung up before her in the darkness. No lanterns illuminated it, and the nearby trees hid it from starlight. She might not have noticed it if she had even blinked.
Intrigued in spite of herself, she headed toward it. Perhaps this was where the palace got its water, but it seemed so far away.
“That’s a wishing well, my child,” a woman said, and Belle grit her teeth. The next my child was going to get an earful on how Belle was an adult.
“A wishing well?” she asked instead of screaming.
“Oh yes.” An old woman shuffled into view, hunched over so that she barely came up to Belle’s ribs. “All the brides used to come here before their weddings to wish for good fortune.”
Belle glanced down at the woman, watching her with rheumy eyes. She supposed that, if anyone was going to call her a child, this woman certainly was old enough.
“What sort of good fortune?” Belle asked, turning her gaze back to the well.
“Bountiful children, longevity—” she nudged Belle with her elbow. “—a good wedding night.”
Belle wanted to vomit, but she swallowed it down. It seemed like bad luck to hurl into the wishing well. Instead, she stepped closer, resting her hands on the edge.
“Do I need to throw a coin in?” she asked. I wish to not be married.
“No, no.” The old woman shuffled closer, resting a hand on her back. “The trick is all in how you look at the water.”
Well, Belle was already out here. What was the harm in making a wish?
“Okay. What do I need to do?”
She leaned forward, squinting, trying to make out the ripples of water below.
“You must look hard, deep, and when you see it sparkle—that’s when you make the wish.”
Belle nodded, then leaned all the way forward. “Do the wishes usually come true?”
“Oh, that depends on who you ask, dear,” the woman said. “Can you see it yet?”
“No.” Belle stretched forward and then, when she couldn’t see anything more, braced her arms and lifted off her feet.
All at once, the water sparkled blue, and Belle gasped. “I see it!”
“Good, good! Now make your wish!”
She’d been wary before, but seeing the water respond to her, it was obviously magic. She leaned forward again and took a deep breath.
“I wish—” She cut herself off with a screech as a hand closed around her ankle. “No, no, it’s fine! Don’t pull me back yet!”
“Pull you back?” a strange woman’s voice said. “Why ever would I do that?”
Belle, stumped, had only a second to wonder at how the hand around her ankle firmed, the fingers smoothed, and the grip tightened before whoever it was lifted her bodily and tipped her, screaming, down the well, into the shimmering blue depths, yanking off one satin shoe.
Cora studied the heel in her hand. A finer shoe than Lord Maurice could afford; Belle’s whole ensemble must have been from her new husband.
Good. That meant, once Prince Gaston finished mourning his betrothed and chose Regina as his next bride, she would have riches beyond her wildest imagination.
For now, though—
Cora, back in her own beautiful skin, ran up the garden path, screaming and waving Belle’s shoe.