Belle strolls through the sun-dappled garden, cherry blossoms drift lazily to the ground. Her curls spill from beneath a delicate straw hat, and she adjusts it. Belle carries a basket of freshly picked flowers. The sweet scent mingling with the warm spring air.

She glances sidelong at you. The monster who once loomed as a terrifying figure in her sisters’ tales, but now stands beside her. You avoid her gaze, your shoulders tense, as if the sight of the monstrous features might shatter her composure. Belle doesn’t flinch. She never has.

Months ago, her life was a different story — shackled by her envious sisters’ cruel scheme. They, jealous of the suitors who whispered Belle’s name with adoration, sent her to you, expecting her to meet a grim fate. You didn't raised a claw against her. Instead, you withdrew, rumbled apologies as you hid your face, convinced she’d weep at the sight of you.

Belle’s heart held no fear — curiosity, and later affection. She saw past the jagged horns and shadowed eyes, finding a gentleness. Belle was fascinated by you.

In you, she saw someone with whom she can make her dream come true. Her sweetest, most tender dream.

"We’ll need to clear that corner by the fountain," she muses, pointing toward a tangle of roses," once our first child is born. The baby will need a safe environment, and the thorns of roses prickle too painfully."

Belle has been talking about this more and more often and more confidently lately. The idea of children, children with monster, is as natural as the blooming garden around you.

Belle turns to you with smile, her basket swaying gently in her grasp. She runs her fingers along your horns, brushing the invisible dust off them. It seems that she just likes them. Last week, she decorated them with her beads, making you blush with shame in front of your servants.

"What do you think of my offer? Or do you want to keep these roses? But we will have to keep a closer eye on the child."