𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐃 | 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝐕. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆, Celine had set up her easel along the edge of the village overlooking the meadow and rolling hills of the forest beyond.

With a smile, she pulled back the fabric that kept her paints fresh then dipped her brush into the first color. It was about ten minutes before she was disturbed.

A small girl who had been playing in the street stopped beside her and tilted her head. "What are you doing?"

Celine stopped what she was doing, simply measuring some of the trees by extending her brush to keep their proportions the same, and looked down at the girl. "Painting... would you like to join me?"

The girl looked uncertain and hesitated to nod her head.

"Here," Celine offered the girl her brush, "I'll teach you."

A soft smile formed on the girl's face as she clumsily accepted the brush and held it in her hand similar to how she would hold an eating utensil. Celine chuckled and gently corrected her form, holding the girl's hand in her own as she guided the brush along the canvas.

The girl was quick to learn. It wasn't long before she no longer required Celine's aid and was able to drag the brush across the canvas on her own.

"You're doing amazing!" Celine encouraged.

"What on earth are you doing?" One of the village men raised an eyebrow as he approached the two. "Teaching a girl to paint? Isn't one enough?"

The other village woman beside him nodded her head in agreement. "The fine arts should be left up to the men. There's not a teaching institute for miles that would even think of accepting a lady in their studies."

The man lowered his voice and spoke solely to the woman. "We have to do something."

Celine hadn't expected the two to gather most of the village, but they did. Her easel was tossed to the ground and the glass jars shattered. The paint splashed against the ground and skirt of her dress.

She could feel tears welling up in her eyes, but she quickly hid them as she dropped to the ground to gather what few supplies the villagers hadn't broken. She held the single intact brush close to her chest as she left the crowd behind in a rush.

"Celine!"

She glanced over her shoulder to see that Gaston was following her back to the cottage. "Leave me alone!"

"I heard you had some trouble with the headmaster." Gaston ignored her request. "He never liked me either."

She stopped and turned toward him in frustration. "What do you want, Gaston?"

"Can I give you a little advice about the villagers?" He asked but didn't give her the option of answering. "They're never going to trust the kind of change you're trying to bring."

"All I wanted to do was teach a child to paint." Celine crossed her arms. "Women have the right to think, imagine, and express themselves too."

Gaston laughed, but stopped as soon as he realized that Celine was serious. He cleared his throat. "Perhaps the only children you should concern yourself with are your own."

She took a step back, appalled at the thought. "I'm not ready to have children."

"Maybe you haven't met the right man," Gaston suggested.

She scoffed and turned to continue walking. "It's a small village, Gaston, I've met them all."

"Well, maybe you should take another look. Some of us have changed."

"Gaston." She stopped and gestured to the two of them. "What is this? I thought you were infatuated with Belle."

"Belle has shown no interest," Gaston replied with a shrug. "Now you... well, I remember a time when you were smitten."

"Smitten?" She scoffed and shook her head. "Gaston, you're delusional."

"Am I?" He looked amused. "What about the spring fair that came to the village?"

"The spring fair?" Her eyes widened. "We were twelve!"

"Let's not forget that you were the one to ask me," Gaston reminded her.

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, but we'll just forget that you turned me down then humiliated me in front of the entire village."

He waved away her retort. "Even so, you can't say we don't have a history."

She shook her head, blatantly denying his belief. "We don't."

"Alright, then perhaps that should change," Gaston finally offered his invitation, "How about we take a walk over to the tavern and have a look at my hunting trophies?"

"Maybe some other time," she declined, "but quite frankly, we could never make each other happy. A hunter like you and an artist like me?"

"Time has passed, Celine." Gaston continued his attempt at persuading her to change her mind. "We've both changed from the children we once knew."

Celine slowly shook her head. "No one can change that much..."

Her voice faded as she recalled the conversation she'd had with her mother the night before. Gaston quickly saw that she had stopped and looked at him, deep in thought.

"Celine?"

She snapped out of her thoughts and sighed, almost as if the thought of accepting his invitation was a chore. "One chance."

"Pardon?"

"You get one chance." She held up a single finger. "Pick me up at the cottage this evening. I trust you know the way?"

Gaston nodded his head. The smug grin on his face was enough to make her cringe, but she'd already promised him a second chance and she wasn't one to go back on her word. It was too late to turn back now.