Once there was a kind girl who loved gardens and stories. Her name was Bella, but everyone called her Beauty because her smile warmed the whole street. She lived with her father, a traveling woodcarver.
One spring evening a storm tumbled in—rumble, rumble, patter, patter. Bella's father hurried home through the rain and found a grand, quiet house at the edge of the forest. He stepped inside to keep dry. On the table sat hot tea and a note:
Guests are welcome. Please be gentle with the garden.
When the storm calmed, he noticed a single perfect rose outside. “Bella loves roses,” he whispered, and he picked it.
At once a great, furry figure stepped from the shadows. His voice was deep but not unkind.
“I care for this garden,” said the Beast. “Please don’t take without asking.”
Beauty’s father bowed. “I am sorry.”