A Reylo re-telling of Beauty and the Beast
In the beginning learning the curse could be broken had given him hope. Yet as he grew more reclusive that hope faded to cynicism. He snorted to himself at the memory, pushing away all of those ridiculous t...
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Breathe. Just breathe.
Those three words had become a lifeline as Rey stood front and center flanked by Finn and Rose, amongst the most gallant and posh of the galaxy's aristocracy, as the highly anticipated ceremony was about to begin.
The evening hues blending across the Chandrillan sky of pinks and oranges painted a stunning, picturesque background as the last of the sun's rays shone brightly through the windows, and domed skylights of the throne room.
Voices of the crowd echoed throughout the vast chamber creating a din unlike any she'd ever heard. Many were curious as to when the prince would reveal himself enhanced with the hopeful voices of eligible courtiers that clung to their last sliver of optimism of the prince choosing them to dance with.
While most of the chatter among the elderly gatherers had been regarding Leia, who regally sat upon her throne at the head of the chamber for the last time before ceding the crown to her son, the shimmering gold of Rey's dress blatantly made her an easy subject matter for the surrounding nobles as they heavily scrutinized her alluring appearance. The dress itself had geometric patterns of metallic gold fabric beset against an almost sheer taffeta. The off the shoulder, yet long sleeved gown was certainly opulent, with gold rope like heels to match and equally opulent gold celestial earrings topped off with a delicate gold comb with gold leaves weaving into her updo. A braided bun with Alderaanian braids of celebration that Leia had braided herself, teaching Rey in the traditions of long-lost her home world.
Rey felt like a goddess in the dress. She knew from the minute Leia had shown the gown to her, that it was perfect for Ben's coronation. To drape herself in regal clothing however was not something she was all that accustomed to even with her recent change in daily attire.
For most of her life Rey lived metaphorically invisible, easily blending in amongst the traders and villainous scum that mostly inhabited the outpost on Jakku. Now, it was apparent that she had been inadvertently thrown to another faction of wolves; those considered far more dangerous to one's own character than the pitiable genre of scoundrels she habitually encountered while scavenging in the desert. She would've unquestionably walloped someone over the head with her staff for degrading her in such a manner.
Presently, it took every ounce of The Force's energy for her to simply hold her tongue in regards to the vile glances and remarks from the surrounding courtiers – both men and women alike. The fact that it would've been highly frowned upon for whacking the indecency out of them for speaking of her as if she wasn't present, remained the lone voice of composure in her head.
"Filthy desert rat," remarked the elderly man to his wife alongside her. Jutting his chin to the air he remained indifferent to whether Rey heard his words or not.
"It's no wonder her dress is beautiful. Truly her looks have no parallel." She heard another lady courtier sarcastically spat somewhere within the row behind her before cackling with her equally rude friends.
