Oh..My..God! I've finished! I can't believe I've finished! I'll save the Oscar speech for the end but right now I just want to thank Klaske for helping me out with the kiss. My original ideas, as she will probably agree, were bordering on cheese anda bit over-the-top but we managed to work out a way that it could be romantic but simple. My aim is that it will make you want to be kissed byyour very own Beast lol but I guess we shall see if that becomes the case.crosses every conceivable crossable thing in andaround her bodyOh, and of course, much gratitude goes to a freshly-returnedTrudi for her grammatical expertise.

Disclaimer:- It's mine, all mine! evil cackle

The sun began to set on the horizon, casting a reddish-purple glow on the remains of the Beauvais manor. Shadows ran behind the ruins like liquid smoke on the dusty ground. It had not rained for days, which was unusual for the time of year. Instead, the earth had been cooled by frequent winds that had danced across its surface before vanishing into the sky.

A swift and sudden breeze prickled the treetops and stroked the burnt walls of the house before gently ruffling the hair of Bastian as he sat in quiet reflection. He knew this particular sunset well--he had painted it many times, marvelling in its simplistic beauty, its myriad display of colour, the way it altered the perception of the world around it—and now it was as if he was a figure drawn by his own fingertips; a silent observer of the glory of nature. In his hands, he held a single red rose—a flower plucked from the bushes that still grew by the side of the house, though the wall it grew near now enclosed an empty, blackened shell.

He closed his eyes and was surprised to find that the light of the sun still intruded into his vision. He felt the breeze caress his skin and let it soothe him. He felt the silk of the rose on his fingers and knew that he was free.

He thought of all of the things that had happened to him, the people he'd met, the emotions he'd gone through—both in the last ten years and in recent times. It had been little over a week since the fire but it seemed so long ago. It was almost a distant memory. The remains of his family home suddenly reminded him of an ancient monument; its inhabitants dead and buried, yet alive all around the structure of the building, emanating from its walls. From where he sat, he could see the conservatory. Had it really been mere days since he had danced on its floor, since he had fought Tristan for love and vengeance within the boundaries of its glass? It felt like years, yet the stitches in his side told him otherwise. The doctors had done a good job sewing up the knife wound but he would be scarred for life—a permanent reminder of the reunion with Tristan.

He thought of Tristan and was surprised that he didn't hate him. He could only feel pity. What must it have been like for a man to have to lurk in his father's shadow and only ever be able to tread in the outlines of his footsteps? To live constantly aware that he could never be anything but his son? Tristan had finally escaped him, it was true, but only through death and its consequences.

The wind rustled his shirt, making the cloth catch on his stitches. He removed it, gritting his teeth, and examined the angry red line that cut the side of his abdomen perfectly in two. He had been lucky. The wound was sore but it had ceased to bleed. He was healing.

The last week had been hectic—an endless onslaught of people asking questions and wanting answers. He was the latest subject of gossip and intrigue in the community that he had shunned for most of his life. When he, Bella and Morris had walked through the streets, there had been no end of sly whispering and pointing. He had loathed it—going from being alone to having everyone know you was unsettling to say the least—but Bella had assured him that it would die down once something else came along. Yet for the moment at least, the town was abuzz with rumours about the Blaines and the Beauvais'. The latest gossip centred around the idea thata mysterious young woman had apparently arrived soon after Tristan's incarceration, claimed the family fortune and then left as quickly as she'd come. For all the interest in the latest scandal, Tristan had received no visitors in prison, despite his former popularity. People could be forgotten quicker than stories, it seemed.

Bastian looked at the rose in his hand and then to the stones at his feet. The first thing he'd done when he'd been recognised as the Beauvais heir and claimed the insurance money was commission a new headstone for his parents—the finest he could buy. It was the least he could do.

For the first time, he felt an overwhelming sense of peace at their graveside. For the first time, his eyes remained dry and he was smiling, satisfied in his heart that their spirits could rest, safe in the knowledge that their deaths had not been in vain.

The sunken sun peered out from just above the horizon, its colour more intense than before and it highlighted the figure now walking towards him. It was Bella.

Bastian's heart skipped a beat, as it had been doing constantly for many days. Surrounded by an aura of red-gold sunlight, she looked more beautiful than ever.

When Bella had gone to the spare bedroom and found Bastian missing, she had been worried, but not for long. She knew how disorientated he had become ever since he had been thrown into the harsh glare of the spotlight after the fire. He had hardly seemed there as he'd been pestered and probed by various authorities and fended off armies of journalists. She'd had virtually no time alone with him since it happened and what time they had spent together had been uncomfortable as Bastian had been distracted, no doubt trying to make sense of the knotted feelings still inside his head. She couldn't help but wonder whether he would ever be capable of loving her as she did him. When she thought back to that eventful night, she recalled the stony reaction she had gotten when she'd confessed her feelings for him under the pale moonlight Only she had leaned in for the kiss that never happened; he hadn't moved. If they hadn't been distracted, would her kiss have been returned? Somehow she knew it wouldn't have. It was a feeling that she would have to get used to.

And so it was with a heavy heart yet the tiniest glimmer of hope that she knew where he had gone when he disappeared—the only place he might be able to find some sort of sanctuary—his parents' grave. Morris had shown the usual amount of concern when she'd told him she was going to look for Bastian again. There had been much soul-searching and a few awkward moments when the three of them had been around each other. At first, Morris hadn't seemed able to fully get over the fact that his daughter's new friendwas the same man who'd imprisoned him and tormented him, and Bastian had felt a constant sense of shame whenever he'd looked into the eyes of the man he'd treated so badly, but both knew how much Bella meant to the other. Both had tried hard and as a result, Morris had started to accept Bastian and Bastian had felt more comfortable around him.

The sun was behind Bella as she walked towards Bastian and she noticed her shadow stretched before her—so long that it seemed to merge with his. As she reached him, he looked up and smiled faintly before placing the rose in his hand gently upon the marble slab in front of him.

"Hi!" she said.

"Hi!"

"I thought I'd find you here."

She sat next to him on the cool stone bench and followed his eyes to the rose.

"They would have been proud of you."

"I hope so."

A breeze brushed past them, making the petals of the rose dancein the fading sunlight. Bella found herself studying Bastian's features as he watched the sunset—his hair, almost as black as ebony, the day's worth of stubble on his face, the tiny lines at the corner of his eyes. He turned and caught her in mid-gaze. She blushed and looked away.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

"Nothing…nothing", she said quickly. "I was miles away."

"Really?"

"Yes, nothing! I mean…it's just…it's nothing." she murmured as she turned to face him again.

"I…."

She did not have time to start a new sentence because Bastian suddenly leant forwards and kissed her. Whatever she was about to say rapidly left her mind. All she could concentrate on was the sensation of Bastian's lips on hers and the tingle that seemed to spread from her mouth all over her body. Then, just as suddenly as it had happened, it stopped and her eyes, still locked in surprise, met Bastian's. They were greener than ever, like deep-set jades with endlessly dark centres. They sparkled as the mouth beneath them widened into a grin. Bella's did the same; her cheeks flushed a brilliant red.

Bastian's eyes continued to burn into hers as he leant in again, slower this time, and she brought her lips up to meet his. His hand moved to stroke the side of her face and play with the strands of hair that hung by her cheek. His kiss was firm yet tender, gentle yet passionate and Bella felt herself melt into his embrace. The world—the trees, the house, the bench she was sitting on—seemed to vanish from around her and all her senses were concentrated on the moment. For days afterwards, she would remember that the only sound she had heard was her heart beating faster and that the only scent was of the overwhelming aroma of roses.

As the sun finally sank beneath the horizon, a gust of wind enveloped the couple and broke the spell. They reluctantly parted and Bastian's eyes smiled shyly back at her. Bella now knew what was so different about Bastian—he was happy, and so was she.

He stood up and offered her his hand, and together they walked into the sunset and towards the future. As day made its smooth transition into night, the first stars began to twinkle in the sky.

Termanat hora diem, terminat author opus (just something pretentious i borrowed from Christopher Marlowe!)

'sniffs' 'sobs' 'bursts into floods of tears' 'uses the nearby curtain as a tissue'

Ok big thanks, hugs and slices of my homemade chocolate puddle pudding are owed to the BatB workshop 'crew', namely Trudi, Faith, Klaske, Nikki, Carrie and Cathy for all the spirited chat and help that they may or may not (:p) have given whilst I've been writing my story.

Also loads of thank-yous to everyone who has reviewed me along the way. I know its been said a thousand times but its all the wonderful positive reviews that you've given me that have encouraged and inspired me to continue writing, and its the constructive criticism that has steered me back onto the path of decent writing when I have strayed into the dark woods of waffle.

Thanks also to my various inspirations, most of whom are not conscious so probably cannot appreciate the sentiment but what the hey.

Coming soon: From my battered old pen and keyboard, will shortly spring the magnificent epic ('coughs') of 'The Chip Chronicles' (title is a work in progress) where I shall be looking at the life of everybody's favourite teacup/boy. Not sure exactly the direction I'll be taking but it'll probably involve a few events from the original movie from a Chip POV interspersed with a brand spanking new adventure involving an older Chip and various other BatB characters...but thats another story. Please, please drop by the first chapter when its written, thank you:)