She smiled at the ground, but it was merely a simper.

Not many could tell how she wasn't satisfied with her life, herself, how she was infertile, or how she tred to create a bit of happiness with the lotus flowers and golden autumn leaves. No one knew autumn was her favorite season.

Still my precious belle. Those hazel eyes couldn't hide everything from me. Permissive little girl, she never had an objection to what I said. Her father set us up, and I was happy, while she never really loved me, and I knew.

Hazel eyes gleaming in the firelight. It was so vivid, I couldn't tell which flecks of flame were the reflection of candlelight in the green. Forest fires, she always thought they were beautiful.

I've seen her with her real smile, when she wasn't trying to be pretty and seem happy, when she had that natural gleam in her eye, and a hint of laughter dancing in the golden flecks of flame in the hazel.

My belle...

Now I stand in her favorite forest, beholding all of spring's glory, the season of birth, her least favorite. I never liked autumn, it was only a precedent to a season of death, but now I understand why she loved it so.

A beast, they called me, letting her go on so sadly. I don't want to loose her though, but I do cry tears of joy and sadness when I see her hanging from that tree, her favorite tree.

The new leaves sway, and so does she. Peaceful, it's as if she's asleep again. But from her body I notice the glimmer of hope remaining in her glazed eyes, no longer the bright hazel that I loved.

But she finally has a real smile