Le Fou wandered through the darkened halls of the Beast's castle, jumping at the noise of the fighting far behind him back in the main hall. He could hear furniture crushing Frenchmen and the shrill screams of someone being chased down by a tea set. His attention was on the navigating the mysterious path before him, however, and he tried to make out shapes in the wavering light of his torch. He needed to find the Beast. He needed to kill it and bring its thick hide to Gaston so he would look at him again the way he once did.
Suddenly, the Beast's face loomed out of the shadows at him! Le Fou shrieked like unlucky Jacques back in the hall and nearly dropped his torch. Then he realized it was not the real owner of the palace at all, but a life size painting of the monster. Le Fou stepped forward tentatively, stroking it with one pudgy hand. His clammy fingers left oil stains on the canvas. He felt himself growing aroused under his culottes and took another step forward so he could press himself to the painting, grinding against the 2-dimensional curves of the Beast's body. He started to leak, leaving a sticky stain against the canvas.
"Sacre bleu!" He groaned, "la bête me touche! Je voudrais que la bête était monsieur Gaston!" A single solitary tear leaked between his wiry lashes like a drop of dew caught in the legs of a fly before he soiled himself against the painting.
Le fin.