She's never coming back.

The phrase reverberated in the Beast's mind like a mocking chorus as he watched Belle and Philippe disappear into the woods. He'd finally freed her after all these weeks; sent her back to her village and to her father, leaving him to suffer his fate alone once more. For in a few hours, the rose's last petal would fall, and he would be a beast, forever. There would be no more wishing, no more waiting, no more agonizing over that small chance that he could be human again. Instead, he'd remain the beast he'd always been, while Belle would be blissfully reunited with her father, her experiences at the castle soon to become an unpleasant footnote at the back of her mind. Everything would be as it should be.

The Beast wanted to say that he was anguished and heartbroken over his decision to let Belle go and truly, he was all these things and more. For in the past few days, he'd genuinely believed that she could have saved him. They'd formed a special connection during her time here, one that had sprung from their deepest pains and vulnerabilities; and somewhere between all the snowball fights, book-reading sessions, and relearning of basic table manners, he'd fallen helplessly in love with her. Not because she was beautiful or intelligent—although these were good reasons for any man to want her—but because she was the only one who'd seen him as more than a beast. It was because of her and her unwavering kindness that he'd tried even harder to become the man she deserved.

But it was all for naught now. She was gone, never to return. And mentally, the Beast was kicking himself, wondering how he could have let his feelings blind him from seeing the truth. He'd known from the first day she'd arrived at this castle, terrified, but boldly demanding for her father's freedom, that she didn't belong here. Her mind was too bright, her spirit too free. Now that she was gone, all the Beast had left were the memories—a small ball of light to hold on to before the impending darkness swallowed him whole. It wasn't what he'd hoped for, but it was the best he could do.

He closed his eyes and let the events of the past few weeks bleed together like a blurry watercolour painting. He saw her holding Lumière up to his face, eyes as wide as dinner plates as she took in his monstrous form. He saw her in the woods after the wolf attack, draping her cloak over him as she begged him to stand so they could return to the castle. He saw her gaping at the size of his library, teaching him how to handle Philippe, wishing on the Enchantress's book to go to Paris and find out what had happened to her mother...

The book.

The Beast opened his eyes. It was strange how little he'd thought of the Enchantress's last gift until now. In the early years of the enchantment, he'd used it to escape from the castle for hours on end; travelling to distant countries and cities he used to visit with his parents as a child. But as time passed and the disconnect between him and the outer world grew bigger, he decided to shelve the book, content to spend the rest of his days as a recluse. The last time he'd brought it out was when Belle had wanted to visit her birthplace; but seeing how unhappy the experience had made her, he'd shelved it again afterwards, never bothering to ask if she wanted to "run away" with him again. In all those instances, he'd used the book to travel to specific places, but never to a specific time. But was it possible that it could do both? When the Enchantress had first cursed him, she'd told the Beast that the book was a way for him to go to wherever his heart desired. So, if he desired to travel back to a specific moment in his past, would the book grant his request?

He scratched his chin pensively. What did he have to lose by trying? It would only be a few hours before the last petal fell. The servants would all be downstairs, too busy mourning their master's decision to see what he was doing. He had sentenced them all to this undeserving prison—the least he could do was find another way to set them free.

Decision made, he turned away from the ledge and made his way back down the castle's many dark, spiral staircases.

As the Beast entered the library, another pang of heartbreak washed over him. Everything looked as it did the last time he'd been here with Belle. He trudged over to their table and saw that it was still cluttered with their empty glasses, books, and scrolls that they'd perused a few days earlier. He looked to the balcony and half-expected to see her emerge from the shadows, gushing about finding "the most wonderful story" that they just had to sit down and read together. But of course, no one was there, and the Beast kicked himself for getting his hopes up again. After being in Belle's company for so long, he knew that her absence would take a long time to adjust to.

Happy for an excuse to distract himself, he retrieved the magic book from the cabinet beside the fireplace. He opened its metal clasps, turned to the page with the glowing map and set it on the stand on the table. Then, he placed his paw on the page, feeling a little sheepish as he thought to himself, I wish to go back to the day I refused the Enchantress's gift.

Nothing happened. The Beast growled in frustration. Of course it wouldn't work! That bloody Enchantress had never made things easy for him. He should have known better than to wish for something that would never be.

Oh, you mustn't give up so quickly, master, said a voice in his head that sounded vaguely like Lumière. Gather your thoughts. Think everything through carefully. He must have forgotten to do something, but what? What had he told Belle all those weeks ago?

"Think of the one place you've always wanted to see. Now find it in your mind's eye, and feel it in your heart."

The trouble was, the Enchantress's visit was not an experience the Beast had ever cared to see in his mind's eye or feel in his heart. On the contrary, he'd spent years trying to forget it, destroying all the portraits, mirrors and material possessions that reminded him of that night. He hadn't even set foot in the ballroom until today; so afraid that it would trigger a memory that would send him spiraling into madness.

But thinking of the servants, the Beast reluctantly allowed himself to wiggle back into the mindset of the man he'd been all those years ago. He remembered his excitement and arrogance at the prospect of throwing the most lavish ball in France, filled with the most beautiful women—the loveliest of them who'd become his concubine for the night, provided she wasn't a disappointment. It shamed the Beast to think that he'd once thought of women that way, but as he'd learned from Belle, accepting his past was one of the first steps to moving forward. He thought ahead to the ball itself and tried to picture all its details in his mind's eye; the men in black suits, the women in ornate white dresses; Maestro Cadenza on the harpsichord as Madame de Garderobe sang that gaudy aria. What were the words again? He should have remembered them since he'd been the lyricist:

"Oh, how divine
Glamour, music and magic combine
See the maidens so anxious to shine…"

Suddenly, golden stardust bled out from the Beast's fingertips on to the page. It's working! He thought, heart beating wildly in his chest. He felt a familiar spinning sensation as the library faded away to reveal a starry sky filled with silver clouds. Only instead of sinking down to his destination like he usually did, the Beast remained suspended in place. He watched curiously as the night sky grew lighter, the moon descending under the horizon as the sun rose to take its place. Then, the sky grew dark again as the sun set and the moon rose once more. On and on this cycle of night and day continued, growing faster with every rotation, until the Beast had to hold out an arm to stop the flickering light from hurting his eyes. Finally, a cold blast of wind smacked him in the face and everything was motionless. The Beast was still looking at the sky, only now it was covered by dark, stormy clouds. He descended into one of them, and when the fog lifted, found himself in the West Wing, standing in the corner between his bed and the fireplace.

Except this West Wing was different from the one he'd left a few moments ago. It was no longer gloomy and ominous but filled with light. Candelabras occupied every space along the walls; making the room at least ten times brighter than usual. Suddenly, the Beast sensed movement in his peripheral vision and spun around, only to see his alarmed reflection staring back at him from a mirror. They were everywhere, he realized, these candles and mirrors, and he vaguely remembered that that was how he'd wanted it at the time. For as a prince, the Beast had been so obsessed with his outward appearance, he'd turned his room into a shrine where he could admire himself constantly. He was in the West Wing as it had looked exactly five years ago. Which meant…

The Beast looked past the bed. Standing around his vanity, too absorbed in their work to notice their intruder, were his servants. His human servants. He watched, mesmerized as they applied the finishing touches to their master's costume for tonight's supposed ball. Then, unable to contain his curiosity, he peered around the bedpost to look at the Prince himself. Oh, he was so pretentious back then. No doubt about it. He looked like a vulgar clown with all that white powder and rouge, and the gold and blue accents around his eyes reminded him of a mandrill he'd seen in a book on African wildlife once. What on earth had he been thinking? The only thing that stunned the Beast more than seeing his past self, was the revelation that he'd actually managed to travel back in time. The book must have taken him back to the castle less than an hour before the curse had taken effect.

The servants finished applying the master's makeup and stepped aside; save for Chapeau, who came forward to slip the Prince's grey wig over his head and dust it with a bit of powder. If the Beast remembered right, Cogsworth was going to enter the room in a few minutes and announce that it was time for him to welcome his guests. Which meant he had to act fast if he wanted to change what happened here tonight. But how?

Several scenarios played through his mind, each one more outlandish than the next. He could knock the Prince unconscious and hide him somewhere in the woods. By the time his servants found him, maybe the Enchantress would have already moved on. Or maybe he could find a way to delay the ball until the Enchantress arrived and order a servant to take her up to a room so she and the Prince would never meet.

But will that really solve the problem? The Beast knew little about manipulating time, but he had a feeling that it wasn't something to toy with lightly. He remembered that in the Greek tragedy Oedipus Rex, Oedipus and his parents had spent most of their lives trying to prevent a prophecy from coming true, only for it to fulfill itself through all the things they'd done to prevent it. No, if the Beast wanted to alter his fate, he would have to do it in the least invasive way possible. He would have to stay in this room. He was going convince his younger self to change the past for him.

Slowly, the Beast stepped out from behind the bed, placing the book on the mantelpiece as he did so. He intended to sneak up on the Prince, but the room's bright lighting combined with his massive form put him at a slight disadvantage. He wasn't even a few feet away before he cast a long shadow over the vanity, causing the master and his servants to spin around in alarm. They all gazed at him in horror, or in the Prince's case, horror mixed with disgust, and the Beast seized the half-ruined moment to introduce himself.

"Good evening, Your Royal Highness," he said in his deep, baritone voice.

The reaction was instantaneous. Chapeau dropped his powder brush to the floor. Plumette screamed and grabbed Lumière's arm. Another female servant fainted. The Prince fell off his stool, and when he sat up again, the Beast was amused to see that his wig was slightly askew.

"Guards! GUARDS!" the Prince shouted at the top of his lungs. "Seize this hideous creature at once!"

The doors swung open and the Beast spun around to see two men in matching military outfits run into the room with their swords drawn. Curious, he thought. I haven't seen these men in a while. Most of his guards had transformed into wall ornaments or inanimate suits of armour during the curse; making the castle free for intruders like Belle and her father to break and enter as they pleased. But seeing what they were up against, the guards stopped in mid run to gape at their enemy's impossible form. The Beast rolled his eyes. Far too easy. Taking advantage of their distraction, he lifted his arms and swatted them away like they were mere flies. The guard on his left crashed into his wardrobe, while the one on his right struck his head against the bedstead. Neither of them tried to get up again; either in too much pain, or too much shock to think about going at him a second time.

Confident that he was no longer in danger, the Beast returned his attention to the Prince. "Is that the best you can do?" he asked him cockily.

His past self trembled and fell to his knees. "Oh please, monster," he pleaded. "I will give you anything you want. Only spare my life. Please!"

"I'm not here to kill you," the Beast replied. "I only wish to seek an audience with you." He looked up at the servants. "Alone."

The Prince took one glance at the Beast's killer claws and razor sharp teeth and knew that he had little say in the matter. "Leave us," he demanded, turning back to his servants.

"Oui maître," Chapeau replied. He took a moment to revive the unconscious servant while Plumette, Lumière and the others went to help up the guards. Once everyone was on their feet again, they turned back to the master, bowed and quickly exited the room. Beast and Prince were alone at last.

The Prince shakily got to his feet. He lifted his stool and sat down again, trying to regain his composure as he asked, "You've come for my soul, haven't you? You're one of Lucifer's servants, come to drag me down to hell?" He stared at the Beast, and in the candlelight, his green-blue eyes looked fierce and accusatory. "Well I can assure you, demon, that I am a descendent of God Himself, and as such, your master has no power over me!"

The Beast rolled his eyes again. Not only did his younger self look like rubbish, but his head was clearly full of rubbish, too. It was about time that someone corrected that. "It's not hell I come from, but the future," he replied in his booming voice. "And I've come here today to deliver a warning. During tonight's festivities, an old woman will come to your castle to offer you a single rose, in exchange for shelter from the bitter storm. You must accept her gift, no matter how ugly you think she is, or how ridiculous you find her offer to be. If you don't, she will reveal her true form and punish you and your servants with a terrible curse. You'll become a prisoner of your own castle and there will be no escape for you."

The Prince narrowed his eyes. "How do you know all this?"

"Because I'm your future self, you dolt!" he growled, leering his ugly face at him. "I'm the Beast you'll turn into if you refuse her proposal. So if you don't fancy looking like this for the rest of your life then you'd do well to heed my word!"

The Prince blinked slowly. Then, he laughed a shrill, mocking laugh. "Old women don't go wandering into castles, turning princes into beasts," he replied. "How am I to know that this isn't a trick, and you and this old crone are conspiring to overthrow my castle?"

"You need proof that I'm you?" said the Beast, ruffling his mane in frustration. "Fine!" He paced the floor. "I know that you still have nightmares about your mother. I know that you're afraid that one day, everyone will see you for the fraud you really are. I know you can't stand the idea of ugliness, in fact just picturing it makes you sick. I know you hate it when people say that your hair colour is red instead of blond. I know that no matter how many balls you throw, you always come out of them feeling even lonelier than before…"

The words flowed from him endlessly, like water from a broken dam. In the span of a few minutes, he revealed the Prince's innermost fears and insecurities… anything that he was sure only his past self would know about. And it seemed to be working, for the Prince grew smaller and smaller the more he listened.

"And finally," the Beast concluded, "your full name is…"

The Prince let out a cry of rage as the Beast uttered his forbidden name. Its loudness could easily rival one of the Beast's roars on a good day. "Never say that name in my presence!" he said, pointing an angry finger at him. "I damned my father to hell for giving me that accursed title!"

"You'll believe me, then?" asked the Beast, raising an inquisitive brow.

The Prince slouched his shoulders and bowed his head. His formerly arrogant expression was now shaky and unsure. "If I don't let this old woman stay at my castle, then this is truly what I am to become?"

"Yes." The Beast nodded. "And the years to follow will not be kind. There will be no more music or light in the castle. No more of these extravagant parties you love to host. In fact, everyone outside your household will forget you even exist. You'll look for any form of comfort or escape, but there will be none. You will simply have to embrace a life of loneliness, with no hope of redemption."

The Prince pursed his lips into a frown. He looked even less like a proud prince now, and more like a scared little boy playing dress up. It was as though for the first—no, the second time in his life, he'd realized that his actions came with consequences. "Very well," he said decisively. "If what you say is true and this old woman comes to my castle tonight, I will graciously offer her a room." He looked back up at him. "Is there anything else you wish to tell me?"

Yes, thought the Beast. In the town of Villeneuve, there lives an amazing young woman named Belle who will change your life. You must seek her out, bring her to your castle and…

He bit his tongue. He was here to stop his curse, not talk about Belle. Bringing her up would only complicate matters. "I know your—our father hurt and abused you," he said instead. "It's because of him that you've learned to hide your pain behind all this perfection. It's the only way you feel in control. But know this." He paused. "Only you are the master of your fate. It's never too late to change who you are. Don't let your mother's wisdom and kindness go to waste. Spend the people's taxes on the poor, not on these frivolous parties. Treat your servants with better respect. And in time, you may finally find the happiness you desperately crave."

Another uncomfortable expression crossed over the Prince's face. The Beast had told him what he already knew but had been too selfish to act upon. "It's difficult to turn your back on something you've known your whole life," he remarked quietly.

"You'll figure it out. Believe me, anything is easier than looking like this."

A knock on the door startled the Prince and Beast from their conversation. "Master, are you well?" Cogsworth called from the corridor. "Your guests have arrived. They're all asking about you."

"Five more minutes, Cogsworth!" the Prince shouted back. He looked in the mirror and cringed at the sight of his crooked wig and smudged makeup. "I need to get ready for this party," he told the Beast, grabbing a brush to fix up the damage. "I suggest you make yourself scarce before my servants return. My guests won't approve of me keeping a beast inside my castle. Even if that beast is technically my future self."

"Oh, believe me, I have no intention of staying," the Beast replied. "I've already seen what happens here tonight. Now it's up to you to change it."

He walked back to the fireplace and recovered the magic book from the mantelpiece. As he flipped through its pages, he looked back at the vanity to see the Prince staring blankly at his reflection as he added more powder to his face. He had a feeling that tonight's incident would weigh on his mind for a long time.

Once he found the page with the map on it, the Beast placed his paw on the book, closed his eyes and thought of the present.

When the spinning subsided and the Beast opened his eyes, he found himself back in the library. Like the West Wing, its appearance had changed. There were no books on the table. There was a fire burning in the hearth. And although it was nighttime, the room seemed lighter somehow, like a dark shadow that had lingered here for years had finally lifted itself.

Intrigued, the Beast looked down at the Enchantress's book, then dropped it with a start. He'd expected to see paws holding up the map, but instead, he saw hands. Smooth, human hands. He held them up in disbelief, then turned them around. Ten fingers with ten perfectly filed nails looked back at him. His heart drummed painfully against his ribcage. Could it be? Was it really possible?

He raced to the closest window and looked at his reflection. A man's face, his real face stared back at him in shock. He placed his hands on his cheeks, amazed to feel soft skin there in place of fur. He patted his chest, marvelling at how much smaller it was now that he was human. He wore no wigs or makeup, and in place of a garish suit, was dressed in a light green dressing gown and a white night shirt. Like he'd wandered in here before bed to do some late-night reading.

The only thing that astonished the Prince more than seeing his human self, was seeing the changes to the castle grounds. For the surrounding forests were no longer covered in snow, but rich with fresh grass and lush leaves. Summer, which had been absent from the castle for years, was now at its peak. Meaning… the Enchantress's curse had never come to pass. The Beast had saved himself from his own cruel fate.

He let out a vivacious laugh which echoed across the library, not caring who was around to hear. It had been too long since he'd last heard his human voice, too long since he'd felt such immense joy and relief. Now that he was free, he couldn't wait to tell Belle and…

Except Belle still wasn't here. Remembering this, the Prince's laughter faded. He'd almost forgot. In fact, in this timeline, he and Belle would have never crossed paths at all. For it was out of vengeance that the Beast had imprisoned her father, and because of his imprisonment that Belle had come here to find him. Without these events, Belle was probably still living in Villeneuve, still reading that clergyman's same ten books over again, and still stuck in that naïve mindset that Romeo and Juliet was the best play in the world. Then at night, she would lie awake, wondering what had become of her mother and why she couldn't fit in with the other villagers in her provincial town.

But you could change that, said a nagging voice at the back of his head. Belle had had plenty of reasons to refuse his dinner invitation during her first night here. But surely it would be a lot harder for her to refuse an invitation from a prince? He could make up an excuse; tell her that he needed her and her father's services for some task at the castle, which would require them to stay here for several months. Then in time, the Prince would open up to her and court her the way he should have all those weeks ago. With none of the time constraints of the original curse, they would have plenty of time to get to know each other.

But even as he imagined this hopeful scenario, another, different image to mind. It was one of Belle standing next to him in her yellow gown, a questioning look on her face as she asked, "Can anyone be happy if they aren't free?"

The Prince bowed his head. In all their conversations about dreams and freedom, Belle had always spoken of a desire to visit far off places and go on exciting adventures like the characters in her books. Even if she agreed to work here of her own volition, who was to say that in a few months, she'd grow tired of him and castle life and want to pursue those ideals again? As a Prince, he couldn't abandon his duties to travel with Belle to all the places she wanted to see, as much as he wanted to. Maybe through that impasse, they would eventually part ways, taking him back to where he'd started. No, I've already wasted her time once, he resolved. It would be wrong of him to do it again, even if it was in another universe. Tonight, in the old timeline, he'd given back her freedom. Now he'd erased all her memories of him and her imprisonment. It was the last gift he'd ever give her.

And in the meantime? If the Prince would have to learn to live without Belle's love, so be it. Remembering the lessons she'd taught him, he would strive to be a better man instead. And he'd start by fixing whatever mistakes his past self had created.

With a deep breath and heavy heart, the Prince picked up the Enchantress's gift and tucked it under his arm. He then turned on his heel and made his way back to the West Wing for the night. Everything was as it should be.