The ride from the castle through the woods was a fast, impulsive journey. Belle suppressed her thoughts; she had been overwhelmed by panic when she first saw her father lying broken in the mirror. Show me . . . The mirror that showed things she didn't want to see. But she was glad she had found out, so glad. Had he been out in the snow for hours? Days? It only took a few minutes to find Maurice. He was cold as death and paler than she had ever seen him. But he had a pulse. Thank God, Belle breathed as she heaved him onto Philippe's back. Thank God.

"Belle?" Maurice muttered groggily later as she tucked him into bed. "Is it really you?"

"Yes, Papa. It's me," she reassured, hugging him and firmly administering the cold medicine that was still in the top kitchen cupboard.

"I - I thought - " But the fever was too powerful and he fell into a delirious silence, punctured by deep coughing. Belle sat next to him and pressed a damp cloth to his forehead. He woke up intermittently and was relieved by her presence, before he burned up and passed out again. At long last, he fell into a deep comforting sleep.

The house was eerily quiet. Belle walked into the kitchen, which was so familiar in its smallness, and started to clean up the mud and snow that had come in through the door. She felt relief and emptyness. She almost wished for the panic that had kept her focussed while her father was in immediate trouble. Out the window, she noticed Maurice's rusted wood-chopping invention lying in the field and was struck with grief at the realization that he had not even thought to put it away after leaving the castle.

Belle stabled Philippe and started a series of mindless chores that Maurice had neglected. She swept the floor, wiped the glass, and fed the chickens. Everything had gotten slightly the worse for wear during her absence and a layer of dust had permeated the house. Other than that nothing had changed. Her library book was still open on the table, just as she had left it when Gaston came tramping into the house. So much had happened since then. It felt like both a day and a lifetime. Belle wasn't sure what she had expected coming home to feel like. She had not expected this.

She tiptoed accross Maurice's room and retrieved her bag, which contained the magic mirror. Lying on her stomach near the doorway, she propped herself on her elbows and slowly examined the mirror: old, gilded, trembling with enchantment, the only thing she had to remind herself that the last few months had not been a dream. Glancing over at Maurice's sleeping form, she turned her attention to the mirror's glass surface and whispered, "Show me the Beast."

A long nerve-wracking roar emanated from the mirror. He was already back in his ragged clothes, shut in the west wing, pacing restlessly.

"Master, the Dishes are wondering-"

"Go." A low growl rumbled towards Lumiere, who stepped forward in sympathy.

"Master, surely - "

"GET OUT!" A chair was knocked aside, wooden legs snapping. It was followed by the gnashing of teeth. Lumiere hopped away obediently.

The pacing increased. Furniture turned over and the Beast's feral growling continued.

"Oh no . . ."

And then it stopped. Cogsworth called distantly from behind the door. The Beast made no answer. He crouched beside the table - the one holding the bell-jar - like a lost child: paws limp, eyes pained, head bowed low in defeat.

"Belle?"

"I'm right here, Papa." She lay the mirror face down on her satchel and stood.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing." She resumed her post, sitting at his bedside. "You should take some more medicine." Maurice furrowed his brow at her.

"You're crying."

"I am?" She put a hand to her cheek and unexpectedly felt tears there. "I'm a little tired."

"Oh, Belle."

Suddenly, Maurice drew her close and wrapped his arms around her, stroking her hair softly. Belle leaned into the embrace and, for a moment, she let go of her worries - about her father, about the Beast, about the world. She felt safe and protected, and she allowed her father to take care of her, just as he had done when she was a little girl. But things were different now. Her father had suddenly gotten so old, and now she was the caregiver, him the child. How had it happened?

"You need to take more medicine, Papa," she mumbled, straightening a little. "Go on."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'll be fine."

"What happened? How did you - "

"I'll tell you everything soon," she promised. "But first you need to get better."

There was a knock at the door.

And that knock is the creepy fellow from the asylum on his way to "collect" Maurice. In theory, the movie doesn't leave time for this to have happened, but I hope it rings plausible otherwise. Reviews are always welcome.