It's just a cup.
He found himself thinking about it over and over again that night. He would have killed anyone for breaking something of his but he could not be mad at her. He couldn't bring himself to hurt her.
It's just a cup.
The way her face fell when she realised she had dropped it was beautiful. She was beautiful. Her skin was soft and he found himself aching to brush her cheek with his ugly rough fingers.
It's just a cup.
He couldn't even remember how he got possession of it. He probably stole it from someone who couldn't pay in his past.
It's just a cup.
He wanted to take her hand in his and tell her that it was okay, but she would squirm in repulsion. There was no way that she would see him in the same way he saw her. He wasn't handsome, he didn't have a kind heart. He was ugly. Horrible. Disgusting. No, Belle would not want him. She would not be with him willingly.
It's just a cup.
He was scared to let her go. He did not want to let her return to her family because he knew she would not return. Why would she? He was not a nice man. He did not have the looks of those men in town. She could do so much better than him. But he would never do better than her.
It's just a cup.
He could never tell her how he felt, she would just turn away from him. Tell him that he was too ugly to love back. So everyday he would watch her from a distance. Would watch the way she elegantly cleaned his clothes, tidied his bed, prepared his dinner. He wanted to touch her, to have that feeling of contact again but that was something he would never be able to have again. Especially from someone as beautiful as her.
It's just a cup.
He was to be lonely in his existence. To be stuck in the hideous skin that he had taken on. He would never have Belle love him, would never have her wanting him the way he wanted her. All he had was the cup. He kept it beside him every night, his fingers running over the chip, remembering her face, her smile.
It may have just been a cup, but it was the closest he could get to her.