I probably shouldn't have lost my temper, but Belle still had no right to do as she did. I gave her an entire castle to wander at will, and all I asked was that she stayed out of one wing. Even a Beast needs his personal space!
It gets better. She made a direct line for the West Wing, wandered into my chamber, and tried to destroy my rose. After all that, she seemed surprised that I was angry! Who wouldn't have been upset?
I didn't mean to frighten her so badly that she ran away, but what in the name of Madame de Beaumont was she thinking?! The servants later told me that Belle liked to read. I find it difficult, if not impossible, to believe that in all the books she read, not one of them suggested that going out alone at night into an unfamiliar area of woodland during a snowstorm might not be a good idea.
The dangers are endless! She could easily become lost, so she could freeze to death. Her horse might stumble and hurt itself, leaving her stranded in a place where no one knew where to look for her, and if she didn't freeze, she would starve. Even without the snowstorm, bandits have been known to skulk through the forest, killing men for their gold or abducting women for unspeakable reasons.
Of course, I can't say that I've seen any bandits. I suppose the wolves keep them away. We used to have forest workers to keep the wolves away, but no one's seen them in the last decade. They probably left before they were killed…or maybe they stubbornly remained in the forest they loved and got mauled to death. Either way, I can't say that it makes much of a difference now.
Some people who, for reasons I will never understand, actually like wolves might argue that unless unhealthy or provoked, it's not a wolf's nature to attack a human. I don't know if that's true, but I'm a hideous monster in a castle with talking furniture, so I'm not sure the usual laws of nature are in motion here.
The wolves in this forest are…what was that word the servants use all the time? Oh yes. Psychotic!
See, they're not afraid of people. Actually, they're not afraid of anything. Mrs. Potts says it's just my imagination, but I swear I've seen those repulsive creatures on castle grounds.
"There's nothing to fear, master," Mrs. Potts consoles. "The gate keeps them in the forest."
I'm not entirely convinced. Every time I take a second glance, the wolf I saw…or imagine I saw…has vanished, but I'm certain I haven't been imagining things.
Not only are these wolves fearless, but for some reason, they hate me. I don't know why. Perhaps they think I'm a large bear or something, a rival predator, so that makes me their enemy.
I saw one of them up close once. I was walking around grounds, and I saw the wolf on the other side of the gate. Its hackles were raised, and its amber eyes were watching my every movement. It didn't snarl, but the flames of its eyes were dark and angry, as if it had been plotting my demise for years and would give anything for the chance of vengeance.
Being a Beast, I can understand a little bit of Lupine. It's the only foreign language I know, although Mrs. Potts has tried countless times to teach me English, and I'll probably lose all knowledge of it if the spell ever breaks.
However, there was no need for words. The wolf approached the castle gate, its own gait nearly stately. Not once did it so much as blink. This horrendous creature was clearly demonstrating that I may own the castle, but it owned the woodlands, and if I had any sense at all, I would stay safe behind the gate where I belonged.
Not to be outdone, I too attempted to approach the gate to demonstrate my superiority over the castle and all its inhabitants, but I took only one step before the wolf snarled. It was a horrid sound, as if all the evils of the underworld were unleashed.
I knew that if I ever set foot in the forest, this particular wolf would stop at nothing to kill me. I don't know what I ever did to make it hate me more than the other wolves did, but it cursed the day I was born, and it would rejoice the day I died. In fact, its greatest desire was to initiate the day I died.
Of course, I was angry. I'm not really a Beast. I am the prince, the dauphin! I am to be King of France someday…or at least I was before that enchantress arrived. How dare this creature think it could control me?! (The wolf, I mean, not the enchantress, although come to think of it…never mind.)
I should have challenged the wolf then and there. It would have been one against one. I could have snapped its neck easily and maybe gotten just a few minor bruises.
However, I made the mistake of showing fear. Wolves can sense fear, you know. That wolf knew I was afraid of it, and it was already plotting how to use my fear to its advantage.
Even before the spell, I've never liked wolves. I just don't like ugly beasts that sneak around the woods and have outbursts of violence. I don't like the way their eyes seem to suggest they know something that you don't, and your lack of knowledge solidifies to form your own tombstone.
All that being said, you can imagine why I roared in fury when I saw in my magic mirror what had become of Belle after her escape to the forest. I wasn't thinking clearly. I should have armed myself. I should have grabbed a weapon. I should have…
I don't know when exactly I left the castle. I was angry at the wolves for chasing Belle away and angry with her for forcing me to deal with a group of vicious brutes who have been plotting my demise for years. The next thing I knew, I was in the forest. I don't remember leaving the castle or even opening the gate. One moment I was enraged in the West Wing; then all of a sudden, I was in the woods. Once again, it appeared my temper had caused me to act without thinking.
When I realized what I was doing, I was still too upset to think rationally. Looking back now, I realize there are probably a few dozen things I could have done differently. Maybe I should have called Belle's name. Maybe I should have tried predicting the route of the ambush and blocking it.
What happened next has yet to be settled. If the wolves had truly wanted to kill Belle, she would have been dead before I arrived. They seemed to enjoy their game of causing her to trip or biting at her shawl, anything they could do to frighten her without killing her. What kind of attackers, animal or human, ever behave that way?
At any rate, the next thing I knew, I was rolling around on the ground while the wolves bit me. I'd never been in a fight before. I wished I had paid attention years ago when my father's servants tried to teach me fencing. I wished I had learned how to hunt. I wished the enchantress had never visited my castle. I even wished I were dead already so I would be past the pain of my injuries. Each time I thought it was impossible for the pain to get any worse, the wolves proved me wrong.
How long did we fight? It felt like several hours, but surely it was less time. However long it lasted, I now find myself draped over the back of a draft horse, carried back to my castle like a bag of vegetables.
One question remains: Whose fault is it?
Is it Belle's fault for behaving so foolishly? She had the rest of the castle. Why did she invade my personal space? If she feared my wrath, why didn't she make a plan in broad daylight or wait until the snowstorm had passed? Was she truly willing to suffer a horrific death simply because I became angry with her for defying and endangering me? None of it makes any sense.
Is it my fault for always losing my temper? Would she have stayed out of the West Wing if I had politely explained that I needed personal space?
Then again, perhaps the servants are to blame for not spending all these years teaching me how to impress a woman if one ever wandered into my castle. It could be my parents are to blame for allowing me to grow up spoiled, selfish, and unkind. Then again, perhaps it's as simple as placing the blame on the shoulders of my forest workers for failure to keep the woodlands safe.
Of course, I could blame the enchantress. Her reputation preceded her. My servants were always talking about a witch who asked for shelter; then she cursed you whether you invited her inside or not. I suppose the legend was true.
Whose fault is it? Who's to blame for the wolf attack? Are we all guilty in some way, or was it just an accident?
Does it even matter? If the culprit was brought to justice, would it do anything to ease my pain? I have wounds from face to ankles, but worst of all are the marks on my right arm. I only hope they will not leave scars.
Why did this happen? Is there a way to move past it, or will I suffer from the horror for the rest of my life? How long is my life? Petals drop from the dying rose like rain.
But I still wish I knew whose fault it was.