Matthias wiped the tears from his eyes as the carriage pulled up to his small cottage. Before he even looked out of the door, he heard the patter of bare footsteps on the stone walkway leading from the road to his front door.

"Father!" Molly cried happily as he alighted from the posh carriage. She threw herself into his arms and they held each other tightly. She'd been so afraid for him, thinking him lost in the forest, or attacked by thieves. She checked him over, fingers probing his limbs for any injury, eyes flitting over his form both to assure herself of his wholeness and to comfort herself with his presence.

He stood motionless as she appraised him, not yet looking into his face, not yet seeing the pain and remorse there. How could he not blame himself for his folly? It was his curiosity that had led him astray, into the domain of the Beast, and it was his pride that had placed his daughter, his soul, into the arms of the nightmare.

Matthias was terrified for her. His beloved daughter who he'd been commanded to deliver to the great beast in the isolated castle with the probability that he'd never see her again. He sighed into her hair, committing the color and scent to memory. His beautiful daughter.

He hoped she would be safe. That the Beast had been merely attempting to frighten him when he gave him the roses and insinuated that they were a promise. He prayed it was only that.

He couldn't defy the monster, not even as much as he wished he could. He knew, in his soul, that the Beast would not take defiance lightly, and that when his retribution came, it would devastate the Hoopers even more so than his demand that Molly be sent to his castle. No, if there was any hope to be had, it was in the slight chance that the Beast would tire of Molly's constant dwelling in his domain, invading his much treasured privacy, and that he would send her away.

Matthias prayed that it would be so.

Ever the intuitive daughter, Molly pulled back from her joyful embrace and examined her father's visage closely.

"You've been crying, what's happened father? What's wrong?" Her large brown eyes darted back and forth across his face, worry creasing her features.

Matthias heaved a great sigh and glanced back at the carriage behind him then down to the bouquet of blood red flowers clutched tightly in his fist.

"Let's go inside, Molly. We have much to discuss."


"I'm so sorry Molly, I'm so sorry, my love. Please, please forgive me."

Matthias repeated it over and over as his daughter, his patient, loving, quiet daughter raged through their cottage, sobbing and throwing anything she could get her hands on against the walls, taking out her grief and terror on their meager possessions.

The roses were the first to go, shredded and crushed under her tiny feet. Then the pots and pans, crashing against the walls with a metallic protest. After that, it was her clothes, ripped from her small wardrobe and tossed haphazardly across her tiny bedroom.

Matthias did not move. He listened to her sobs, her curses, her near screams of agony and betrayal, his own cheeks wet with emotion. His heart hurt for his only child, his pride and joy. It hurt for her future, for his own. It hurt for her loss of freedom, for his loss of his will to live. Most of all, it hurt for her beautiful mother, who'd trusted him to protect their child at all costs.

He was sure he'd failed.

Her books remained untouched in her fit, as did her mother's jewelry box, the last reminder Molly had of the woman who had died giving birth to her. In that, Matthias found some hope that his daughter had not yet given up her own. That it was still there and her agony would pass and give way to a determination to surmount this terrible obstacle in their lives.

Her tempest raged on for hours, late into the night with Matthias looking on, wide-eyed, at the daughter who had never before raised her voice in his presence. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the storm was over.

Molly stopped in mid throw, her arm going lax, as she crumpled to the floor, a hand held to her mouth to hold in the silent sobs. Her shoulders heaved with the effort of holding herself together, her slim frame looking as if it would burst apart with the force of her grief. Matthias rushed to her, hesitating just the slightest moment before gathering her into his arms, holding her as she cried herself out against his shoulder.

After a long while, she quieted and stood, pressing a kiss to her father's cheek first, then made her way to her room, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click. He continued to listen as she rummaged through her belongings, finding a well-worn carpetbag and folding her few items of clothing to prepare for her new life.

Neither member of the Hooper family slept that night.


Another person was awake as well, far from the small cottage where two hearts were breaking. He stared out of the window, watching the moon tread its lonely path through the night sky, pondering the sounds of the night. Even silence was never soundless he mused, hearing the crickets chirp and a faraway pack of wolves howl at that same cold orb in the sky.

Cold and soulless, the moon's light is. Not warm and cheery like the sun's golden rays. The stark silvery light of the moon brought out the fears and secrets men sought to hide. It was fitting that he could only exist in its glow, forbidden to partake in the joy that the sun brought to the world.

He glanced down, studying the crystal of the intricately cut glass in his hand. The amber liquid sloshed gently as he brought it to his full lips again, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat.

He couldn't say why he was so like the moon. Only that he found a kindred spirit in her frigid gaze, night after night. The moon understood him like no other. Better than he understood himself.

Sighing, he drained the cup, studying it once more before opening his long, slim fingers and letting it drop to the floor, the shattering of the glass resonating on the cool night air.