Here's the next chapter. A special thank you to my BETAer TruiRose. This is my first attempt to write from the Beast's POV, so I hope you enjoy.
Far away from the quiet little village, a large castle stood alone surrounded by the dark forest. Massive blocks of stone were tainted gray from a thick mist which surrounded the castle. Even the red roofs were cast in a gray haze. High spiral towers stretched above the tallest tress, but were hidden from view by dark clouds. Through the fog, fierce blue eyes stared out west over the treetops. The lone figure growled in frustration as he stared out at the forest: a forest as empty as his heart. Turning away, he walked back into his chamber of the West Wing. Instantly, his eyes settled on a small table, set apart from the other wreckage of the room. Set upon the table was a small bell jar, protecting a beautiful rose. The enchanted pink glow of its petals had begun to fade as the years passed since the fateful Christmas. Once more, the beast growled in frustration as he turned his eyes away from it. It was a constant reminder of the eventful night, one that still plagued his dreams. Shaking his head, the Beast walked out of his chamber.
Cobwebs and dust clung to the walls and the banisters of the stairs. Massive, deformed gargoyles were perched in the corners along the long, silent corridors. Silence filled the large rooms as he crawled through him until he reached the main hall. As a child, he used to sit by his father as he received the peasants' complaints and concerns. His father had thought that even the greatest tutors were no substitute for experience. Now, alone in the great hall, he could hear the ghostly whispers of both the peasants and nobility. The castle had always been full of life for him as a child: from grand balls to the servants as they rushed around. Even when his parents had passed away, there was movement and noise of people crying and mourning the loss.
His heart skipped a beat as he tried to remember, but he couldn't remember if he had cried for his parents. His father had always taught him to be strong and that crying was for the weak. The beast shook his head, ridding himself of the memories. Now, everything had been silenced. Silenced by an evil enchantress and a huge wrong decision from a young, spoiled, and naïve prince. The beast growled in frustration as he looked around the room again. Dark navy blue curtains were drawn over the windows, but his keen animal eyesight could see the outline of the throne. The beast growled deep in his throat as he turned away from the chair. Just looking at the throne caused him to remember an entirely different life. Every day he felt himself turn more and more into a true animal. All the servants had learned to keep to themselves, leaving the master alone, unless they wanted to taste his anger.
For a moment, his ears perked up at the distant sound of two voices. Looking over to the right, he saw two small balls of light bouncing off the wall. Carefully, he walked over and listened as two of the servants talked.
"It has been a long day," a golden candelabra, Lumiere, said, as he hopped beside a brown clock.
The clock nodded. "Yes, it was. Another day gone under this wretched curse."
"Ah, my friend, we must have faith."
Cogsworth scoffed, but Lumiere continued. "Faith that one day the curse will be-"
"Shh, shh, shh," Cogsworth said, lowering his voice each time. Lumiere looked over at his friend, a silent understanding passing between them. Both friends look around the corridor and quickened their pace.
A growl erupted in the beast's throat as he turned and stormed back over to the West Wing. The damned servants dared to talk to about him and the curse as if it could be broken. How could they have such faith when their future was set in stone, unable to be changed? Whispers, damned whispers of hope surrounded him every day, but there was no hope left. In frustration, he ripped a portrait on the wall. A portrait of himself, or how the master painter had imagined the prince to become. His claws ripped into the handsome face and tore it apart. Why did the picture have to torment him now? How could the servants feel as though there was hope? His entire future was gone, destroyed by his damned mistake. The fabric from the portrait fell into the floor in pieces, like the pieces of his mistake all those years ago.
Closing his eyes, he could still picture the night perfectly. It happened during the presentation of the gifts. Candles, the decorations on the tree, sparkled in the grand hall. All the other nobility had left, returning to their homes for the holidays, which left the young prince alone with the servants. Each of the servants presented their simple gifts to the prince, but he ignored them all. As a prince, what could servants give that he didn't have already? There had been a loud knock at the door, halting the celebration.
Now, as he remembered, his eyes snapped open and he shook his head. There was no use thinking about that night; it changed nothing. It only brought more pain and anger to remember. For a moment, his gaze fell on the enchanted rose again. His claws curled into fists as he turned away, thinking of the number of years he had left before the spell became permanent. Again, the servants' words of hope ran through his mind. The beast sighed and shook his head. He couldn't admit it, not even to himself. After all the years, he still felt a glimmer of hope to end the curse, yet just as quickly, the idea of it vanished, crushed under the pain of the curse upon him. For a moment, his eyes fell upon the rose with only one question on his mind. How long must the curse go on?
Well I hope you enjoyed it. I know it's short, but the next chapter will be longer, I promise. Please review and let me know what you think.
