Previously: The Beast was transformed back into his human form while following Belle's tracks in the snow. Unfortunately, he transformed without shoes on. (I mean, did you ever see the Beast with shoes? Neither did I.) Meanwhile, Gaston coerced Belle into leading him to the Beast's castle shortly after she arrived with her father at the cottage. Maurice was locked in the cellar.

The Beast, the man now, could hardly feel his feet as he stumbled, foot by foot, yard by yard, only focusing on the prints, following the prints. His feet had burned for a time, but oddly, now they had stopped. It was a relief, but it scared him. It didn't even feel like he was walking on feet anymore. It was as if he was walking on pegs. Peg legs. Like a pirate. Belle had read him a story once of a pirate. He had a peg leg.

Belle.

The prints suddenly became unclear. So many prints, crushed snow everywhere. He looked up. He hadn't even noticed that he was approaching a cottage. Belle's cottage perhaps? Her home?

Belle. How would he explain this? She wouldn't know him with this face and this body. But he'd just, he'd say something. She loved him back. That was all that mattered. In his mind's eye, he imagined her caring spirit, her pulling him inside, covering him with a blanket. Even though he would look like a stranger, he knew she'd help.

Because she's better than me. She would have helped the old woman that night, ten years ago.

"I promise," he whispered, "I've learned to be a better man."

He knocked on the door and waited. And waited. He knocked again. "Belle!"

No response. He pulled the mirror from his waistband. "Show me Belle."

There she was. It was a forest. She looked angry, her jaw was jutted forward, her eyes tilting upwards toward a man. The man was large, tall and muscular. His hand gripped Belle's arm. It was a tight grip, too tight. All the weakness left the beast-turned-man as rage lit up his features. What had happened to her? Who was this man? Where was he taking her?

And where...?

"Show me Belle's father," he said to the mirror.

A cellar. An older man was trying to pry open a window in a cellar.

The Beast, not a beast now, looked around. There was a cellar door here, bolted from the outside. He ran over to it, almost losing his balance on his cold, numbed feet. He threw open the bolt on the doors and swung them out.

The old man looked up. "Who are you?"

Yes, this was Belle's father, the one he had not let Belle say goodbye to. The last time he had seen this man, he had imprisoned him.

"My name is... Adam. I'm a... friend of Belle's. From... the castle."

It would do him no good to try to explain now, or to try to win the man's trust after what he had done those months ago. Better to start fresh, for now.

The man seemed surprised. "From the castle?

"Yes. What happened to Belle?"

The older man scrambled up the cellar steps. "They took her! They took her so she could lead them to the beast so they can kill him."

"Who took her?"

"Gaston and the villagers."

"How many?"

"I don't know... maybe forty, maybe fifty men. I'm not sure."

Fifty men. Far too many men. How could the castle possibly defend against that many, and with no warning?

"How long ago was this?"

"Not long. Not long at all. Are you going to go save her?"

The Beast, Adam, felt his legs giving out. But he needed his strength more than ever.

"Where is your shirt? Why aren't you wearing shoes?"

Adam started to fall forward, "I have to... I have to save Belle. This is all my fault."

Belle's father caught him. "Come on into the house, son. We'll get you some proper clothes. Come on."

The older man lead Adam into his cottage and helped him into a chair.

"I'm Maurice. I'm Belle's father."

Maurice. He hadn't even learned her father's name in these months.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Maurice."

Maurice left the room and returned in under a minute with a shirt and an old pair of boots. "The shirt won't fit, but I think the boots'll be all right. I'm short, but my feet are pretty big for my size." He chuckled, but the look of worry on his face hadn't faded.

"My feet... my feet are burning."

Maurice looked at Adam's feet. "Come closer to the fire." Maurice moved behind the chair and pushed it close to the fireplace.

Here was this man, helping him, the monster who had locked the man in a tower for the simple crime of seeking shelter from the rain and cold. Here he was, helping him, giving freely and without malice. And Belle, Belle...

The prince dropped his face into his hands and started to weep.

"Oh," said the older man, surprised, "you'll be all right."

Adam dried his eyes. What was doing? And yet the tears were still coming. How could he sit here feeling sorry for himself while Belle was being manhandled?

"No, it's not that. You're being so kind to me, and I'm—"

Maurice nodded. "You're what?"

Adam shook his head, rubbing his face. "I'm sorry. Thank you." Adam reached out his hands and Maurice handed him the garment and the shoes.

Adam pulled on the shirt. The sleeves were a little short, but it was certainly better than nothing. Next, he went to pull on the shoes. His feet were tender to the touch. He didn't want to pull the shoes on, he didn't want to—but he had to. Adam pulled one shoe on, wincing.

"Adam," the older man ventured, "perhaps you should stay here."

"No. I got her into this mess. And the others in the castle, I must return to warn them. Do you have a horse?"

"Why, yes. Yes, Phillipe's just outside."

Adam pulled on the other shoe, wincing again. He stood. The pain was immense. He felt like he might throw up. He needed his old anger back. He needed the Beast to fight the beast that had her now.

He pulled the mirror again from his waist band. He glanced up at Maurice and saw a curious look there.

"Show me Belle."

The mirror flashed green.