You know that awkward time when you've submitted a paper proposal but still haven't heard back from your professor so you aren't really sure whether or not you should keep working? Well, that's where I am now, so I figured it was a good time to finish, edit, and post this chapter!
Thank you, thank you, thank you to the reviewers of the previous chapter: tinkerbelldetention101, Silverleaf of the Faerie, Bellaroe, and Bloody Phantom. Without you guys, I probably wouldn't have enough motivation to keep writing. I'd also like to thank everyone who has this story on alert and is reading along!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Chapter 7:
Belle crept through the east wing of the palace. It was morning, and outside the palace, the birds of early spring were frolicking in the sun, announcing the final days of winter. Inside, however, all was dark, and Belle could hear nothing of the birds' raucous jubilation.
She stifled a yawn. She had slept very little that night. After meeting the Beast at the foot of the stairs, she had gone directly to her room and climbed into bed, but she couldn't clear her mind enough to fall asleep. Every time slumber began to gently carry her off, a new question would spring into her mind, and she would regretfully float back into consciousness. Now she was suffering the ill effects of her insomnia.
Suddenly, Belle slipped on a wet patch. She bit back a squeal as she landed hard on her tailbone. For a while, she remained on the cold stone floor, her face screwed up in pain. Then, rising gingerly, she continued on her way. She had only taken a few more steps when a door to her right flew open.
This time, Belle could not hold in her scream, and she shrank back against the opposite wall. Vincent, a bucket in his left hand and a mop in his right, stared down at her with startled eyes. He opened his mouth as though about to speak, then immediately clamped it shut.
When Belle's heart had ceased pounding a bruise into her chest, she peeled herself off the wall and emitted an awkward giggle. "S-Sorry," she said. "I thought I could sneak through the east wing without disturbing you."
"Disturbing? No," Vincent hastily said. His voice was very deep, and he spoke much more loudly than was normal. After uttering these two words, he lowered his eyes to his feet.
Surprised by the man's sudden outburst, Belle could only stare at him. After a few seconds, he glanced back up at her, gave her a half-smile, and swiftly returned his gaze to the damp floor.
Belle felt sorry for him, so she spoke as warmly and gently as possible. "I just wanted to see the portrait room again," she explained. "It's at the end of this hall, isn't it?"
Vincent only nodded, then raised his bucket and mop and shrugged apologetically. Once again, it seemed as though he wanted to say something, but his mouth stubbornly remained shut.
"Oh, yes, I suppose you need to work," Belle said awkwardly. "Goodbye, then."
As she turned away, Vincent gave her a small wave before setting his bucket on the floor and continuing with his work. Belle walked down the hall as rapidly as she could, eager to escape his presence. He seemed like a very nice person, but he made her exceedingly uncomfortable.
Fortunately, the chandelier in the portrait gallery was lit. Though it shed imperfect light on the room's paintings, it was better than nothing. Belle walked to the portraits of the nobles whom the Beast had claimed as his parents. After several seconds of silent gazing, she sighed and shook her head. It was nonsense.
Curious about the other paintings, Belle took a few steps to the right to look at a portrait of another middle-aged noble. This man bore a strong resemblance to the Beast's so-called father, and Belle guessed they were brothers or cousins. The next several paintings all depicted noblewomen of varying degrees of beauty. Belle kept taking slow steps to her right, stopping at each portrait to peer intently at the depicted person. If the Beast was to be believed, they were probably all related to him. It had to be nonsense.
There were so many paintings. Men, women, old, young, beautiful, and ugly. There were even a few group portraits. Belle grew very excited when she discovered one depicting both the Beast's parents. In the mother's arms was a solemn-faced baby, dressed in rich attire. The Beast? No, that was utter nonsense.
Belle's eyes wandered to the adjacent portrait, then widened in shock. The painting contained a young woman with a small, smiling boy who could be none other than Vincent. He looked ecstatic, but the woman – his mother, Belle supposed – seemed miserable. The juxtaposition of joy and desolation was peculiar, and Belle found herself unable to look away.
She heard a knocking sound behind her, and she whirled around to see Vincent standing in the hall just beyond the portrait room. He was tapping the wall with the handle of his mop, apparently requesting permission to enter. When her eyes met his, he whipped his gaze to the floor.
"Come in," Belle said in what she hoped was a comforting voice.
Vincent looked up at her, his face stretching into its shy half-smile, and stepped across the room in a few long strides. He stood beside Belle and silently regarded the portrait which had so captivated her. After a while, his eyes drifted to the painting of the Beast's alleged parents and their child, and his face fell.
"The Beast says that these are his parents," Belle said, hoping to get some answers from her strange companion.
Vincent looked at her with a puzzled expression. "The Beast?" he repeated.
"The master, I mean. I really shouldn't call him the Beast, I suppose; it's very rude, isn't it?"
The bewilderment didn't leave Vincent's face.
Now Belle was extremely confused. "You know who he is. He was here just last night."
Understanding illuminated Vincent's features, and he nodded. "Yes, yes," he said. He looked back at the painting and nodded again. "Yes, that's him."
"The baby?"
Yet another nod.
"No."
Vincent seemed bemused by her disbelief. He merely shrugged and continued to survey the painting.
"Why do you say that the baby is the master?" Belle curiously asked.
Vincent crossed his strong arms in front of his chest and sighed heavily. "Because it is," he said. After a brief pause, he chuckled. "Master. Very strange."
Belle thought he was missing the point. "How did a human baby become a beast?"
At this question, Vincent once again dropped his eyes to the floor. "My fault, really," he mumbled.
"That can't possibly be true," Belle said, smiling gently at the man.
"It's true," he insisted, still staring intently at the floor. His voice was growing thick with emotion. "Terrible. From human to beast. And it's my fault."
"I don't believe that."
Without warning, Vincent took a rapid step backwards and stood up straight. Belle almost too surprised to notice how much taller he was when he didn't hunch over. "What's true is true," he loudly declared before turning about and striding out of the room, leaving Belle stunned.
She was surprised to feel anger surging up inside her. Although she wasn't quite sure who she was angry at, she found herself stomping out of the portrait gallery in complete rage. She passed Vincent in the hall, still diligently mopping the floor. Impaling him with a savage glare, she stalked by, only barely aware of his astonished eyes following her as she went.
Down the stairs she went, her feet falling heavily upon the stone steps. Without thinking, she ran to the Beast's door and began pounding on the wood. Almost immediately, the door flew open, and Belle found herself staring up at the Beast.
"What is it?" he demanded, a hint of alarm in his rasp.
"I'm so angry I could scream," Belle said, scowling up at him. "I was just talking to Vincent."
"Surely he didn't offend you," the Beast snorted.
"You used to be a human?"
Hearing this, the Beast threw back his head and rolled his terrible red eyes. "You finally want answers? A bit of information to stuff into your brain?"
"Yes. Now give it to me."
"Listen to yourself," the Beast snarled. "This palace has succeeded in stripping you of all your gentleness and femininity. How do you feel about that?"
"Angry. I feel angry about everything."
"Then come in. Lay your grievances before me." Unexpectedly, the Beast stepped back and beckoned for Belle to enter his chambers.
She eyed him suspiciously as she stepped into the antechamber and took her usual place on the low stool by the hearth. He had responded far too favorably to her rage.
"Speak," he ordered her, dropping back onto his hind legs and regarding her with a steady gaze.
Belle thought she detected a challenge in his fearsome eyes, and she decided to rise to it. "I suppose I'm to believe that you used to be a man," she began.
"What you're supposed to believe is of no importance," the Beast roughly interrupted. "What do you believe?"
Taken aback by the blunt question, Belle hesitated. She wished the Beast would stop looking at her so seriously. Perhaps she should have thought a little more before demanding to speak with him. She was on the brink of asking to be excused when she noticed that the Beast's usual expression of mockery was creeping onto his face. She couldn't bear that.
"I believe you used to be a man."
All traces of derision abruptly vanished from the Beast's face. He leaned back a bit, looked down at Belle with a blank expression, and asked, "And what of it?"
Belle had no idea how to answer this question, so she decided to pursue her own curiosity. "Why does Vincent think it's his fault?"
"He's a foolish man."
"So it's not his fault?"
"Of course not."
"But why does he think otherwise?"
"Because he's a foolish man!" The Beast seemed to be getting irritated, and his obstinate refusal to properly answer Belle's question caused her temper to flare, as well.
"I'd like you to answer my question," she said in a loud voice.
"I'll answer any other questions you have, so long as they do not concern Vincent," the Beast replied with a growl.
"By saying that, you make me much more curious about him."
"So be it."
The Beast obviously would not be swayed. Extremely annoyed, Belle turned away from him and stared sullenly into the fire. It was then that the implications of her statement of belief struck her, and after a few silent minutes, she looked back at the Beast with a gentler expression.
"I'm sorry for all the times I called you an animal," she said.
The Beast made no reply.
"Do you hate being…what you are?"
"Yes."
He answered so quickly and roughly that Belle was quite taken aback. After a few seconds' hesitation, she asked, "Can it be fixed?"
The Beast shifted his weight from one side to the other as though the question made him uncomfortable. "It won't be," he finally replied in a low voice.
"But it could be."
"It won't be," he repeated more loudly, and he glared at her with an expression that clearly forbade her from trying to give him hope.
Although intimidated, Belle could not stop asking questions. "How long has it been?"
"Five years." His answer was barely audible. After a brief pause, he growled, turned to stare into the fire, and said, "It's time for you to leave."
Belle obediently rose to depart, but she hesitated at the door, looking back at the Beast's hunched form with mixed feelings of pity and revulsion. "I need something to call you. Some name or title. If you used to be a man, I can't call you a…a…"
"Beast? No, that name suffices," he rumbled. "There's nothing more suitable at the present time."
Belle took a step out the door, but one final question occurred to her, and she turned around to ask, "Why do you keep me here?"
"In the hopes that someday you'll no longer be useless."
Offended at the brusque reply, Belle slammed the door behind her.
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