Copyright notice: Disney owns Disney characters. I am not Disney. Therefore, I do not own the Disney characters. But oh, how I wish I did…

Disclaimer: Trans-Siberian Orchestra's "Christmas Eve And Other Stories" is the best thing to happen to Christmas music since…well, at least since Bing Crosby started crooning "White Christmas," but possibly even longer than that. It doesn't really do justice to the music to put only the lyrics on the page, so I suggest listening to the album as a whole whenever you get the chance.

Joyeüx Noël

Thunder rained down amidst the frolicking snowflakes, the peals of Notre Dame's sonorous bells resonating through the Parisian evening and down to those congregated within her halls. Voices, strings, percussion and the omnipresent bells all fused together into a glorious carol, its power reverberating into the very souls in the cathedral:

"Kyrie among nations
Kyrie among nations
Kyrie among nations
Hear as they ring through the night

Listen to the bells as they ring
Listen to the message they bring
Listen to the sound
As they sing as one voice in the night

Hoping that we'll all understand
Every dream we have's in our hands
And for every bell
May they ring all through the night!"

Applause joined the lingering resonance of the bells, tumbling down the nave in ecstatic bursts. Encores were called for as the cast came out for a bow, and all the children blushed, having never had such an enthusiastic and genuine response to one of their Christmas pageants.

Hiding in the shadows of the transept, Belle heaved a sigh of relief as she sunk down into a pew. The children's Christmas pageant was not exactly thought of as the high point of the Christmas Eve Gala; more often, it was the sort of entertainment that you sort of politely winced your way through, then over-heartily congratulated your child at the end of the play, all the time wondering how such wretched dialogue could ever have willingly flowed from someone's pen.

So it certainly appeared that Ella was setting Belle up for the fall when it was announced that Belle would direct this year's pageant. As Chairwoman of Animasia's Grand Events, Ella had always in years past given the task to Mrs. Darling or one of the godmothers or anyone who didn't mind concocting a saccharine-drenched morality lesson.

This year, however, Ella's wrath chose Belle as director. And it was for no reason less than spite, Belle was quite aware of that. One more thing that the Little Beauty could fail miserably at, directing joining the ranks of teaching and love.

And then Elaine gave Belle a music disc, a "thank you for taking this seriously" present at the end of the last teaching session the human gave. "You're one of the few I'm not worried about going out there," Elaine whispered, and Belle could only nod, knowing the truth in her statement.

"And then a sound filled the night in the cold winter air…"

And Belle knew precisely what the children would do.

When she played the Trans-Siberian Orchestra CD for the children, she watched them grow excited, eyes brightening and heads bobbing in continued approval throughout the CD. They threw themselves into the play, nominating each other for parts, crafting sets, practicing songs.

True, the reverb of an electric guitar coursing through the hallowed halls of Notre Dame may at one time seemed blasphemous. But now, with just a week left before the appearance of Animasia forever redefined the world, the modern chords echoed invitingly, a taste of what was to come.

But a tremble of caution lay in the enticement, and Belle hoped that the story the music held would not be lost to the seated crowd. It was the story that truly differentiated this pageant from all others, for not all endings were happy, and not even Christmas Eve could cure all the ills in that nearing world. Tumbling around the staccato percussion and electronic carols emerged lost souls, nations torn apart under the bleak winter sky, dreams adrift in an old city bar, the tears of a child where she never belonged.

In the ongoing applause, she wasn't entirely sure the message was heard.

Lumiere peeked in, and grinning, approached her. "Ma belle mademoiselle," he greeted softly, "go out and take a bow."

She shook her head. "This is their show, Lumiere. They earned that." The clapping started to die down, more sporadic but no less expressive. "I'm glad everyone seems to like it."

"He would have liked it."

A surprised, quizzical eyebrow shot up on her forehead. "I doubt that."

"No?"

"The most modern composer we could agree on was Gershwin. He wouldn't have liked this."

"He would have liked that you had done this."

She shrugged, wishing for an entirely different course of dialogue.

It was to be an answered wish as Chip bounded into the sequestered pews, followed closely by a beaming, though rather bedraggled, Wendy. "They're calling for you," she told Belle as Chip tugged her hand.

"Really?"

Chip nodded vibrantly, and Belle watched Lumiere smirk his satisfaction as the two lead her into the spotlight.

New applause spilled out and a chorus of more formal "Bravos!" bellowed into the rafters. As the children surrounding her began their own cheers, Belle stood fully confronted with the audience on the makeshift stage, stupefied that the pageant had produced such an enthusiastic response. Dazed, she offered the crowd an awkward curtsey, then noticed the one woman in the entirety of Notre Dame not clapping.

Belle couldn't help smiling at the obvious displeasure smeared across Ella's face.

Eventually, the clapping died down, people resumed their seats, and Phoebus and Esmeralda took the stage. "Thank you all so much for coming," Esmeralda said, offering the audience a brilliant smile. "And another thank you to Belle and her stu- the children of Animasia for their magnificent Christmas pageant this year."

Phoebus took the rehearsed cue from his wife and continued, "And now, ladies and gentlemen, the prelude to the evening is over. You are all invited back to Versailles for a healthy dose of music, dancing, and Gaston's fabulous wassail." Here the young soldier gave a half-smile and mock salute in the direction of Animasia's resident bartender.

A sporadic chorus of cheers went up at the mention of the famous (or infamous, depending on how much one had consumed) brew. Gaston grinned, waved off the cheers and sat a bit straighter in the pew.

"Outside, there are carriages waiting to take you to the entrance of the palace," Esmeralda said, finishing up the instructions. "And for those of you who prefer, the snow is falling, the pathways are lit, and the walk is quite comfortable surrounded by friends. We'll see everyone soon."

A collective groaning of wood echoed as everyone stood, stretched, and shuffled to the doors, some lingering, some rushing.

Gaston meandered his way back to the transept where Belle had returned with the kids, each of them holding five conversations at once with their friends, parents and Belle.

"-didja see me fly-"

"-such a great song-"

"-where is Sarajevo, anyway-"

"-still got pixie dust behind my ear-"

"-brilliant show, much better than last year…oh, sorry, mum-"

"Quite brilliant, my love," Gaston murmured into Belle's ear, sliding up from behind and wrapping his arms around her waist.

Belle turned to face him with an incredulous smile. "You liked it?"

"I did." He sounded genuinely, and amusedly, surprised at himself. "I truly enjoyed your play."

"Their play. And thank you."

"Will you be ready to leave soon?"

"Soon. I just need to put some things in order."

"-and Santa's coming tonight, too-"

"-what'd he bring you last year-"

"-big ol' hunk of zebra chop-"

"-ewwwwwwwww-"

As the children dispersed with their parents, Belle waited until each child was with a guardian before she found Gaston waiting by the entrance. His brows knotted together as she approached. "What's wrong?"

Gaston looked her over. "You're wearing that to the Gala?"

Puzzled that Gaston would be so concerned about her clothing, Belle looked at her ensemble, a simple cream blouse and a russet-colored velvet skirt. "Why not?"

"Well…I seem to recall that you usually dressed up to the nines for the Gala."

"Yes, but that was before I joined the Entourage and discovered that the only thing I'll be wearing for the next six months are ball gowns. So I'm trying to enjoy the last of my last petticoat-free days."

"You could've said something earlier."

Both turned to see Ariel, Eric, Elisa and Goliath entering from the outside doors of the cathedral. Shaking off the snow from her cloak, Ariel's emerald dress fairly billowed out of the folds of the coat, ballooning in waves around her feet. "I feel like a walking circus tent."

Belle grinned. "I would have said something, but Ella would have sunk her talons into you if you'd shown up in something practical."

Elisa rolled her eyes. "Why you two don't leave that coven is beyond me."

"Masochism," Belle dryly retorted. "Why haven't you left for Versailles?"

"There's a line for the carriages, so we figured we'd wait for you and walk," Elisa explained.

"Oh. Thank you."

The six left the slowly dimming cathedral, bypassed the huddled masses waiting for bell-clad sledges and walked down the lamp-lit streets, fluffy wisps of snow gently urging them along. Beyond the rows of glistening houses, the merry tinkle of sleigh bells sang a sprightly soprano to the undercurrent of laughter and the occasional, spontaneous carol.

"Actually," Elisa began, "I know why you're putting up with them." She looked over at Belle. "Eight more months and you're out, right?"

Belle nodded. "UCF begins in August."

"UCF?" Gaston asked, puzzled.

"The University of Central Florida," Belle said quietly.

"That's a college, right?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Well, then. Good."

Belle eyed her beau suspiciously, waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it didn't come, she turned to Elisa and said, "Eight months provided Ella doesn't push me out of a window first."

"She wouldn't do that," Ariel said, frowning.

"I don't know," Elisa retorted. "Did you see her during the ovation? She looked ready to grab Moses' staff and start a beat down with it."

"I would have loved to see the Archdeacon throw her out of the cathedral for committing an act of blasphemy," Belle laughed.

"I'm surprised she even made it into the cathedral without spontaneously combusting," Eric joked.

"Eric!"

"Ariel, it was a joke."

Hardly mollified, Ariel persisted, "What about all the peace and goodwill we're supposed to be spreading tonight?"

Still grinning, Belle asked, "You actually think she meant that when she was on her soapbox last week?"

"I mean it."

"Ladies and gentlemen, the last surviving optimist in Animasia."

"Stop it, Eric."

"And that is why Ariel remains a member of the Royal Entourage," Belle concluded for Elisa's unanswered question, her voice regaining sobriety. "She is a good, honorable woman who epitomizes all that a 'Princess' should be. And she's humble enough not to realize it. They need her far more than she needs them."

Ariel looked ready to retort, then paused, thinking long enough for the sound of crunching snow to be audible. "I wish there was a different way to go about this."

"About what?" Elisa asked.

"Integration. It just seems so…forced, I guess."

"Manufactured?" Belle prompted. "Fitting into a preconceived notion not of ourselves?"

"Exactly."

Goliath, Elisa and Eric all failed to comment on this conversation, simply exchanging grim, knowing looks amongst themselves.

Gaston held Belle more tightly, feeling her frustration through her cloak.

Silence snuck into the group, clipping away words that needed to be spoken and carrying them away on the wind. Someone off in the distance began a round of "Carol of the Bells"; additional voices picked up the melody, the harmony, even the very bells of Notre Dame until the Parisian night spilled forth into musical ecstasy. The last tolls carried the group onto the threshold of Versailles.

The Châteaux bustled happily with the holiday commotion flowing through its gilded halls. As the group of six left their coats in the entry hall, different friends called to different faces, dwindling the group down to the original three pairs.

The Hall of Mirrors sparkled in a perfect holiday triad of color as Ariel and Eric entered with Robin and Marian. Gold from the ceiling descended into the emerald of Christmas trees, decked with burgundy garlands and enchanted golden flames, magicked as to never burn a single branch. The mirrors lining the famed salon echoed the gala in massive gilt frames, seemingly doubling the size of the already cavernous room.

"Nice decorations," Eric said, looking around.

Robin laughed. "My friend, you have a truly dizzying capacity for observation."

"Thank you."

Marian glanced over at Robin, nodding his head just to the left. Taking the cue, Marian asked Ariel, "Did we see you walking to Versailles?"

"It was a good night for it."

"Yes it was…but aren't you cold?"

"Maybe just a little."

"Well then," she announced with a bit more flair than needed, "let's get you something warm to drink. You like mulled wine, don't you?"

"Very much."

As Marian led Ariel away to the refreshment table, Eric watched his wife fade into the massive crowd, his smile likewise diminishing. "I hate this," he muttered.

"The secrecy?" Robin asked.

"Yes."

"We'll be able to include her soon, Eric."

"Won't be soon enough."

"Pardon?"

"How would you feel if you had to keep this from Marian?"

Robin paused. "Point taken."

They began walking out of the Hall and into a small sitting room where Elisa, Goliath and Taka were engaged in debate, voices low to not attract attention.

"…so I think Belle can handle this," they heard Elisa finish.

Taka frowned. "You're joking."

"Not really, no. What fault can you possibly find with Belle?"

"Have you forgotten that she's entwined herself to that lamentable gaggle of dunderheads? One mention of the New Kingdom and all of Animasia would know what we're trying to do."

"Taka, that's why we would ask Belle. She would be such an asset to this group- and we're not exactly in a position to be choosy right now."

"On the contrary, Elisa- we have to be selective. Belle is quite possibly the worst candidate as long as she has that hag breathing down her neck. Can you imagine what would happen if Ella found out about our little club?"

"Because none of you would possibly draw suspicion right now," Mufasa said as he entered the room. A deep frown creased his muzzle. "Do you have any idea how much attention you could gather by staying here?"

"We're just talking, Mufasa," Robin defended. "No one would suspect-"

"How often have we all 'hung out' together at a function like this?" Waiting for an answer, Mufasa continued, "Mickey can see you from across the Hall of Mirrors. He would greatly prefer if everyone mingled more."

Talk of the New Kingdom ceased instantly and the freedom fighters gamely meandered out into the festivities. Mufasa and Taka were the last to leave, double-checking the room to ensure no unwanted ears had been listening in. Walking out, Taka asked his brother in a low voice, "Do you really think we'll be able to pull this off?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I refuse to allow any other alternatives. The Pride is at stake. Animasia is at stake. We cannot fail. Merry Christmas, Belle," he finished in a booming voice.

"Joyeüx Noël, Mufasa," Belle responded happily. "Are you having a good time?"

"Immensely. This year's pageant was truly spectacular."

"Thank you."

"It was the first year in which the cubs did not have to play sheep. Simba was ecstatic."

Remembering those plays, Belle nodded sympathetically. "I'm very glad he enjoyed it."

"Personally, I felt this year's pageant was somewhat lacking."

Ella had chosen the one moment Belle was left unattended by Gaston to close in for the kill. Pale in an ice-white dress, Ella swept over to her opponent, appraising her. Taka's hackles went up as she neared. "It was quite noticeable that the children did not sing this year. There was prerecorded music instead. Did you not respect the children's talent?"

Belle looked around, puzzled. "Ella, no one's listening to you. Everyone else is…not listening to you. They have much more important things to do than listen to you berate me. But if you are truly interested to know why the children did not sing this year, I'll tell you why: they didn't want to. I gave them that option and they declined. They much preferred working on their acting skills. That is why they didn't sing."

"People still listen to me," Ella said, almost confused that someone would say otherwise."

"They may hear you, madam," Mufasa said, "but they do not care what you say."

Ella peered down at the lion, a cool smile touching her lips. "Ah yes. The cat who has no voice in the future of Animasia. Lovely talking to you all." She swept back into the crowd before another words could be spoken.

Belle watched her leave, shaking her head. "She needs a new hobby."

"Who does?" Gaston asked, returning to Belle's side.

"Our favorite princess. Let's dance."

"Certainly." Gaston nodded at the two lions before leading Belle onto the dance floor. Towards the end of the song, he asked the question he'd been bothered by most of the night: "Why didn't you ever tell me you were thinking about going to college?"

"For some reason, I didn't think you were terribly fond of higher education."

"It's not something I would pursue," Gaston admitted. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to stand in your way of doing something that's important to you. However…there is one thing that concerns me."

"What's that?"

Clearing his throat after a moment's awkward pause, he answered, "Well, I just want to make sure that your classes aren't going to interfere too much with your newlywed bliss."

Belle stopped dancing. "…newlywed?"

Gaston stopped as well, and taking her hands into his, continued, "Belle, I love you. I have loved you for years. And I will love you forever." As the strings faded away into their last stanza, Gaston dropped to one knee and asked, "Will you marry me, Belle?"

She felt her jaw drop, very ungraciously, very un-princess-like.

He was doing this now?

Now, in front of the whole of Animasia?

Why not back at the cottage, in front of the smoldering hearth, just the two of them, snuggled in for the winter's eve? Why not outside in the gardens, quiet, snow-whispers cheering them on, beneath the silver-tinged branches and ice-carved cherubim? Why not in the library…?

…because there was no library proposal in this fairy tale. That was another story, another age, another lifetime ago.

She was not living a fairy tale.

She was living her life.

And she suddenly realized why humans so loved fairy tales.

"Yes," she whispered.

Yes, she would marry him.

Yes, she would be his wife.

Yes, they would live…

…happily…?

…ever…

…after…

…and…

…ever…

…and…

…ever…

"Yes," Belle said, a firm declaration that belied her inner discord. "I'll marry you."

A ring appeared on her hand, some sort of excessively large stone that she barely had time to look at before she and Gaston were swarmed by well-wishers with congratulatory words, handshakes, hugs.

A momentary lull in the bestowing of happy sentiments provided Elisa with enough time to zag across the dance floor and clasp Belle's arm. "We need to talk."

"Elisa-"

"Now."

As Elisa dragged Belle off to a quieter room, Lumiere strode up to Gaston. "If I may have a moment, monsieur."

Expecting this, Gaston nodded and they began to walk away from the crowds. "First, let me congratulate you. Belle is an outstanding young woman."

"I know."

"Let me also say that she is still extremely important to us. Despite the fact that she no longer lives in the castle, I have never stopped thinking of her as my mistress. Her welfare is tantamount. Therefore, if you do not take good care of her…"

As the threat hung between the two men, Gaston's mouth twitched upwards into a sneer. "You'll what?"

Lumiere set his jaw rigidly, biting back everything that he dearly wanted to say. "Take good care of her."

"Look, buddy- did you honestly think I would harm my wife? Unlike some people, I know you don't hit a lady. Now get this through your waxy little ears- Belle chose me. Not your precious Master. Not that hairball of a coward who won't even show his face. Me. It's over."

The anger that flashed into Lumiere's eyes was considerable enough that Gaston's self-confidence wavered. "If I thought that my actions would not cause Belle distress, monsieur, I would pummel you for your audacity. But I will keep my peace and honor my lady's wishes until the day you two are wed. I pray that you will do the same afterwards."

The tension between the two men may vary well have resulted in a horrific round of fisticuffs had Mickey not stepped over to offer his congratulations to Gaston. Lumiere excused himself as Mickey was asking the date of the wedding.

"October. Fall is an excellent time for a wedding."

"Anytime's a good time for a wedding, Gaston," Mickey laughed. "Congratulations again."

"Thank you."

After shaking hands, Mickey took a meandering route over to Minnie, who was watching the floor with a slightly distracted veil over her eyes. "Are you leaving?" she whispered.

Mickey nodded. "I'll be back soon."

"The basket's by the vault."

"Thanks, Min."

Stealing away from Versailles during the heart of the Gala was not at all a difficult task. The happy chaos that spilled out into the many chambers of the Châteaux provided a far better camouflage than Mickey could have produced himself.

The footprints he tracked quickly covered themselves as he neared The Palace. Under the layers of snow, the headquarters of the New Kingdom glowed as he approached, a crystal citadel bathed in the light of the emerging half-moon.

Just as she'd said, Minnie had left the basket by the front of the vault. Picking up the wicker weave, Mickey started for the Silent Chamber, then paused, remembering. He had grown to hate it, hate the power that it contained, but…he still needed it. At the very least, it wouldn't hurt to have it, especially now.

He looked at the vault, a simple column of perpetual flames, and reached into the fire, knowing that the heat would never damage his hands. What the enchanted fire might do to someone else was better left to ponder in nightmares. When he withdrew from the vault, he held a simple, slightly battered old hat, stitched with the darkness of late twilight and the light of the moon and the stars. Tucking the hat underneath his arm, Mickey began his annual trek to Toontown.

The Silent Chamber was the one of the few parts in the Palace Mickey had forbidden anyone else from entering. It wasn't a matter of trust; Mickey would have staked his life on the honor of those few members of the New Kingdom. Rather, it was to spare them the burden of memory, of regret. Upon the walls of the long corridor hung the tragic Moments, time etched in the fabric of suffering: the final breaths of the greatest man Mickey had ever known, the Toontown feud, the Night of Dissension, the destruction of Chernabog…

Mickey tightened his grip on the Sorcerer's hat as he walked past the tapestries, eyes fixed determinedly on the mirror at the end of the hall. It was a plain, rectangular piece of glass simply set into a depression the wall, no fanciful shapes, no ornate trim, no expansive vista of reflection.

It was the most dangerous object in Animasia.

Christmas basket in one hand, talisman in the other, Mickey stepped through the mirror.

Once upon a time, far too long ago, the mirror had been a doorway to a neighbor. Friends walked back and forth between magical boundaries, time and space warping around this little fissure in reality for the benefit of an otherwise lonely handful of souls.

Then the jealousy began.

Then the anger.

Then the hate.

The inhabitants of Toontown destroyed themselves, and all Mickey could do was seal the gateway between Animasia and Toontown to stave off the obliteration Bugs had allowed in his home from reaching Mickey's kin. Until the Night of Dissension, it had seemed to be a pretty good plan.

Standing figuratively on the edge of radical change for Animasia and literally in the middle of cracked plain of dead and dying scrub, the barricade seemed an entirely moot point now.

Save for one minor detail.

"So…doc…you come to collect those numbskulls you dropped off here?"

Bugs Bunny slowly rose halfway out of his burrow, aged fur mottled and patchy, ears drooping, voice scratchy with bitterness. The toll of the Feud had battered and beaten him almost to the point of non-recognition. It hadn't quite killed him though.

Not yet.

"It's Christmas Eve, Bugs. Minnie cooked some stuff up for you."

Bugs glared at the Mouse tiredly. "Smarmy old rat." He eyed the basket, trying to look past the holly-print cloth on top. "She made those cakes again?"

Mickey nodded, stepping closer, feeling the charade lessening. "With the last of this season's carrots."

"And that relish?"

"Two jars."

Bugs grunted a sort of assent. "Can I see?"

"Help yourself."

While Bugs rummaged around the basket, pulling out all sorts of carrot-enhanced delicacies, Mickey scanned the murky horizon, waiting for the Exiles to appear.

"They don't come round too much anymore," Bugs said as he opened a glass of chutney. "Think it's high time you take them back."

"'Indeterminate exile' usually means longer than two years, Bugs. They're staying put here."

"Thought you'd say that. Fine, keep your trash here." The rabbit pulled out a cellophane-wrapped package of brown specks. "What the hell are these?"

"Carrot seeds. Minnie thought that maybe you could plant some…"

Mickey's voice trailed off as Bugs eyes shifted into focus for the first time that night, blazing with a fire too long burning to ever extinguish. "Nothing grows here anymore, Mick. You know that."

"You could try-"

"The ground's dead, Mick. So're all the people who used to live here. Since you're the one who killed them, you should remember that."

It was the same attack for years now. "I didn't kill them, Bugs- they did a very good job themselves. One day, you'll stop blaming me for their deaths."

"I'll blame you for however the hell long I like. You're a stuck-up, sanctimonious old bastard who could have done something-"

"I tried, Bugs," Mickey bit back, surprised at how raw the argument still felt. "You never listened."

"Go to hell. You wrote the four of them off like you wrote off everyone else in Toontown."

Despite the nonsensical nature of the statement, there was an unsettling comment that Mickey needed pursued. "What do you mean, four?"

"That number that follows three."

"Not funny, Bugs."

Bugs just shrugged. "I've only seen four. Queenie, Maleficent, that dark, skinny guy with the twisted beard, and the big, blustery fella."

Unsettling comment turning into dread. "What about Puck?"

"Who?"

"He's smaller, kinda pale, a little scrawny…?"

"Never seen 'im."

"Maybe he's hiding or something-"

"Mick…you only came in with four. When they woke up, they started howlin' at each other, then started howling about…oh yeah. Now I remember. I heard 'em cussing up a storm that the other guy- he musta slipped away. Tough breaks, Mick."

Mickey stared at Bugs, dumfounded. "And you never told me this before?!"

Another shrug. "Musta slipped my mind. Thanks for the goodies." And he disappeared into the darkness of the rabbit hole.

"Wait a minute, Bugs-!"

Silence followed, punctuated by a greedy crunch of carrot.

No way.

Not possible.

Bugs had to be lying.

Just a great joke, meant to work Mickey up into a tizzy and then reveal the whole thing as a massive prank.

Except Bugs didn't joke anymore.

There wasn't any prankster left in the old hare, just a consuming animosity towards Mickey that would love to see him get knocked off his pedestal. What better way than to casually mention one of Animasia's greatest rabble-rousers had been on the lam for two years?

Bugs wasn't lying. There was nothing to gain from a lie.

But the truth…the truth was everything.

Mickey didn't even remember leaving the Palace, trekking back to Versailles and finding Minnie. Her startled expression was just enough to snap Mickey out of his daze and quietly tell her, "We have a problem."

Fortunately, no one was to be burdened with such information on such an excellent evening.

Excellent for some, anyway.

"She is a traitor."

"Shut up, Cogsworth."

"I most certainly will not-"

"Yes, you will," Lumiere hissed. "Her father's right behind you."

As Cogsworth famously sputtered his embarrassment, Lumiere rolled his eyes. Versailles lay behind them now, though music could still be heard pulsing through the dark. In recognition of Belle's engagement, someone had found the pageant music, which was playing inside the Châteaux when the servants left to return to their castle.

Chip was already asleep in his mother's arms when they arrived, silent, for no one was eager to perform the task that had to be accomplished. After staring at each other with no resolution in sight, Lumiere finally shrugged and wordlessly started up the stairs to the West Wing.

The Master was still awake, sitting at his writing desk in his study. Surrounding him lay volumes of masterworks, Shakespeare, Milton, Lewis, books Lumiere and Cogsworth had retrieved innumerable times.

The Master would not step foot into the library.

Wanting to get this over with as soon as possible, Lumiere coughed slightly, catching Beast's attention. "Good evening, sire."

Beast nodded, grinned. "Good evening, Lumiere. How was the Gala?"

"It…was enjoyable," he lied. After a beat, he continued, "Something occurred that you should know about."

"And what is that?"

"Master…Belle has chosen to wed."

Lumiere waited for the shock, the outrage, the uncontrollable fury that he was sure would consume his Master, finally snap him out of his years-long stupor, storm out of the castle and into the village, find Belle and win her back.

Except…

Nothing.

Just the infuriating, demeaning acceptance that clung to him like a pestilence. He remained at his desk, his pen hovering in mid-stroke. "To whom?"

"Monsieur Gaston."

"I see." The quill of the pen began scratching once more, sharp, staccato jottings unlike his usual, languid scrawl. "Did she look happy, Lumiere?"

He wanted to lie. He wanted to paint a horrendous picture of how unhappy she was, how miserable she looked, that it was only her unfathomable pity for the wretch that caused her to do this.

But it wasn't.

And he couldn't.

"Yes, your highness."

A nod.

That was it.

A nod.

The final surrender to the fate Beast had long ago realized as the only ending possible to this story.

"Good night, my friend."

Lumiere began his customary bow, stopped. "Sire, if I may be so bold-"

"You may not."

Hearing a growl in the undertone of the command, Lumiere knew to stop. A complete bow, a quiet, "Merry Christmas, sire," and he was gone.

Beast listened to Lumiere's hastened footfalls disappear down the long staircase, the empty castle swallowing sound. His notes suddenly and completely irrelevant, Beast picked himself up from his desk and took careful, measured strides to his bedroom. He would not react. He would not let his might betray his mind and fall into unnecessary theatrics. He would simply verify that Lumiere had indeed told him the truth.

Not there was any reason to believe otherwise.

The Mirror lay on the rosewood chantry beside the arch to the balcony; he saw the moonlight skipping off the polished surface across the room. Even as he prepared to use it, he hesitated. When Belle first left the castle, he knew how easy it would be to watch over her with the mirror, and how quickly the device could be unintentionally abused. He abstained from its use, teaching himself how to live without her.

But then there were times…

"Belle."

The mirror cackled, Beast's reflection melting away into a sea of people, finally resting upon Belle.

Lovely, sacred Belle.

She was beaming.

At Gaston.

Beast could not hear what words they were saying to each other; there was loud, cluttered music mercifully playing over whatever they might have been cooing to each other. The date of the wedding, perhaps. New promises, fond memories, discreet innuendo that heightened the blush in her cheeks.

He set the mirror back down on the table and paced out to the balcony. He did not feel the coldness of the snow as it clung to the fur on his paws, did not see the diamond-and-coal valley below. All he tried to do was not remember, a task he was doomed to fail.

The mirror kept the scene it had been asked to reveal as no one had commanded it to stop. Into the night spilled song, juxtaposed horribly with a fairy tale that dabbled too long in reality.

Come, Christmas
Stay, Christmas
Watch over her this day
Keep her
Protect her
From harm now in every way

Shelter her
Gently
There in your arms she'll be
Until the day
When you
Bring her back home to me

There is an ornament lost inside the night