Beast's POV
The Beast couldn't sleep, not with the knowledge that the key to his salvation was finally here and he could not even get her to talk to him. He paced along the balcony as the stars came out one by one, wondering what the girl was doing at that moment. Was she still brooding, hating him? He had to know, even if it meant the worst.
"Show me the girl," he asked the mirror, less demanding this time and more dreading what he was about to see. The mirror glowed and cleared to show the girl curled up under the covers of the bed, sound asleep. When she wasn't arguing with him or being stubborn, he was reminded of how beautiful she was. But she was frowning as she slept; the Beast knew that wasn't right, wasn't how things should be. He put the mirror down, feeling suddenly as though he was spying.
Mrs. Potts was right, the girl had lost her father and her freedom in one single day and it was taking its toll on her. He did this. He was responsible for her unhappiness. But what could he do about it? He could release her, but to do so would be to give up on his own hopes.
"What am I going to do?" he moaned, leaning on the table and placing one paw delicately on the glass that protected the enchanted rose.
Belle's POV
Belle woke feeling very disoriented as she realized nothing around her looked familiar. As she came further into consciousness, the events of the previous day came back to her and she curled her body into itself, hugging her knees to her chest and squeezing her eyes shut as if she could will herself back into her own bedroom. But of course that was impossible, so Belle merely lingered in bed for another few moments until she felt more or less ready to face whatever might come.
"'Morning, dearie," the wardrobe said sleepily as Belle slipped out of the large bed.
"Good morning," Belle replied somberly and wrapped the dressing gown she found at the foot of her bed around her shoulders. At a loss of what else to do, she went to persuade the fire back into life. She crouched beside the flames for a moment, trying not to be too bitter about the thought of doing the same thing back home. Her father would still be asleep, if he had slept at all. A pit grew in her stomach as she wondered what he would do about breakfast. She had been the one to cook all their meals since she was old enough not to fall in the fire and she knew Papa couldn't help but burn anything he tried to make.
"I'm sure your dress will be clean by now," the wardrobe said, breaking into Belle's gloomy thoughts. "I'll send for it and after breakfast you can. . .oh—I mean. Oh dear."
"It's all right," Belle said, smiling kindly at the wardrobe. "I'm not very hungry anyway." Which was true. Picturing her father all alone in the cottage put knots in Belle's stomach and took away any appetite she had. She put one last log on the fire and straightened up.
"You know, there's people to do that here," the wardrobe said and Belle caught the humor in her voice.
"I know, but I'm perfectly capable," she replied, brushing her hands off. The wardrobe looked as though she wanted to reply, but a knock at the door prevented her from speaking. Belle went to answer and found the teapot, Mrs. Potts, sitting on a tea cart outside the door.
"Good morning, Belle!" the teapot greeted her merrily.
"Good morning," Belle replied and stepped aside to allow the cart to wheel itself inside the room. She was sure she would never get used to seeing objects that had no right to be moving zooming about the room.
"I've brought you some tea, and your dress is here, too," Mrs. Potts said. "Be careful," she warned as Belle went to lift the dress from the bottom shelf of the tea cart. Curious, Belle scooped the dress in both her hands and felt an odd weight within the folds of the familiar blue dress. When Belle unfolded the dress, she discovered a small covered tray of biscuits. Belle smiled, knowing that Mrs. Potts took a great risk bringing them to her. The Beast had ordered the servants not to provide Belle with food, after all.
"Thank you," she whispered, though such precautions were surely unnecessary behind the closed door. Belle popped one of the biscuits in her mouth even though she truly had no appetite. But the satisfied smile on the kindly teapot's face reminded Belle a little bit of her mother when she was able to get Belle to put on her hat in the winter and Belle allowed herself to be comforted.
"Now then, you should get dressed. I bet you can't wait to explore the castle!" Mrs. Potts exclaimed as she poured Belle a cup of tea.
"I can show you all my favorite places!" Chip exclaimed as Belle carefully lifted him up. She might ask Mrs. Potts for a regular, ordinary teacup; it was a bit disconcerting to have the chatty little cup to use. Though she already loved his unwavering cheerfulness.
"Maybe later," Belle suggested, grateful for the servant-objects' good nature. "I—I think I just want to stay here for now if that's all right."
"But—" Chip began, but Mrs. Potts silenced him with a stern look.
"Of course, my dear. You just rest up and get used to your room. I'll be back later to check on you."
"Thank you," Belle said, wanting Mrs. Potts to understand that she bore no ill will towards the teapot, just her Master. With that, Mrs. Potts left with her son and the tea cart.
"Well, I don't think it's right that you stay cooped up here, not when there's a great big castle to explore. But you can only do what you feel is best," the wardrobe said and Belle, instead of being offended, found herself suppressing a giggle.
"I think I'll have some difficulty getting used to such a large room, let alone an entire castle," Belle said. The wardrobe smiled but obviously was still hoping that Belle would reconsider. Well, she couldn't do anything in her bedclothes, so Belle wriggled out of the lacy nightgown Madame de la Grande Bouche provided for her and slid into her familiar blue dress, she felt nearly like herself again.
"Now then, what do you intend to do in this room all day?" the wardrobe asked.
"Well, if I had a book or two there wouldn't be a problem, but as it is, I'm not sure" she confessed. If she was home, she could go into the village and borrow a book, even though that would have meant seeing Gaston after their last encounter. Well, that's something good about all this, she thought to herself. There was no chance of running into Gaston while she was imprisoned in the castle.
"Books? Really?" the wardrobe said with a note of surprise in her voice. But before Belle could retaliate with her now well-rehearsed defense of her favorite pastime, the wardrobe shrugged. "I'm sure we can figure something out. We've got a few books here in the castle, you know."
"Do you really?" Belle said, hardly able to contain her excitement that this place at least had books. Nothing would be able to make up for the fact she would never be able to see her father again, but it would make her stay here a little less miserable.
"Is that enough to tempt you out of the room?" the wardrobe said with a large grin. Belle smiled, but the memory of that—creature made her hesitate.
"Not yet," she said begrudgingly.
"All right, have it your way, dearie. Maybe you can convince Mrs. Potts to bring you a book or two later."
"That would be nice," Belle replied, making her way towards the windows. She threw back the heavy curtains, exposing glass panes that rose well above her head and wider than her arms could reach. But beyond that lay the most breathtaking view Belle had ever encountered. It had snowed overnight, covering the castle grounds in a white blanket that glistened in the growing morning. But beyond that, hundreds of miles of forest stretched out before her, glimmering and sparkling in their new coats of winter snow.
"Oh my," she said with a sigh, touching her fingertips to the cold glass.
"Horrible, isn't it?" the wardrobe said with a shiver.
"Horrible? It's beautiful!" she exclaimed. "I know there's wolves out there of course but . . .just think of all the amazing things that are out there, too! All those places to discover and explore. . ." she trailed off, remembering that she could no longer even dream of going on her adventures. Not even the wardrobe's good nature or Mrs. Potts' care could distract her from that.
"Just wanted to see how you were getting on," Mrs. Potts said as she came once again into the room. It was perhaps an hour or two before Belle normally would have eaten lunch, but Belle found she still wasn't hungry. The thought of food made her think of how her father was alone now, with no one to care for him or make his meals and it sent knots twisting in her stomach.
"I'm all right," Belle lied as she sat in the chair by the window. She had been watching the birds fly among the tree tops outside her window, lost in her own thoughts when Mrs. Potts entered.
"No, you're not," Mrs. Potts said knowingly. "But you will be, dearest. Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?"
Belle was about to deny her request, but the wardrobe interrupted. "Yes, for goodness sakes! Get this poor girl a book to read. If she spends another minute looking out that window I don't know what I'll do!"
"A book?"
"The Madame said you had some books in the castle. I like to read, you see," Belle explained almost a bit embarrassedly.
"Oh, I'm sure there's something we could find. What do you like to read?"
"Anything. Perhaps something about King Arthur or some fairy tale?" Belle asked, unsure if she wanted to accept the books of the creature who imprisoned her, but desperate for a distraction and craving a story.
"I'll see what I can do," the teapot said and hopped out of the room.
Sometime later, the teapot returned once again on her tea cart, declaring that she had been successful in her search. "I hope this will do, my dear," she said as Belle pulled a rather dusty book from the bottom shelf of the cart.
"Le Morte d'Arthur," Belle read. "Oh, this is wonderful! Thank you so much, Mrs. Potts!"
"Of course, my dear. I'll leave you to it. Chores to be getting on with, you know!" And she bustled back out again.
"Well, go on!" the wardrobe prodded, motioning one arm-like door towards the chair by the fireplace. Belle smiled and carefully dusted off the book before curling up in the chair and diving into the book's pages. Her worries did not quite disappear, for how could she truly forget that she was without her freedom or her father, but for the first time since she came in sight of the castle Belle's heart felt lighter.
She read until her back ached with sitting in the chair for too long. Slowly, she closed the book and stretched her stiff muscles, admiring how far she had gotten in the book in just a few hours. It had been quite a while since she had read Le Morte d'Arthur, but she was pleasantly surprised at how much she remembered. But even Arthur could not distract her from the need to stretch her legs. Being cooped up in her room all day was starting to wear on her; perhaps a short walk around the halls might cure her of her stiffness.
But the Beast could be out there, she thought and couldn't help the tremor of horror she felt at the idea of meeting him in the halls. She didn't think he would hurt her, but his anger was nothing to be trifled with. Well, he did tell me I could go anywhere I wanted, she reasoned. Except the West Wing, she added, his fierce, growling command echoing in her ears. This only succeeded in increasing her curiosity, but perhaps she would save that adventure for another time. For now, it would be enough to simply step out of her room.
"I'm going for a walk," she declared to Madame de la Grande Bouche.
"Oh, lovely dearie!" she declared merrily. "Take your time, explore!" Belle smiled at the wardrobe and closed her bedroom door behind her. The fear of getting lost in the massive place kept her from wanting to wander far, but once she began walking the halls drenched in daylight, she couldn't help but find it rather fascinating.
The paintings were still of gruesome scenes or somber subjects, the statues were still ugly gargoyles, but with a proper night's rest and without the massive form of the Beast looming over her, she found these things to be oddly beautiful. They were certainly masterfully created, each chisel mark perfectly made, each brush stroke done by a true artist.
The sheer size of the castle was enough to overwhelm her and soon, though she didn't think she had wandered far, she found herself quite lost.
"Oh dear," she sighed aloud and looked around her helplessly. There didn't seem to be anyone—anything?—around to ask either.
Just as she started to wonder if she should try to retrace her steps or move forward, a rumbling growl echoed down the hall. Quickly, Belle ducked into a doorway, not keen on running into the Beast. Moments later, she watched as the Beast stomped his way down the corridor, his paw-like hands clasped behind his back and apparently very deep in thought.
He growled as he walked and Belle realized that it was not a malicious sort of growl, but a pensive one, a growl that did not mean danger but confusion. What could this creature be so confused about it sent him roaming the halls so distractedly? It couldn't be because of her, could it? She watched curiously until the strange creature was out of sight before emerging from her hiding spot. "May I be of assistance, mademoiselle?" a voice from down by her ankle asked. Belle looked down—something she supposed she would have to get quite used to—and saw the stuffy mantle clock from earlier. Cogsworth, she recalled.
"Oh, yes thank you. I was just stretching my legs and I'm afraid I got a bit lost. Would you mind helping me find my room again?" she asked politely.
"Of course. If you will follow me," the mantel clock replied and began waddling down the hall, his short, stubby wooden legs ill suited for proper strides. Two left turns and a right and the door to her room stood before them.
"Thank you," she said gratefully, certain that she would have been lost for hours without his guidance.
"My pleasure, mademoiselle. If you require anything, you have only to ask," he replied with a cordial bow. Belle nodded and smiled uncertainly before entering her room once more.
"Back so soon?" the wardrobe said as she stepped inside.
"Oh, yes. I got a bit lost and was afraid to go too much further. Fortunately Cogsworth found me and brought me back," she explained. "Besides, I wanted to do a bit more reading tonight," she added and sat back down in the chair to return to her book. She found herself distracted from the pages though, recalling the Beast's unhappy pacing through the halls. He was such a mystery to her: a heartless brute with a foul temper who was clearly dismayed by her. It just didn't make sense.
Eventually she managed to put her thoughts of the Beast aside and read until the sun began to sink in the sky, casting long shadows in the room and making difficult to read despite the firelight. Just as she thought to ask for a lamp, a knock came at the door. At first Belle thought it would be Mrs. Potts again, but the knock was louder and came from much higher up on the door.
"Oh dear," Belle sighed as she realized who it must be. She closed her book and placed it on the table beside the bed, lingering one more moment before walking towards the door. Belle took a breath and opened the door slowly, steeling herself for the image of the creature.
He was just walking away down the hall; perhaps Belle took too long in answering his knock. She thought briefly of simply closing the door and letting him walk away, but she also knew it would be impossible to ignore him forever.
"Was there something you wanted?" she called. He whirled around at her voice and for one brief moment Belle saw surprise and a tiny bit of hope in his eyes. It surprised her after seeing only anger there the day before. The creature came back to the doorway but did not force himself in the room as he did last night. Apparently his temper had waned since then, but Belle still crossed her arms and prepared to defend herself once again.
"I—I was hoping you would come down to dinner," he grumbled.
"I'm afraid I'm still not hungry," she replied, careful to keep her tone as even as he kept his.
"You're not—have my servants been giving you food?" he demanded, the temper he had been guarding flaring up once again.
"No, they have not. I've seen no one all day except the Madame and Mrs. Potts and they have been loyal to your command," she shot back.
"Then why won't you come eat with me?"
"Because I am not hungry!" she repeated. "And I do not share meals with brutes like you!" Belle flinched as the creature moved towards her, afraid what her words might have cost her, but he stopped himself.
"Very well," he grunted and turned so sharply his cloak whirled upwards with the force of it.
"I do have a question though," she said as he began to stalk away.
"What is it?" he asked, turning back to her enough that she could see the blue of his eye but remained ready to walk away again. She was surprised that the anger in his voice had disappeared, replaced with. . . was that sorrow?
"What do I call you?"
He was silent for a long moment and Belle began to wonder if she had somehow offended him.
"You may call me Beast," he said in his low, grumbling voice.
"Beast? That's your name?" she asked in surprise.
"It is what I am," he replied shortly and left without another word, leaving Belle standing by her door feeling an odd mixture of confusion and surprise at this creature—the Beast's—words.
"Well, that was a lot less messy than last night," the wardrobe said as Belle closed the door at last. Belle nodded absentmindedly and returned to the chair by the fire. There was something different about the Beast. Yes, he was rude and his temper was quick to show itself, but this time she could see that his anger was stemmed from some sort of sorrow. She could see in his eyes that there was something more than fury there. Loneliness, perhaps? Well, it wasn't her fault that he was lonely. But still, it was nice to know there was something besides rage to this creature.
Beast's POV
He had stayed away the entire day as Lumiere and Mrs. Potts had suggested. Give her space, they had said. Give her time. It was torture not to see the girl who still might be his salvation. When yet another petal fell from the rose, the Beast nearly bolted down the girl's room and demanded to see her. But he fought the urge and sought distraction from the rooftops instead.
When the sun began to set, however, the Beast decided he had waited long enough. Perhaps now, after a day empty of food, she might consent to have dinner with him. He regretted his previous order that the girl should not eat without him; he had no wish to torture her, but how else would she agree to be in his company? It was clear she was too stubborn to simply come down to dinner when he asked, so perhaps drastic measures were called for in this case.
He sighed in frustration, his breath coming out in a huff. Well, he had to at least try. So the Beast made his way down to the girl's room.
The girl refused him again. Really he was not surprised at that, but it drained him of the little hope he held on to. A brute, she called him. The word stung, but left him in sorrow rather than rage. What a fool he was to even think this stubborn girl would have changed her mind, would have agreed to share a meal with the monster who imprisoned her. But, as he started to leave, she asked him what she should call him. She asked him a question! Directly, and without anger in her voice!
At first, he could not think of a reply to her simple question. What should she call him? 'Master' was not appropriate, even he knew that. With 'sir' they would get nowhere with each other: it was too formal, put up too many barriers among the many that already stood between them.
"You may call me Beast," he finally answered. It was true, he was a Beast. There was no point in hiding it behind a false name, and to give her his true name would be too horrible a reminder of what he had once been, what he no longer was. It did not suit him now, but 'Beast' was more than appropriate. But she had asked! he elated as he retreated from her room. What did this mean now? Was she beginning to warm up to him, even slightly?
Perhaps the next day would coax her out of her room, like the timid deer she was imitating. A timid deer who fights back, then asks the hunter what he is called, he mulled. This girl was certainly very confusing. This stubborn, impossible girl who gave him hope but equally made his efforts seem futile. She was intriguing, it was true, but how could he fall in love with a girl who was constantly arguing with him? Perhaps he would ask Mrs. Potts' advice again. She had been checking in on the girl all day, hadn't she? There must be something she could tell him that would help him win this girl. His purpose renewed, the Beast returned to the West Wing and called for his servant, eager to find out what might be done.