Belle woke up slowly and groggily, her legs filled with pins and needles where they still lay curled beneath her, and in relative darkness, the hood of her cloak having fallen over her head at some point while she slept.

That she had slept at all was puzzling, but Belle supposed that after so many shocks to the system in one day, her brain had simply decided to ease her into unconsciousness at the first sign of a comfortable place to lay her head. Not too comfortable, she er last winced as she stiffly manoeuvered her legs into a less stressful position. I never realised I could fall asleep while kneeling upright. As she waited for her legs to stop tingling and feel halfway ready to stand on her own two feet again, Belle cast her mind back. The – the creature had rasped horder before locking her in the room, and by the time Belle had turned around the door had already been shut. Overwhelmed by the day, she had collapsed on the bed in a fit of tears; she supposed that at some point she must have exhausted herself into sleep.

Belle stood shakily, using the mattress behind her for support. Although her knees were a little stiff, her legs otherwise worked as usual. She carefully unfastened her cloak, laying it gently on the bed. She hadn't looked around at the room, before, but now Belle found her eye wandering around the decorations. It was a very blue room; the wallpaper, curtains, and bed coverings were all similar shades of the same colour, and Belle suspected that had she been viewing it in proper lighting she would have been able to appreciate how they had been matched together. There was a large wardrobe in the far corner of the room, finely carved and painted a similar shade of blue, although it was also highlighted with flecks of gold paint; a small dressing-table with triple mirrors, was perched nearby, with the same colouring and attention to detail. As she walked onto the carpet, she almost felt her booted feet sink into the fibres; with a little stab of guilt at her mud-caked boots, Belle immediately stepped away. Both room and carpet were too dark for her to properly assess whether she'd stained it or not, but the lack of visible dirt eased her mind a little.

She wandered around the room, carefully avoiding any carpeted areas. In the back of her mind, Belle wondered if she would have any indoor shoes; she thought with a little longing of her own shoes, still lying safely in front of the fire where she had left them after Gaston's monstrous proposal. Walking around a room this grand in her bare or stockinged feet – walking around anywhere, now that she was (Belle's mind balked at the word, but she forced herself to process it anyways) a prisoner in this place – felt as if it left her too vulnerable.

Having made a complete circuit Belle perched on top of the bed once more, although the room was warm enough that she didn't feel the need to put her cloak on again. A large prison, she thought. A comfortable prison. But still a prison. Marie's terrified white face as she had last seen it appeared before her eyes once again, her arm outstretched towards Belle as the creature had launched out of the window into the night. Belle closed her eyes. It appeared that she had actually run out of tears to cry.

Suddenly, a cheery voice called out from the other side of her bedroom door. "Housekeeping!"

Belle's head darted up, her eyes flashing open. "I – Hello?" she asked, hesitantly approaching the door. "Who is it?"

"Mrs Potts, dear," the voice continued.

Belle hesitated for a moment, her hand on the doorknob. She was certain that the creature who had imprisoned her couldn't adjust her voice from the harsh, almost wheezing rasp she had used – and even if it could, it had mentioned that there were servants in the castle as well. Belle opened the door, expecting to meet the voice's owner eye to eye. To her surprise, she was met with empty air. So Belle looked first to the left, and then to the right, and then, finally, down.

"Oh!"

Belle hopped back a solid distance, her fingers holding the door open on sheer instinct. The source of the voice wasn't an older woman as she had expected but a cream china teapot, accompanied by a teacup, a milk jug, and a sugar bowl; all four items shared the same decorative leaf design around their base, a lilac-and-pink colour scheme edged in gold paint.

"Good evening!" the teapot continued, hopping inside the bedroom. "Pop yourself down by the bed, will you, and we'll get you sorted with a nice cuppa."

"I . . . of course," Belle stuttered, letting the door swing shut again in a daze. She carefully arranged herself to sit down on the floor, keeping her skirts and legs close to her body in case she hit some of the crockery. The crockery that's moving . . . and talking,she thought helplessly. The little cup was already filled with rich, dark tea by the time Belle was settled; after a sort of silent exchange with the milk jug and sugar bowl, Belle took a sip of her strong tea, diluted only partially by the milk. Belle couldn't help feeling soothed as the hot drink slid down inside her.

"It seems as if not even an enchanted castle can prevent the powers of a good cup of tea," she murmured.

"Quite right," the teapot, who was evidently one and the same with Mrs Potts, chuckled.

Steeling herself, Belle made eye contact. "Thank you," she said. "I . . . well, I don't know what I expected, but it certainly wasn't this."

"It was a very brave thing you did, my dear," Mrs Potts said.

"We all think so," came a third voice.

Belle craned her neck around. The wardrobe from the other end of the room had opened its – her – doors, and it dipped into a half-bow. "Madame de Garderobe," she said in a warm, honey-like tone. "Pleased to meet you."

"Thank you – but that wasn't bravery," Belle said, dropping her head back down to her cup. "I was being foolish and impulsive, not brave. I've lost my mother – my freedom – my whole life, in one fell swoop."

Unseen by Belle, Mrs Potts and Madame shared a meaningful look. "Child, we've all been through what's happening to you," she said warmly. "Take another sip of your tea. Things will turn out alright in the end, you'll see."

Belle let out a shaky laugh as she lifted the cup to her lips. "I was on the bridge of being called an old maid in my village, and now I'm a child again."

"Why? How old are you?" the teacup in her hand piped up in a loud voice.

Belle shrieked, fumbling with the cup as her instinct to fling it away warred with her carefully instilled reflexes to never drop anything, whether in Marie's workshop or her own kitchen. Hot tea cascaded over her fingers, and stained a large portion of her white apron, but the teacup remained intact and her skirts were protected. She hastily placed the cup on the floor again, next to the teapot. The moment she did so, the pain from the scalding liquid registered in her brain, and Belle swore violently under her breath as she wiped the residue on her soaked apron.

"Oh, Miss, I'm so sorry –"

"Bridget, what's going on? I can't see from here –"

"Mama! Mama! I'm really sorry, Mama –"

"You listen here, young man, you're going to apologise to our guest at once –"

"Is Chip alright? Is he hurt?"

"So sorry, Miss, let me get something for your hands –"

"Please, please, everybody calm down!" Belle cried out. "I'm so sorry I almost dropped it – him – I mean –"

"Chip," Mrs Potts explained. "His name is Chip, and he's going to get a right talking to later on for not behaving himself." This last was directed more towards the cup than Belle, in the way that all parents address their children when they've misbehaved in public. Chip himself had evidently recovered from the excitement of his adventure, and was now sheepishly hiding behind his mother.

"Is everything alright?" Garderobe asked again.

"We're fine, we're fine," Mrs Potts said. "Although I have to admit," she added with a grin, "she certainly reacted better than her mother."

"What do you mean?" Belle asked, curious despite everything.

"You at least caught Chip. Your mother got such a fright that she dropped Cogsworth from a great height all the way to the floor – he's still recovering his rather ruffled pride." Mrs Potts chuckled.

Garderobe and Chip both laughed, and Belle felt a little knot of anxiety in her stomach loosen. She hadn't even realised it was still there until that moment. "Who's Cogsworth?"

"He's the head of staff," Mrs Potts explained. "Runs this place like it's a blooming Navy ship – you'll meet him at dinner tonight with the Mistress."

Just like that, Belle suddenly remembered the last words flung at her before the Beast had shut her in. "Well, I suppose he'll have to be disappointed," she said lightly. "I'm not going to dinner."

"Oh, but you must – !" Garderobe started, but abruptly cut herself off.

"You're not coming down?" Chip asked, poking his head back around his mother so that Belle could see his pouting lip.

"I don't see why I should," Belle said. "I might be a prisoner here, but I'm also, apparently, a guest. I see no reason why a guest should submit themselves to the whims of an unreasonable host."

Mrs Potts shifted awkwardly on her base, but made no comment. "I suppose you're right."

"This won't make things . . . unpleasant for you, will it?" Belle asked in a low voice. "I don't want to make anything worse for you just because of my decisions."

Mrs Potts shook her head. "Nonsense, child," she said. "The Mistress used to have a rather sharp tongue, but she's fairly grown out of that by now. She'll sulk something terrible, but she's never been one to fly up into a temper."

"She wouldn't – ?" Mindful of the teacup (who Belle was now certain was a frightfully young child), she mimed smashing something against the floor.

Mrs Potts' porcelain face seemed to stiffen at Belle's action. "No, my dear," she said. "Such a thing would be anathema to the Mistress."

Before Belle could so much as offer an apology for the reaction her question had caused, Mrs Potts whistled after her son, who had hopped over to Garderobe's side of the room and begun playing around her feet. "Come on, Chip!" she said cheerfully. "Time to get back to the Hall. Would you mind getting the door again, Miss?"

Belle obligingly rose to open the door again. "Please, Mrs Potts – call me Belle," she said. "It's my name."

"Alright, Belle," she said. "And if you ever change your mind about eating, with or without the Mistress, feel free to make your way down to the kitchen. There's usually something or other of worth to be scrounged from the store-cupboards!" With that, she hopped away, and Belle let the door swing shut again. She unlaced her boots and padded over to the curtains, parting the heavy material to reveal a perfect winter's tableau of a moonlight garden. It wasn't until she had perched herself back on the bed, and had tracked the moon until it curved around the edge of the castle wall, that Belle realised she had never been locked in the bedroom to begin with.

Léon shivered in the crisp night air. He urged his weary mare, Hester, further along the road. He was close enough to Molyneux by now to see the cobblestones reflecting the faint lamplight, and he thought eagerly of the comparative warmth of his house to the cold outdoors. "Alright, Hester m'girl," he said encouragingly, "not long now."

As soon as he said the words, Léon felt the track beneath him change from well-worn packed earth to the familiar bump and hop of the village streets. He kept a careful hand on Hester's reigns; it had been snowing for a few hours now, and the last thing he wanted was for his horse to slip and injure herself scant paces from her stable. As he passed the town tavern, he shook his head at the loud carousing he could hear. He remembered a time, only a few short years ago, when a man could go to the tavern in peace, unmolested by the loud shouts and squeals which had begun to follow Gaston around even then. He had been reasonably sure of having a quiet corner to himself in those days. But now Gaston didn't seem to be happy unless the entire village was paying attention to him, let alone the tavern.

With a wistful sigh, Léon carefully steered Hester around the fountain which was the town's centrepiece. With his back turned to the tavern, he didn't immediately notice when they were flung open and a person carelessly tossed outside. She struggled to her feet and tried to force her way back inside, but the doors had already been slammed shut again.

"No, wait! Please! My daughter is in grave danger!"

Léon spun around in his seat – and sure enough, it was his sister who was crying out for help. "Marie?" he shouted, completely taken aback.

"Léon! Oh, thank God!" she cried, slipping on the snow slightly in her haste to meet him. "Léon, something terrible has happened – oh, that – that creature, it was –"

"Marie, what are you talking about? Why are you back so early?" He hopped down off of Hester, gripping Marie by the shoulders. "What do you mean, Belle's in grave danger?"

"She has been –" Marie wheezed terribly, almost bending double with the effort. Léon hurried to support his sister's weight, and his eyes grew wide with fear. "She has been locked up in a dungeon by some horrible, monstrous beast."

"Marie . . ." Léon whispered. His heart sank into his stomach as he took in her glassy eyes and agitated manner. "Let me –" he said, raising his hand to feel her forehead.

"No! I've already been through this indignity once tonight, Léon! I'm not feverish, and I did not imagine what I saw! You know I would never leave Belle in danger's path, and if you go to my house you can see for yourself –"

"I saw Belle there last night with my own two eyes –"

"And I assure you, she was not there as of three hours ago!" Marie glared at him. "Léon, aside from you, Belle is all I have. I can't go back there by myself; Phillipe is still there as well. I need your help."

Léon took a moment. The snow had finally stopped falling as Marie spoke, and as it sank into the material of her cloak she shivered violently.

"Alright, Marie," he sighed. "I'll help you. Do you think you could find your way back?"

"Of course," she said.

"Then we both need to go back to mine and rest, at least for a few hours. Hester's just made the journey from the asylum and back in one day – and you could do with some rest, too. We can go out at first light tomorrow. If Belle is at least indoors, she won't be exposed to the elements."

Marie looked as if she was about to argue, but another bout of coughing stopped her. When the fit had passed, she muttered, "I suppose you're right, Léon. But we have to leave at first light – promise me that."

"I promise," Léon said. "I hate the idea of Belle being in danger just as much as you do, but if we go now, with no outside aid, I can't help but feel we'd be doomed to failure." Arm in arm, the siblings walked back towards Léon's house, as it was closer. "And since we're doing this, Marie – please, tell me the whole story from start to finish."

She took a breath, more wild curls slipping loose from her shoulders, and began from the moment at the crossroads.