Chapter 3 - Edge of Despair
The family portrait was something he and his mother had fought for.
At one point, when he had still been quite young, his mother had shown him the portraits of the old kings, his grandfather and great grandfather and so on and so forth. She had also shown him a picture of his father, standing tall and proud, with a crown comfortably resting on his head.
But what she had really wanted to show him was a portrait of his mother and father together along with the young Prince as a small, practically new born baby.
She told him that one day his portrait would be hung up along with all of the others. But he hadn't been interested in that, as he was more concerned about getting a more up to date family portrait. His mother agreed that they should have a new one painted, but his father was reluctant and rejected the idea, stating that he was too young and wouldn't be able to sit still for it to work.
His father didn't like portraits. Correction, he didn't like portraits that weren't of just him. He was so vain and self-centred, that he didn't want his young, playful, hyperactive son to ruin his image.
It took several years before his father decided to get a painter to make a new version.
The Prince had been eight at the time of its completion. However, it wasn't long after the portrait was finished and hung up with the others that his mother's health started to deteriorate.
He had it moved into his room when he was much older, so that he'd have an image of his mother, captured in a moment where she was in perfect health. Where she looked truly alive.
That portrait had meant a lot to her, as well as himself. And in an instant, he had destroyed it. He had almost torn her face out of it. He would never have forgiven himself if he had gone through with it.
That night, he had strayed even further from the son she had wanted him to be.
He was cold when he awoke.
For a moment, he had forgotten where he was. But it all came quickly flooding back to him as he took in his surroundings.
He was slumped down on the stone balcony, resting against the pedestal that the enchanted rose was placed on. He must have fallen asleep in that position, after he had destroyed some of his belongings in a blind rage.
He didn't recall falling asleep. He wasn't even sure how he had managed to, when he was sitting down like that, his pillow made of stone.
He was still rather tired and groggy, plus he was rather sore, from sleeping in that position. He absentmindedly lifted his hand, or paw, and rubbed his eye, and nearly ended up stabbing himself with his claw.
He grunted in dismay. He had hoped that it would have all turned out to have been a dream. Sadly, that was only wishful thinking. The fur that covered his arm, and the claws that had nearly poked his eye out confirmed that it was all too real.
He wondered why he was so cold. He glanced at his shoulder, and noticed that he was covered in a thick layer of snow, which had collected on him during the night. That's what he got for sleeping outside, exposed to the elements.
Snow? But... It was early autumn. It wasn't nearly cold enough for it to be snowing.
He assumed that this must be part of the curse. The Enchantress must have plunged the castle into an eternal winter.
He had never liked winter. Summer has always been his favourite season, the long, hot days where he could spend his time outside, enjoying the sun.
Were there any other ways that the Enchantress wanted to punish him?
He brushed the snow off his shoulders and head. He then attempted to rise, using the pedestal as leverage to hoist him onto his feet. He then used it as a crutch when he almost toppled over.
His centre of balance was still completely off, he wasn't used to the amount of muscle mass that had been added to his torso, not to mention he was ten, maybe even more, inches taller.
He wondered if his new body would allow him to stand on two legs, or if it was more built to be on all fours. The night before, when he had fell forwards on the stairs, it had almost felt... Natural. He had covered more ground in a short amount of time compared to being on two legs. The speed was remarkable. He hadn't really thought about it till now.
He shook his head and pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. He would not allow himself to behave like an animal. He was still human on the inside, despite his exterior, and he would walk on two legs, no matter how hard and wrong it felt.
He pushed himself off the pedestal and began to take short, heavy, lumbering steps across the room towards his bed. Why was a simple thing like walking such an ordeal? He was worried that his legs would threaten to buckle underneath him. Thankfully, they didn't and he reached the bed without much of a problem.
He allowed himself to fall face first onto the bed, becoming enveloped by the wine red sheets.
Why was he so tired? Had the transformation really taken so much out of him?
Perhaps he would lay there for a while, give himself some time to fully recover. He didn't want to move. He didn't want to do anything.
His stomach gurgled but he ignored it. If he wanted to eat, he'd have to go downstairs, and that would mean he'd have to face the servants. He wasn't ready for that. He wasn't sure if he'd ever be ready.
He wondered what would happen, if he allowed himself to go days without food. Would the amount of muscle mass he had gained deteriorate? Or was that not possible due to the curse?
Would he even be able to starve himself? Or would hunger and instinct take over and drive him out into the woods, where he could hunt down and kill a deer or some other poor inspecting animal?
Was there some sort of animal instinct lurking away inside him? What would cause that to consume his mind and push away any rational thought?
His mind wandered back to the idea of killing an animal. He couldn't imagine himself doing that, not with his bare hands anyway. He did seem capable of it now, with his fangs and claws but... He didn't want to go down that path. He wasn't an animal. Not on the inside. He had to keep telling himself that. He wanted to believe it so badly.
His train of thought went onto his body. Although he hated thinking about it, his appearance seemed to be made up of a combination of different animals.
Although he had never seen any of them up close, he had read about them and seen pictures of them in numerous books. Lion, bear, gorilla, gazelle, buffalo... They all added up to what he now looked like.
He decided not to go any further. He didn't want to examine his body, or try and dissect some information. He wanted to detach himself from it as much as possible.
But that wasn't going to happen.
Why was he even bothering to think so much about this? He was supposed to be resting, both his body and mind. He needed to sleep, he needed to regain some energy, so that he wouldn't feel like dead weight.
Lying down, his face pressed into the sheets, his barely conscious mind thinks of her.
He was reminded of her aroma first. He could even smell it, the scent overwhelming his nostrils. Strawberries, no peaches, no... He couldn't quite narrow it down. He had never known the distinct fragrance of her perfume, perhaps it was the scent of a fruit, or maybe a flower of some kind.
"You can't keep feeling sorry for yourself, Adam." Her soft, comforting, pleasing voice told him. "You have to be strong."
Had she ever said that to him? He couldn't recall. Maybe he was just making it up in his head, putting her voice to words that she might have said.
He pushed himself up, the light assaulting his eyes as he looked over his shoulder.
And there she was, sitting at the end of the bed. His mother.
She didn't look the same as she did when he had last saw her. The woman that had been lying on her death bed had pale grey skin, and had been made up of mostly flesh and bone. She had barely been able to keep her eyes open. She had seemed so fragile, that she might crumble into dust by mere touch. That had not been his mother. That was a shadow of her former self.
The woman that sat on his bed now was her. She was wearing a green dress, with her hands neatly placed on her lap. Her long, wavy blonde hair flowed down her back and passed her shoulders. His father had liked it when she had it done up, but he himself had always preferred it when she wore it down, like his own, as she had always tried to put his rather long hair into a pony tail, but never succeeded, his golden locks were untameable. His father always said that his hair should be cut shorter, and his mother would call him a hypocrite, as her husband often wore long wigs. But he was going off on a tangent now.
Her cheeks were rosy red and her blue eyes twinkled and shimmered, full to the brim with life. The corners of her mouth were wrinkled as her lips were curled into a warm smile.
This was his mother. This was how he always pictured her, remembered her.
He sat up and drew closer to her. He knew that the illusion would not last long if he kept his eyes open, so he closed them tightly as he reached out to her. And for a moment, just a moment, he could hold her in his arms, run his fingers through her hair, and feel her warmth. And if he tried hard enough, he could almost hear her soothing heartbeat.
And then she was gone. His arms were empty and he was alone.
He opened his eyes and stared at the empty spot where he had pictured her. There were no crease marks on the sheets, no shape left behind on the bed. She had never been there. She had never been real.
He looked over at the family portrait, at his mother's face.
Why did she return to him now?
He hadn't thought about her in years, at least not that much. Memories of her would come and go. They were fleeting. He had dreams about her in the past, but they had become rare and far between.
He wondered what his real mother would think, if she saw him like this. Not his image of her, not the one that he placed on a pedestal, that he thought was perfect in every possible one. The one that had died when he was only ten years old.
Would she still love him, smile at him, embrace him like she did in his imagination? Or would she be terrified, and wouldn't listen to him explain that despite his monstrous appearance, it was still him. That he was still her son.
He hoped that if she were here it would be the former. But if he were to be realistic, it would probably be the latter.
Does a mother's love know any bounds?
He lay down once more, this time on his back, and stared at the ceiling.
After all this time... He still found himself missing her.
How did he manage to remember her so vividly, that his half asleep brain could conjure up an illusion that he could feel in his grasp, just for a few seconds?
He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. His breath shook. It had only been a day and already he was starting to lose it.
There was a knock on his bedroom door.
His face wrinkled up into a frown. It was probably the servants, coming to check on him. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? He didn't want to be bothered.
The door knocker was persistent, and continued to bang on the door.
"What do you want?!" He shouted. He had forgotten what his voice sounded like now, as he hadn't breathed a word since last night. It was strange, how different his voice was now. It didn't sound right, to his ears. It sounded like someone else, and not himself.
The door was pushed open slightly and Lumiere, the talking candlestick, poked his head into the room.
"Forgive me for the intrusion, master, we just wanted to talk to you."
It was rather jarring, hearing Lumiere's voice coming out of a walking candle. It would definitely take him a long time to adjust to that, amongst other things.
Beast sat up and rubbed the back of his head, his claws getting caught in the mane-like fur that ran down his neck to his upper back. "Who's we?" He questioned.
With a grunt of effort, Lumiere pushed the door open fully and allowed other objects to enter the room.
The clock was most likely Cogsworth, and the teapot and tea cup were Mrs Potts and her son, Chip. The flying feather duster was probably Lumiere's lover - what was her name...? It didn't seem to click in his head. Plumette, that's what it was. Well, it might have been her, there were quite a few maids so it was hard to distinguish between them. He often wondered why Lumiere was so in love with her. He had more often than not had to tell them to get off each other and remain professional. Personally he hated seeing other people happy and in love, when he had neither of those things.
It was ironic, that the servants had been turned into house hold objects that they most commonly used. He'd find it funny, if the circumstances were different.
He took hold of the bed frame and pulled himself to his feet. "Come to get a good look at the Beast, have you?" He asked gruffly.
"What? No, no of course not. We just have some important matters that we want to discuss with you." Lumiere replied.
He walked around the bed, dragging his feet as he approached them, his claws clattering against the floor. "What's so important that you felt the need to interrupt me when I'm still recovering from the whole ordeal?" He snarled.
"With all due respect, master, the servants are restless. They're confused, scared, they don't know what to do. They need someone to put their minds at rest, give them some hope. And since this is your castle and you're the prince, we thought... Well, we thought it would be best if you did it." Mrs Potts explained.
"Hope? What hope could I possibly give them when I look like this?! Why would they want to listen to me, I would terrify them even more!" He retorted. "Besides, Cogsworth is the head of the household, he can do it."
"Me?! B-b-but master-" Cogsworth stammered.
"But what?!"
"N-n-nothing, nothing at all." The talking clock replied fearfully.
"Master, the servants won't listen to Cogsworth. They want to hear from you, they want to know what you've got planned, how you are going to fix this." Lumiere butted in.
"I don't have anything planned. What do you want me to do? Go out there and drag a young maiden back here, make her fall in love with me?! That's never going to work!" He shouted, pacing up and down the room, causing a spark of unrest amongst the servants. "There's nothing I can do to fix this. I have nothing." He murmured, taking on a softer tone.
Mrs Potts opened her mouth to say something but Lumiere lifted his hand- candlestick- and silenced her. "You're clearly distressed. We shall give you some more time, maybe in a few days it will start to look a little better."
"How could it possibly get better?" Beast questioned.
"A lot can change in a few days. Just know that we're here, if you need anything. And if you're not ready to come downstairs, then we will bring you some food up."
Beast simply grunted in acknowledgement and turned away.
"Before we go, we brought up the enchanted mirror for you, in case you want to use it." Lumiere added, pointing at the mirror that one of them must have dragged up there. It was lying face down.
"Why would I want to use it? Why would I want to look at my reflection? I have it burned enough into my mind as it is."
"Oh, I didn't mean using it to look at yourself, I meant using it to look at the outside world."
"Again, why would I want to use it? Why would I want to see the outside world through a looking glass when I could be out there exploring it for myself if I wasn't trapped in this hideous body?!" He exclaimed.
The servants were starting to retreat now, inching over to the door "Well, we'll leave it here, just in case you change your mind."
And with that, they dashed away, the door slamming shut behind them.
"What are we going to do about him?" He heard one of them say.
Beast debated on whether or not he should open the door and yell at them for talking about him like he couldn't hear. He ultimately decided not to.
He glanced down at the mirror that was lying face down. In fear that he might lose balance and fall flat on the floor, he carefully knelt down and picked up the mirror with his large paw.
He stood up, and was thankful that he wasn't as uneasy on his feet compared to the last time. He then dumped the mirror beside the enchanted rose, intending on never picking it up again.
The Enchantress had mentioned something about an enchanted book as well. He wasn't sure where it was located, and frankly he didn't care. The idea of using it to go somewhere else in the world, when he looked like a monster, appalled him. Where in the world could he go where he wouldn't be feared?
All these 'gifts' she had bestowed upon him with were just cruel tricks. He'd rather have his old appearance, his freedom, than to have something to compensate for it.
His thoughts returned to the servants. Lord knows what they must think of him.
He wondered if he'd be able to spy on them, perhaps sneak downstairs and listen in to their conversation about him, like he did when he was younger. When he was a child, he would peak through key holes, listen through the crack of an open door. He couldn't help himself back then, plus it was easy to go unseen when you are so small.
Then again, he couldn't exactly sneak anywhere when his footsteps were so heavy due to how much weight was behind them, not to mention his claws clattered against the floor. They'd hear him coming a mile away.
He glanced back at the mirror, and started to feel mildly curious. Perhaps he could use it, just for a few seconds, to see what they had to say.
He shook his head and turned his back on the mirror. No, he wasn't going to use it. He didn't want to risk seeing his awful face. Besides, they were merely servants, practically peasants, why would their opinions matter to him?
He was about to walk away but hesitated. On the other hand, he had known them his whole life... He wanted to know if they thought of him any differently now.
Eventually, curiosity overpowered him. He approached the pedestal and picked up the mirror. He avoided making eye contact with his reflection as he attempted to get it to work.
At first, he thought that perhaps it would be able to read his mind. But when nothing happened, he assumed that he had to speak his request out loud. "Show me the servants."
The mirrors surface rippled like the surface of a lake and he gazed into it as an image of the servants gathered together by the fire was revealed to him.
"It's hopeless. We'll never get through to him." Cogsworth sighed.
"We can't give up, not yet. It's only been a day, and none of the petals have fallen yet. We have time to turn this around." Lumiere responded.
"What are we going to tell all the other servants? Not all of them were present in the ballroom at the time, so they don't have clue what's going on." Plumette asked.
"We'll spread the word, go around everyone and let them know what is going on." Lumiere replied. "Hopefully, the master will eventually come down and put everyone's mind at rest. At least, as best as he can."
"Mama, why is that woman punishing us? Did I do something wrong?" Chip asked.
"Of course not, Chip. You didn't do anything wrong." Mrs Potts replied, nestling close to her son.
"Maybe she wanted to ensure our loyalty. I doubt that many of us would have stayed if we were still human." Lumiere suggested.
"I would have stayed with him." Cogsworth stated boldly.
"You would have run away at the first sign of trouble!" Lumiere barked.
"No I would not! I'm not a coward!" Cogsworth retorted.
"I don't think that's it." Mrs Potts interrupted. "I think we're being punished because we're partly to blame for how he turned out. When push came to shove, we did nothing to help him when his father started raising him. Even now, we've still done very little. We didn't defend him when the Enchantress started accusing him, didn't go to him after he transformed. Can any of us honestly say that we did all we could to prevent him from becoming so cruel?"
The servants lowered their heads, or bodies, or just simply cast their eyes downward in shame.
"No. We definitely could have done more." Lumiere admitted.
"We should have." Mrs Potts replied. "But we can do something now. I know that somewhere, deep down, that sweet innocent lad is still there."
"I doubt that we could ever return him to how he was." Cogsworth said.
"Maybe not, but there has to be some good in him, we just have to bring it out." Mrs Potts stated.
"Agreed. No woman will ever fall for him for his appearance but perhaps he could woe her with kindness." Lumiere suggested. "It's the only plan we've got, so we have to fight for this, we have to snap him out of it."
"Yes, because if we don't..." Mrs Potts paused for a moment and a pained expression appeared on her face "I'm afraid we might lose him."
Without warning, the image of the servants faded, and for a brief second he caught a glimpse of his face. He winced and averted his eyes, whilst covering the surface of the mirror with his paw. It hurt to look at it. He quickly flipped the mirror over and placed it face down on the pedestal once more.
'Lose him' what exactly did they mean by that?
He had a rough idea, perhaps they thought that he'd want to end his suffering quickly rather than wait for the inevitable, where he would be trapped like this forever. But he wasn't even sure if his body was capable of taking harm, or so much as dying. He also wasn't that far gone.
Or perhaps they feared that he'd become a beast on the inside as well as the outside.
He didn't have much left to lose. What did he have? His servants, his castle... But still having the castle wasn't exactly comforting. It was starting to feel more like a prison than a home.
He could feel himself already slipping. Maybe he had already lost apart of himself, by tearing up the family portrait, by allowing his anger to spiral out of control. He never remembered being so angry before in his life.
What would push him to the edge, to where all hope would die? Maybe he was a lot closer than he originally thought.
Who would be there to pull him back from the point of no return?
A/N - I put a lot of thought into how Beast would feel sort of 'the morning after'. I wanted to get across how much of a strain the sudden alteration of his entire body and species would have on him physically and mentally. I wanted to get across his emotional state too, it's rather fragile after the ordeal, (his thought process is important to me) he's questioning himself, what he's capable of, if there's something animalistic lurking inside of him that he isn't aware of, he's even hallucinating.
On the subject of that, I'm aware that when his mother was lying sick in bed, she had brown hair. But in the portrait, as well as a deleted scene from 'Days in the Sun', she had blonde hair, so I gave Beast's illusion of her blonde hair, as its another feature that they share. Either way, no matter what hair colour she had, its rather tragic that he lost her so young. And he's not going to overcome that feeling of loss anytime soon.
No flashback at the start this time. Rather his thoughts as he dreams. As I was writing, I didn't particularly want there to be a flashback at the start of every chapter, in fact not every single chapter needs to have one. It would become a bit... Formulaic. So, the positioning of them will start to change as we go on.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Let know what you think. And thanks so much for all the positive feedback so far, I really appreciate it. See you real soon.