Puffs of cigar smoke spiraled into the air, like drops of blood or wine seeping into water. Beast inhaled the tobacco and his eyes rolled back.

His first ever cigar had smelled just like his father—that nauseating stench. The same scent of rotting animals on the forest floor, and an old, fat man vomiting. But as he grew older, and his father died, the scent of cigars changed. Beast began to like the smell of animals on the forest floor—the smell of sudden and unforeseen opportunity, of blood. And he no longer sensed that old, fat man, but rather, someone young and innovative. Someone like Judas Morgan Chesterton.

Chesterton twirled a cigar in-between his fingers, one leg crossed over the other, sitting upright in his chair. The man's neat, trim hair toppled over nicely onto his forehead. It was a slick black color. Beast smelled the pomade. The pomade smelled almost the same as Chesterton's dark brown suit. But the suit had a whiff of fresh apples on it. The man held a newspaper in his other hand, his eyes scouring over the tall paragraphs. Every now and then, the man brought the cigar to his lips, puffing out small circles of smoke.

"What's the trouble today, Chesterton?" Beast asked, pointing his cigar at the newspaper.

"Oh, mostly the same old things, Ashworth," the man replied. He lifted his ocean-blue eyes from the papers and made eye contact with the beast. "There is one new headline, though, that I am particularly interested in. And you might be, too."

"Go on with it."

"A radical discovery in the science world." Chesterton crushed his cigar then flipped the paper around, his long, slender finger pointing to a headline in big, black, bold letters:

DARWIN'S ON THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES CHALLENGES EVERYTHING KNOWN ABOUT THE HISTORY OF LIFE ON EARTH

"On the Origin of Species? Is that a scientific article?" Beast asked, crushing his cigar and leaning forward. He clasped his paws together.

"No. A novel. Published just last November." Chesterton read some more. His slender, oval-shaped face was focused, and wrinkles rose around his forehead and eyes. "They say that there are many who are skeptical of it, for it challenges not only previous scientific thought—but also religious belief as well."

Beast tilted his head. "Really?" he said. "I must add it to my private collection then. What sort of discoveries has Darwin made?"

"Well, for one…" Chesterton laughed and cleared his throat. "He states that man descended from apes. Not exactly 'created' in the image of God."

Beast remained silent. He crossed his large, muscular arms.

"And you can only imagine how well that is going over with the devout." Chesterton lifted a brow.

Slightly smiling at the remark, Beast stood up, pacing toward the window. He folded his paws behind his back as his eyes followed along the trail that trekked from the castle gardens out into the forest. It led to the town, and then from there, one could take a train to London, where all news stemmed from. Where men sat about in rooms, smoking cigars—not unlike him and Chesterton—discussing scientific matters.

"I wonder what those scientific gentlemen would think of me," Beast said.

"Well," Chesterton's eyes widened, "let's just hope they never discover you. Don't even think about it, Ashworth."

"They'd probably lock me in a cage, study me for a little bit, and then put me on display at some zoo. Or—for better or worse, depending on how you see things—they might just shoot me and then dissect my remains." Beast turned, raising his paw and waving it about. He formed a museum in mid-air. "Soon, my skeletal remains, or my stuffed body, would be on display for all the world to see. They wouldn't know where to group me when it came to taxonomy." He chuckled. "Bison? Wolf? Bear? Lion? Ape? Man? A mixture of all of these? They would be so baffled." Beast thought to himself for a moment and his face lit up. His rich hazel eyes dazzled in the sunlight, like the forest when it had rained and the shrubbery and leaves were all moist—and then the sun broke through the clouds and shone on all of them, accentuating their colors.

But his grin faded away soon enough. The beast turned about.

Chesterton made eye contact with him, curled up in his chair, a skeptical, confused look on his face. "I believe you are getting ahead of yourself, Ashworth," he said slowly.

"Nonsense, Chesterton. I know exactly what they would do if they discovered me." Beast laid his paws on his hips. "They would treat me just as any other beast or freak of nature. No matter how articulate or charming I can be."

His eyes widening more, Chesterton looked away.

"And that's why I want to stay here. Alone. Secluded. Here, I am free to go about my business as I please. I can delve into the life of a man if I so desire, but I can also return to my natural ways whenever I want. I have no choice but to do so at night everhow."

Chesterton nodded his head. "I only hope it will remain that way, Ashworth. I don't know what I'd do if you were discovered."

"Ah, you'd go about life as usual. My younger brother would inherit this castle and title, and you'd still reside here with him as your companion. If I died, you'd visit my museum memorial. And if I lived, you'd visit my new abode in the London Zoo."

"I don't appreciate your humor, Ashworth," the man commented, clenching his jaw. "This is a grave matter, and you know it. Just imagine if Mrs. Kensington had, instead of telling her that you were deformed, told Miss Newall the truth?"

"Miss Newall be damned, and truth be damned." Beast walked away from the window, returning to his desk and taking a seat. He lit another cigar.

"Well, don't come crying to me when the London Guard breaks into the castle upon the claims of a wild beast living inside." The man leaned back in his seat, frowning. He flapped the newspaper and continued reading.

"Oh, no, Chesterton." Beast smirked, taking a puff. "When that moment comes, it is you who will be crying for me."

As if on command, a harrowing shriek traveled through the cracks in the castle walls, coming from somewhere beyond the master's quarters. It was the high-pitched wail of a woman.

"What a dreadful noise," Beast said, pulling the cigar away from his lips. His wolf-like ears twitched around and around. But his face and composure remained practically the same.

Chesterton arose, putting the newspaper down in his seat. He raised a finger to his mouth, perturbed. "Do you think it might have been… one of your family members? What if your mother—"

"No, no, I didn't recognize the voice," Beast stated.

Chesterton rubbed his chin, then his face lit up. "It must be that young woman who entered the castle today!" he exclaimed. "Miss Bourne."

"Well, what the devil could she be wailing about?" said Beast, his cigar bouncing up-and-down in his lips as he spoke.

The man turned his head slowly toward the beast, a frown upon his lips. He crossed his arms, tapped his foot, and cleared his throat.

"What?" Beast reared back, but then a new expression broke across his animalistic features. He laughed, the sound bouncing across the walls of the room. "Ah, yes. I forgot. For a woman, finding out that your prospective partner is not human can be quite an… unnerving realization." He took the cigar out of his mouth, waving it about in the air triumphantly, like a flag. "Well, this is what we expected and wanted to occur. I can finally go on being a confirmed old bachelor, living my life in glorious… unaltered… peace." He leaned back, propping his bushy, clawed feet up on the desk, and closing his eyes.

Chesterton sat back down, color returning to his cheeks. He laughed at his friend's antics, then shouted: "Right you are! We shall both go on being confirmed old bachelors together."

Beast raised up his cigar as if raising a glass of champagne, and Chesterton folded his newspaper before lifting as well. They both made a toast in the air and laughed together.

Several moments of silence passed. No other wails had sounded.

"I wonder what is happening now," Chesterton asked. "What if we celebrated too early?"

"Aren't you reading your papers?" Beast asked, his arms folded, facing the window.

"No. I can't focus. Not when our very lives could be at stake."

Beast chuckled. "Trust me, Chesterton. Nothing's going to happen."

"You say that, but you're watching the window to see if she's going to go running out."

"You don't know what I'm watching."

"I know you, Ashworth. We might as well be brothers."

Beast grinned, chewing on the cigar. "Just relax. If she runs out, the guards will catch her."

"I hope she doesn't," Chesterton admitted. "She seemed to be calm and collected this morning. At least, that's what I could tell from the window."

Beast's eyes raced around the gardens, searching for movement. He tensed, his fangs sinking into the meat of the cigar, his claws puncturing the soft skin of the chair. "What else was she like?"

Chesterton squinted, then quirked a brow at his friend. "What do you mean?"

"I wasn't watching her when she arrived. What was she like?" he asked, no expression in his voice.

Blinking rapidly, the man stared, amazed at his friend. "You've never asked what someone was like before."

"Chesterton."

"Alright, alright." He laid his newspaper on his lap. "Well, she was beautiful."

Beast waited, but no more words came. "Surely, that's not all."

"It's not. I just wasn't sure how to word this." Chesterton winced, licking his lips, deep in thought. "She was… almost off in another world—like all she could think about were beautiful things and clouds. A faraway look."

Beast lifted a thick, dark brow. "One of those women? Like the ones in paintings?" He placed his paws under his chin, grunting.

"Yes, that's it!" Chesterton said. "Perhaps, if she stays, she could be one of your models for a new portrait!"

"Hah!" Beast exclaimed. "You know I haven't painted in years, Chesterton. Besides, a woman like that doesn't want an artist like me." He paused, smirking proudly. "My portraits are so unlike other artists' of our time. I show the grotesqueness of ugly people and the ugliness of beautiful people. Whereas other painters make ugly people beautiful and beautiful people god-like."

Chesterton frowned. "As if I had somehow forgotten your style," he said, shaking his head. "You could at least open your mind a little. After all, we're not entirely certain yet if Miss Bourne has made her decision."

"Oh, I'm certain, Chesterton," Beast laughed, spinning his chair about and facing his friend, "that Miss Bourne wants absolutely nothing to do with me. I know her kind."

"You don't."

"I do." Beast spun back around.

"B-but your mother." Chesterton leaned forward, insistently. "She chose Miss Bourne for a reason."

Beast's eyes rose, from the windowsill to the sky. Birds fluttered about. "You're right. She did choose Miss Bourne for a reason." He fixed his gaze, focusing on the bars of the window that locked him inside. "But it's not the reason you think."

"Then what is it?" Chesterton folded his newspaper and put his hands on his hips.

Crushing the cigar between his teeth, Beast's eyes blazed red. He took the broken stick out of his mouth, twirling it in between his claws. "Some say it's because Miss Bourne has a kind heart. She would never judge others by appearances, only their character. That's the seed her father, Mr. Bourne, has planted. And it's taken root in this castle.

"But, my mother knows better. The only reason she chose Miss Bourne was that she knew the girl's situation was desperate. She hoped that—no matter if I were man or beast—Miss Bourne would still marry me to alter the course of her family's fate."

Chesterton breathed in deep, shocked. "Really? That's it?"

"Yes. Well, that and she believes Miss Bourne would not go around spreading rumors, as Miss Newall did."

"Did she tell you all of this?"

Beast shook his head. "Not exactly. I interpreted most of it… As well as overheard some of her conversations with Mrs. Kensington."

"I really don't know why you listen in on so many things. It makes me conscious of everything I do and say," stated Chesterton, only half-joking.

"I can't help it," Beast replied. "If you had the ears of a wolf, you'd do the same."

"I would never listen in on your mother and Mrs. Kensington!"

"But you certainly would listen in if your fate was being decided by them."

Chesterton pursed his lips together. He took a breath to say something else, but soon let the air out. "I suppose I can't argue with that logic."

Beast suddenly lifted his nose into the air, turning around. The scent of old womanly perfumes, but not the kind his mother used. An ironed outfit, with hardly any odor on it except for the stench of lemon-and-verbena scented soaps and oils. And then the perspiration of an aging lady—the smell of great oak trees when they let their leaves go. Everywhere was the clean scent of falling leaves and the wind.

"Speaking of Mrs. Kensington." Beast stood at once, pouncing toward the door. He straightened his outfit and buttoned a few loose pieces of fabric together. The size and stiffness of the coat forced him to suck in. He barely fit.

"Oh, dear. Oh, dear," Chesterton exclaimed, gasping. He stood, frantically pacing.

"Gather yourself, Chesterton. No matter what happened with Miss Bourne, one thing we'll not do is panic."

Chesterton nodded, wringing his hands, but standing in place.

Beast took hold of the door handle and tugged on it, effortlessly opening the tall, grand doors of his private study. "Good day, Mrs. Kensington."

"Good day, Your Lordship." The old lady curtsied.

"Won't you come in?" He gestured for her to come inside, and she did as told.

Beast smirked as he shut the door, chuckling. "So… has Mrs. Bourne frightfully ran away from the castle?" He stood straight, clasping his paws together behind his back.

Mrs. Kensington lifted a suspicious brow as she sat down in the chair next to Chesterton. "If she had, you would know, Your Lordship."

Beast frowned. "Yes, I suppose so." But his air immediately returned. "So her only response to finding out I was 'deformed' was a wail?"

Mrs. Kensington paused for a moment, before taking a breath and saying, "No, not at all."

Chesterton leaned forward. Beast unclasped his paws.

"So then… she knows I'm…"

"Of course she knows you're a beast."

"That's it then!" He practically jumped up, clapping his paws. "That was the reason for the wail! I knew it!"

Mrs. Kensington turned toward him and shook her head. "Wrong again. She did not wail when I told her you were a beast."

All of Beast's snarky, confident air fell away, like leaves falling from trees and then dissipating into the ground, turning to dust. Chesterton looked back and forth between Beast and Mrs. Kensington.

Mrs. Kensington flicked a speck of dust from her gown. "At first, she thought that you were a 'beast of a man'. That you had a bad character. She did not pick up that you were…" Her eyes flicked up and down his tall frame. "Well, the way you are. But, once she understood, she wasn't exactly what you would call delighted. But she most certainly did not wail either." Mrs. Kensington sighed, gazing down at her palms, before looking Beast in the eye. "Miss Bourne is stronger in character than you expected her to be… than I expected her to be."

Beast's mouth hung open, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Chesterton leaned over, his eyebrows knitted together, in shock. "So, then, what did the lady actually wail at?"

"Well… she seemed to be upset after I informed her of his state. A quiet kind of upset. And I told her she most certainly did not have to marry His Lordship if she did not wish to." Mrs. Kensington pursed her lips together. "She considered turning down the marriage, but after considering it, her eyes grew a bright red and she couldn't sit still." The old woman mimicked the girl's behaviors, her eyes racing about the room, a horrified look on her face. "That's when she buckled over, falling to the floor, and wailed."

Beast's ears pricked. He took a few steps back, his arms and paws reaching out and taking hold of both sides of the doorframe.

Mrs. Kensington continued: "She later told me, after she gathered her bearings, that she wailed not because she was frightened of a beastly husband, but because she couldn't bear the thought of her destitute family. And the blame being placed on her for not taking the offer in marriage."

Beast claws sunk into the door; he gripped onto the frame.

"So, there you have it." Mrs. Kensington patted her hands on her lap. "Miss Bourne was too frightened of the alternative to not take this offer. She's agreed to marry you, Your Lordship. I told her that you would be in to officially propose soon."

A cold, electrifying draft blew into the room. From where, Beast was not sure. It made the fur on his long mane stick up, stretching down his back. On the doorframe, there were puncture wounds from his claws.

Through his fangs, a whisper broke out: "Dammit, mother."

"What was that, Your Lordship?"

His body reacted to the sudden cold of the room, building up heat. "Dammit, mother," he said again, louder.

Mrs. Kensington reared back, blinking rapidly.

Chesterton's eyes widened. He stood up suddenly. "Now, now, Ashworth. Stay calm. We can fix this." He reached his hands out. "There's always another way."

Beast hurled the words across the room: "Damn! Damn! Damn!" He growled, retracting his claws from the doorframe and stomping about the room. "Dammit, mother! Damn you!" His hind paws pounding into the floor, he stomped over to the other side of the room, away from Mrs. Kensington and Chesterton. He curled into himself, stooping over, hugging his knees.

Chesterton walked toward Beast, hesitant at first. He reached out a hand and Beast growled. Chesterton lurched back. "Now, Ashworth, don't be like that," he said. "We can fix this."

"How?" Beast's hazel eyes seared, bright red.

"Well…" Ashworth lifted his hands to his forehead, looking about the room. "You could just not marry her. Your mother would never know! And— and… why…" The man's shoulders lifted as he gasped, and his face became fresh again, as fresh as a child's. "You could just give her the money anyway!"

The fire in Beast's eyes dimmed, turning earthy once more. "I'm not so sure it will be as simple as you say, Chesterton," he said, a low sarcasm in his voice.

"But it will work! Listen to me." Chesterton laid a hand on Beast's shoulders. The fur on his mane spiked up again at the touch. "You give her the money she needs as an incentive for not telling the world the truth about your form. She leaves the castle, and you do not have to ever see her again. Problem solved."

Beast had a faraway look in his eyes, like a forest animal. Not looking at anything in particular, or even thinking of anything at all. A blank stare.

Mrs. Kensington stood up. "But, Mr. Chesterton, what about the girl's family? They believe she is going to be married. What will they think when the marriage is called off and His Lordship gives her a hefty sum of money anyway?"

"Oh, we'll think of something." He dismissed her, waving his hand. "But for now, this plan is good enough. Don't you think so, Ashworth?"

Beast slowly nodded, his head barely moving. "Whatever it takes so that…" he raised up a little, straightening his collar, "she won't make another one of those dreadful wails."

Chesterton chuckled. "Now, that's the Ashworth I know!" The man patted his friend on the back.

Beast straightened out. The fur on his mane settled, falling back against the rest of his body.

Mrs. Kensington blinked, surprised. "I- I'll be back with Miss Bourne's reply." She curtsied, then entwined her fingers and walked out of the room, quietly shutting the door.

After the sound of the old woman's steps disappeared, Chesterton leaped for joy, a childish grin spreading out across his face. He turned around to face Beast. "Well, we did it! After all these years, we did it, Ashworth! … Ashworth?"

Beast had sat down again, his paw covering his face.

"What's the matter?" Chesterton walked over to his friend. "You should be joyous! Or… at least I think you should." He rocked back and forth on his heels.

"Nothing's the matter, Chesterton." Beast waved his other paw at the man.

"Alright then," he said, looking off into the distance. But the man soon turned back around. "Aren't you amazed? I can't believe Miss Bourne would do such a thing for her family. Not even for her own self, but for her family. I thought we both agreed there were only selfish women left in the world." Chesterton walked over to Beast's desk, laughing. He picked a bottle of wine out of the desk drawer and popped it open, pouring himself a glass. "Would you care for some, Ashworth?"

Beast again raised his paw, waving it.

"No? Alright then. More for me." Chesterton took a sip and shook his head in delight. "We really should have some vineyards planted on the grounds. Get rid of those gardens and—"

"No," Beast declared suddenly, lifting his paw. A redness encircled the whites of his eyes.

Chesterton stopped himself mid-drink.

Beast caught himself and placed the paw back over his face. "You'd never be sober."

Before Chesterton could reply or even continue his drink, footsteps were heard rushing down the hallways. Beast's ears shot up and he removed his paw from his face once more.

The scent of white linens and pungent oils. Of various medicines and heavy cologne.

Electricity bolted through Beast's veins. He got up, sprinted on all fours to the corner of the room, yanked at his black cover-up, and put it on. Strutting toward the door, he fidgeted with the piece of cloth, wrapping it around his body and making sure it covered his beastly form completely.

Chesterton set his drink down. "Ashworth, who is it?"

Not a second after the man asked, the doctor burst into the room. His eyes frantically searched about the room, until landing on the black cover-up.

"Your Lordship." He quickly bowed, shooting his eyes back up as soon as possible. "It's your mother. She's—"

A gust of wind from Beast's coverup and cape. He blew past the doctor and ran as fast as he could on two legs toward his mother's private quarters. As he drew nearer, there was the scent of perfume. Not the same ones his mother used, but—

There they were. Everywhere. Lining the hallways, creeping next to the door. They glanced up at him, their pale pink faces void and distant.

"She's calling for you," they said.

Beast paused. He sniffed and pricked his ears toward the door. He pushed past the hoards and masses of friends and family, slinking his way around hoops and gowns.

Finally, the scent of his mother's perfume. And the stirring of her blood within her veins. "Mother!" He ran to her side, taking her palms within his grasp.

Shuffling footsteps. Most everyone left the room. The candlelight flickered, painting the room maroon.

Her eyes were crusted shut, but his mother soon opened them, breaking through the crust. Her pupils dilated, landing on her son. She searched through the veil, trying to find his eyes. "Vicky…"

"Mother…" He held her hands tighter. "The doctor said you wouldn't wake but…"

She brought a hand toward his face, touching his high cheekbones through the cloth. "Well, I have one more thing to ask. I can't leave just yet." Her lips quivered as she attempted a smile. Her whole body shook.

"Of course, mother." Water built up in Beast's eyes. His knees locked. "Anything."

She turned away from him, her eyes lifting toward the top of her canopy bed. In a soft tone, with crackles in her voice, she asked slowly: "Did Miss Bourne say yes?"

The smell of candle wax and the sound of crackling, flickering flames—domesticated fire.

The water in Beast's eyes drew back in. He loosened his grip on his mother's hand. The urgency on his face, the wrinkles on his forehead, disappeared. A blank stare.

"She said yes… mother."

The baroness grinned, her yellowed teeth breaking through her cracked lips. She shut her eyes. "Good girl…"

Beast felt her pulse slowing.

"You've been such a good son, Vicky…" She gasped, fighting to breathe. "My son. A human."

And finally, her smile faded away. Her mouth slightly opened. Her eyes barely shut. Heartbeat, gone.

Beast circled his gloved claw around her palm, tracing a heart. He then closed her stiff, bony fingers over her palm and put both of her hands together over her stomach.

The death of his mother smelled like a birdcage. It was the cold, stiff scent of metal bars. The stench of rotten bird food and waste. And the fresh, natural scent of the bird flapping its wings. Freedom trapped in a cage.