CHAPTER 5

GASTON had never considered himself to be a savage creature by nature, though now, the edges of his lips curled backward into a twisted and feral snarl. For the moment, monstrous in appearance though he was, he relished the feeling of his tongue running over his sharpened canines. In a show of force, he bared his fangs at the castle's doctor who cowered in the corner, too terrified to approach him out of fear of his growling and snarling. He'd warned the pathetic little man twice over now that he would give him another bite if he didn't shut up, though his threats seemed to do little in order to shut him up.

God only knew what assaulted his senses with the stink of hay and bodily fluids. Gaston tasted bile as a horrible abrupt bitterness seeped its way to the pit of his stomach.

Everything within this wretched prison cell he now found himself in was laced with the biting feeling of cold. The cold air hung in the vast worm way of the Prince's dungeons, and he shivered, despite the atrocious but thick fur that now coated his body, and even that was not enough to keep him warm.

The long dark shadows slunk along the cold stone walls from the little flickering fires that came from the torches set carefully in their sconces. His aching bones and wounded arm still throbbed from what had transpired in the woods it felt like only moments ago, yet that single moment where he had fended off the four wolves to save Belle's life had felt like an eternity. The blanket the doctor had chucked at him which Gaston had draped over his broad shoulders clung to his monstrous form uncomfortably.

The thin threadbare and tattered woolen cloth that looked to have been chewed on by rats felt heavy. His body hurt as hell and felt fatigued and weak. The firelight danced over his form, and the jittery lade made the shadows cast by his Changeling form look even more monstrous than Gaston truly was.

The quietness around him thickened as he came to understand that like it or not, this was his new reality now. He sat shrouded in shadows in the furthermost corner of his cramped cage, shivering, thinking that if he had one more stressing thought, he would surely implode. The warmth from a nearby torch to his left hit him and began to smother him like a heavy blanket.

For a moment, he thought it impressive how such small lights could carry such warmth. The moment passed Gaston by as he stood staring up at the flickering fire. Everything was still.

He was still, though he nearly crawled out of his skin and his heart was in his throat as the door to his cage opened and a feminine figure entered within.

His wretched heart pounded loudly against his rib-cage, though as he was swallowing his heart back down where it belonged, his stomach sank as he caught a look at the woman's features. The person now awkwardly standing in the doorway was not Belle as he had been hoping for, but the other one. Her prickly little maid who had wanted him killed, as Belle's Prince had, though she was quite pretty.

Gaston stared, wondering why this wench had come. Why had she? She clearly feared him, thus it made no sense that she had come. His thoughts were swirling in his tired head.

He could not even begin to make sense of her appearance. He thought he saw a kernel of distrust appear in the young woman's catlike green eyes but as she turned to look towards the castle's doctor, her voice was soothing. Kind. It stuffed the chills down his throat. He stared, waiting.

"Doctor, would you please give us a moment? Wait outside, I-I'd like to talk to the Beast alone, please."

He heard the girl ask in a timid and shaky voice. She was scared of him. They were all scared of him now, considering his looks. The castle's doctor was looking at her as though she had lost her mind as was Gaston. Was this wench short of a marble? Was that it? Why would she want to speak to him alone? He gnashed his teeth in annoyance as he heard the doctor splutter in protest.

"M-my dear Isabelle, I-I don't think you understand the—the nature o-of what you're asking. This monster is a very dangerous creature. Evil, soulless, and deserving of nothing but death!" he spat with no small amount of contempt dripping from his tone and venom and dislike in his gaze as he slowly swiveled his head to look in Gaston's direction.

If the lady whom he now knew was called Isabelle agreed with the good doctor's sentiments, she gave off no indication as she reached up a hand and gingerly rested the delicate appendage on his shoulder and gave the man's shoulder a little squeeze. When she spoke to the flustered doctor on the brink of near hysteria, she was soothing to hear, he thought, bemused, her shy, quiet tones almost melodious.

"I know that, doctor, but he is chained and injured," she pointed out, her words sounding clumsy and blunt. "He can't go anywhere. I don't think he will hurt me. Please let me speak with him. I-I will try to get him to calm down enough to allow him to treat you, but please, let me have a moment alone with him. Your presence here is likely only frightening him, Doctor, please let me try, monsieur," she said in a warbling voice, though even Gaston could detect the fear in her voice and how her tone lacked the confidence and conviction to sell the argument she wished to present to the castle's doctor now.

The doctor furrowed his brows in confusion but nevertheless assented, heaving a heavy sigh of frustration, and stepped outside the cell without another word, though shot Gaston a withering look.

He stiffened as she looked upon him, and there was fear in her eyes, yes, but something else too. Curiosity, perhaps. The feeling caused something ugly and dark to fester within his blackened heart, and he ground his teeth in annoyance and sharply paraded his back to her. He sensed her standing there, too timid to approach, and felt the beginnings of a solar flare of his temper erupt within his broad chest.

"You should not have done that, wench, that was not very smart of you," he growled, not bothering to turn and look at her, for Gaston did not wish to see the fear and revulsion burgeoning behind her eyes. "No there is no one left within to protect you, young mademoiselle, is there, pet?" he grumbled.

Isabella stiffened, keeping her eyes on the creature's hunched form as he sat in the corner, brooding, keeping whatever expression he wore on his features away from her. His voice was raspy in the darkness and she hastily looked around the cramped cell for a torch to see better, or even use as a means of defense against him in case the monstrous Beast lost his temper.

It seemed she had not thought this part through thoroughly enough and was beginning to deeply regret agreeing to Princess Belle's request that she be the one to calm this creature down from whatever pit of self-loathing and venom he seemed to have dug himself into now.

Isabelle saw him sit up straighter as she gingerly took a few cautious steps forward.

He turned slightly to look at her, the twisting horns protruding from his head prominent even in the dark. The creature's black eyes were hooded slightly from exhaustion and feeling his injuries.

She shivered and summoned enough strength in her throat to manage to find her voice again.

"S-save me?" she whispered nervously. "Save me from what?" she asked, furrowing her brows in awe.

She hated hearing the faint warbling crack and dip of fear in her voice as she dared to inch just a fraction closer, though everything about this encounter was horribly painful and awkward.

She wanted nothing more than to turn on her heels and quit the scene of this creature's cold dungeon cell altogether, but she could not, would not, turn away now. She'd promised Belle that she would stay.

"Me," she heard him growl and he rose to his feet, albeit with difficulty, and turned to face her.

She immediately stepped back and to the side, pressing her back against the wall, and wildly looked to the left and right, searching for something, anything she could use to hit him.

"I—I don't need protection from you," she blurted out ungracefully when she could find no weapon with which to defend herself. He laughed, a cruel, mocking sound, but she went on anyway as he crept forward. "You wouldn't. The Princes, she...i-if you hurt me, she...she would not forgive you, Beast."

She heard the rattling chink of the chains that he was bound to against the wall as he lunged forward and slammed a fist into the stones behind her head. She flinched but the Beast held it there against the rough masonry, his twisted and grotesque form looming over her. She could see with dawning horror in the eyes the blood from the wolves that adorned his fur and his face like a sick version of war paint.

He likely would have taken another step further though the iron wrought manacles he was chained to prevented him from touching her, for which Isabelle was grateful and felt her shoulders slump in relief.

Him looming over her as he was now and covering her in darkness sent a violent chill down her spine.

"You wouldn't hurt me," she whispered, her voice carrying far more conviction than she felt right now in the moment. However, her heart pounded painfully loud against her rib-cage and was then in her throat, her mouth was dry, and her stomach churned as her gaze drifted downward and she took a look at the Beast's left arm that was now mangled from where the wolves had taken several chunks out of his arm.

The wound would need to be cleaned and stitched up. She raised her chin and gazed up at the Beast defiantly. After a moment, she heard him growl and he stepped back. "No, pretty Isabelle, I will not hurt you. Belle, she cares for you, and despite what she thinks of me, I would not have her hate me any further than she very clearly already does," he spat, no small amount of venom in his hoarse voice.

Isabelle stared at the flicker of antagonizing hurt that flared to life within the Changeling man's eyes but did not have time to dwell on it as the steadily dripping sound of the blood from his arm dripped down the wounded appendage and landed just near her boots. She shivered, tasting bile, and pursed her lips.

"You—you should let the doctor tend to your arm, Beast." Isabelle spoke to the creature in a whisper.

As she had to crane her neck up to look at the Beast, the creature's head was hunched low, nearly level with her own, or would have been were it not for the Beast's twisting horns. She swallowed down past a lump in her throat and brought up a hand, reaching out to touch the surface of one of them.

She froze in her tracks when she felt the Beast stiffen and look up, the creature's narrowed and suspicious black eyes pinning her in place. After a beat had passed, she reached out and touched the other, the hot wetness of the wolves' blood on his horns meeting her slender and shaking fingers.

"No, wench." He spoke only the command and in such a low voice that Isabelle could only describe it as a low growl that came rumbling from deep within his chest. The creature turned away, though not before Isabelle swore she caught the sight of moisture glistening in his eyes.

Though whether or not they would soon be the accursed wretch's tears, she could not say for certain.

"They should have left me alone in the woods to die. I wanted that. It would be better than to be trapped down here in the dungeons of the home of the woman that I love and who could never care for me in return. To have died in the forest from these bloody bite wounds would have been a kindness."

As Isabelle stared at him, only hearing the sound of the Beast's heavy and ragged breathing and the occasional clink of his chains as he shifted his wrists, trying to ease the chafing, she suddenly felt as though this dungeon had become a tomb.

An icy cold feeling of dread washed over her entire body and her mouth, which had already been dry to start, turned yet dryer still. She licked her lips to moisten them.

"You…you truly hold so little of an opinion of yourself?" she asked nervously, squeezing her eyes shut as she heard another growl emanate from the creature's mouth. She could hardly dare to believe the question that had just been ripped of her lips, and not of her own accord. She did not understand where such a question could have come from, or why in her mind, she wanted more time to linger by him. She dared not open her eyes to look, though she could feel it. The burn of the Beast's black eyes threatened to burn a hole in the side of her skull as she sharply turned her head to revert her gaze from the Beast.

"Look at me, wench, what I am. How could I not?" he snapped, venom seeping its way unbridled to the surface of his voice. Isabelle flinched and chewed on her bottom lip in agitation as the Beast kept his back paraded to her, arms folded across his chest, and he stubbornly refused to meet her curious gaze.

"How did it happen?" she asked softly in a meek voice and cringed as she mentally scolded herself.

Such a question to ask of a cursed Changeling was inappropriate though if a witch had cursed him, then it was surely no accident. She knew from the various stories she'd heard of witches, that only bad men were ever hexed and transformed into something truly wicked and abhorrent.

Isabelle watched as he continued to face away for her and felt an inexplicable sense of loss for the good man that he could have been.

"I woke at the bottom of a ravine like this, I should have died there as well, pet, and now I find myself a captive here in this bloody Prince's castle. God is cruel to a man like me, eh?" He sneered, the edges of his lips curling upward into a wicked smirk. "Your Prince has even less mercy for a former fellow Beast, pretty belle," he growled, and as he turned his head sharply and glowered at her, the warning look the creature shot her advised her against continuing to try to tread down this path, at least, for now.

She gazed skeptically at the Beast and began to inch her way back towards the cell's door. She sensed he was not in the mood for company, and yet, she had promised the Princess she would do what she could for the creature who had saved her life, and she knew she owed to Belle to try to reach him now.

She shook her head, trying to send the Beast's unkind words about the Prince away.

"I—I don't think that's true. He's letting you stay at least a month until you heal, that does not seem like the choice of a man who's heartless, Beast," she blurted out, reaching up a trembling hand to tuck a wisp of her hair that had come undone from her bun back behind her ear. She watched as he turned.

"As his prisoner, pretty belle," he rasped, sounding angry with her at her words, and Isabelle colored.

She could hardly believe it was true, that they were having this conversation, and yet his words were spoken with such conviction. She gingerly rubbed the back of her neck as she thought about how best to formulate an apt reply to that. Isabelle shivered and closed her eyes, thinking for a moment. She did not know why this creature had to make things so difficult, and she thought she was beginning to understand why the master had insisted that he be kept down here in chains in a cell.

"I call it protection, Beast, this is for the Prince and Princess's safety. And protection for yourself, as well, there is no telling how the others here in the castle would react to your…presence, so the Prince insisted that you be kept down here for the time being," she shot back uncertainly, so unsure of herself now.

He scoffed and made an odd noise of dissent through his nose and looked at her incredulously.

"You call a moldy disgusting cell with locked doors and barred windows, me bound and chained to this wall, protection, wench?"

"I—yes," Isabelle responded in a melancholic manner, feeling annoyance swell within herself at his stubborn insistence on calling her hurtful names instead of her proper name, but she shoved her annoyance to the pit of her stomach and ignored it in favor of continuing her argument to support Belle. "I-it was the best that Belle could do for you. She—she only wants to help you, so let her. She wishes your wounds to be treated and you will be given food, water, and blankets for warmth, but if you…if you don't cause trouble and you behave, then…I could talk to the master of the castle and see what I could do about letting you out of here." The Beast grimaced as his eyes darted to the left and right, though the fact that he was silent gave Isabelle some hope that he was at least considering her words. Encouraged, she continued pressing him. "Please. Let the doctor in to see you. Let him treat your arm and then in a little while, I will be back with some supper for you from the kitchens. Give yourself at least a month," she pleaded and was met with nothing but silence. Isabelle's face started to tremble.

She waited, perceiving the creature's hesitations and her hope inwardly dimmed as she bit down on the wall of her mouth and made to turn to leave, though before she could shut the cell door behind her and disappear back down the worm way and up the stairs, she heard the Beast's hoarse voice call to her.

"Isabelle," she heard him rasp and she shivered, thinking that her name sounded funny on his lips. She turned her profile to the side so the Beast could not see her expression from this distance and waited.

Though the next question that came from him, she had not anticipated and was caught off-guard.

"It was love that broke the Prince's curse, pretty belle. Is love something that you believe in, dove?"

He spat the word love as though it were poison on his tongue and if he was aware of the way Isabelle flinched at the hateful way he said it, he gave no indication. She blinked owlishly at him, flabbergasted.

"Yes." She was not sure where this was coming from, but as she stared at him, the Beast turned his head a little so she could only make out the side of his monstrous visage, his black eyes looking to the floor.

"Don't." The command escaped him as a growl.

"What….?" She questioned, growing confused.

"Do not believe in it, Isabelle. In the foolish notion of love. The emotion is stupid and petty and has never existed for me. If Belle has sent you in her place thinking you are able to help me, she is more naïve and even more stupid and foolish than I thought. To think that she could help me, I was a fool."

Frustration and anger at his disparaging remarks towards the Princes and her dear friend flared to life within her, and the angry words were ripped from her lips before she even knew what she was saying.

"You should speak of Belle with more respect, m—"

But Isabelle quickly cut herself off from speaking further as her eyes widened in horror as she realized what it was she had been about to say to him. She had never spoken to someone, cursed Changeling man or not, though he was the first she'd ever come across, in such a disrespectful way before.

But it had just…spilled out. Or almost had. She flushed and out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the Beast bristle, and the creature's dark eyes burned. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and furious.

"Monster, is that what you were going to say, pretty dove? Go on, you can say it, it's what I am now. Say it, girl, call me the monster you clearly think I am along with the rest of your Prince's bloody castle." She only stared at him. "SAY IT!" he yelled, making her jump, a cry of surprise escaping her.

"Look at me," she heard him rasp, and upon hearing the creature let out another threatening low growl, she knew she had no choice but to open her eyes. Her eyelids fluttered hesitantly open and Isabelle bravely stared across the cell where the Beast stood bound and chained to the wall.

She suddenly felt like she had made a terrible mistake in agreeing to come down here, her relationship with the Princess notwithstanding. She'd left the safety of the Prince's side, had sent the doctor out of the room, and was now fully at the mercy of this…this wild animal.

Gaston stiffened and ground his teeth in annoyance.

"You should be frightened, Isabelle. I am a monster, wench, I am nothing more than a beast these days. I've lost everything I held most dear to me. Belle, she was never mine, my looks are no more. These days, what do I have to call my own but my death?" he growled, bearing his glinting teeth at her.

Gaston gazed at pretty Isabelle from across his darkened tomb-like cell, his eyes never leaving her beautiful face. She had not looked at him once since his outburst and he could not tell if it was out of anger or a sense of embarrassment. Bitterly, he thought it should be the latter. He wondered if Belle's maid was terrified of him if she would go to Belle following this little conversation of theirs and demand a reassignment or even quit on the spot.

When he'd heard the beginnings of the word monster on the girl's pretty pink lips, he saw red.

Though he knew he was not in the mood for company right now, especially not with a beautiful girl, the thought of her reviling him as he was sure every living breathing thing in this bloody castle now did begin to tug at his insides rather uncomfortably.

That was why Gaston could not tear his gaze away from her now. He wanted the pretty maid to look at him so he could see the look in her eyes when she managed to gain the courage to lift her gaze to his.

That would be the only answer he would need. What would he do if he saw in her eyes hatred and disgust? Or affection, shyness, and curiosity? What, then? He did not know what he would do then.

"You see, pretty belle," he growled. "You cannot even bear the sight of a hideous creature like me. Go. Leave, and don't bother to return with food for me, I don't want to eat, I have no appetite at the moment," he blurted out in defeat and turned away as Isabelle paraded her back to him, grateful to flee him. Her fading footsteps caused a horrible tightness to well within his broad chest and upon hearing the creaking of the cell door open, he clamored within himself for a moment, trying to think what to say. "The love that I spoke of, Isabelle. The foolish notion from the fairy tales. Put it out of your mind. It is stupid and it does not exist for me, as much as I might have wished for it to be true for me at one point in my life. I was foolish, pretty dove. Go back to Belle and tell her that. It's time she got her head out of the clouds and those damned bloody books and learn a thing or two about the way the real world tends to work. Love does not exist for most and those that are fortunate to have it are the lucky ones. But I was never one of the lucky ones. Tell Belle that I do not want her help or her pity. Tell her that. Please."

He spat the last word as if it were poison and hissed it through gritted teeth.

Gaston did not even need to turn around to see Belle's cute little friend flee the room in a twist of her skirts, horror practically clinging to her heels. His newfound form brought with it a heightened sense of smell. The maid smelled like autumn and biscuits, likely from working most of her days in the kitchens, and her scent was slowly fading from his cramped prison cell as the door slammed shut behind the girl.

Gaston nearly growled with the effort to restrain himself as he looked down at his hands, no, his paws now, and was filled with the image of her sweet face, her terrified catlike green eyes staring up at him.

He thought since Belle did not want him as he had always hoped, that perhaps, he could be happy if those piercing eyes of green were looking at him, but then he began to wonder if it was possible if his curse would ever be lifted. Because, unlike Belle's Prince, he was not a man who was capable of love.

It had been Belle's love for the Prince that had broken the monster's curse. Now, Gaston was left alone with just his thoughts for company to ponder if he was capable of earning a woman's love and trust. The young woman's absence sent a wretched and hollow feeling deep into the pit of his swooping belly.

She was beautiful, aye, any fool could see that much. She had come to him and had been someone to converse with, yet Gaston could not manage to swallow his pride and converse with her in a manner that he had once been able, as a gentleman ought to. Already, Gaston was losing his previous touch.

Previously, when he had been… dare he think it, human, it would have been easy for him. Too easy.

A few whispered words of sweet honeyed affection would be enough to sweep the girl off her feet, and he could have had her in any way he wanted. She would have been his, but now, considering the way he looked, no woman would want to be with him. The truth stung and hurt worse than the gash in his arm.

Gaston furrowed his brows, keeping his gaze locked on his paws, wanting to fill them with the memory of the pretty maid's face, for surely, after how he had spoken so bitterly towards her, that he did not think he could bring himself to face her again. Not after that. He did not think it to be worth his effort to get the wench to see the man that he was within. Now that he was a monster, he would have to get used to the notion that he would have to stop trying to change other peoples' perceptions of him.

Isabelle, the pretty little hearth keep with a wonderful smile…she deserved better than a Beast like him.

Gaston let out a pained groan as he slumped against the wall and rested his head against the stones, his ability to move impeded by these shackles.

He closed his eyes and quicker than he thought possible, he succumbed to the world of sleep as fatigued settled in, and soon, he was asleep and was not awake to feel when the doctor crept into his cell and tended his arm, as images of catlike green eyes and red hair were swirling around in his mind.

Even in his sleep, Gaston's one-track mind was stuck on one thing and only thing only.

Isabelle.