CHAPTER 9

THE moment they were outside and free of the dank moldy dungeons, Isabelle could sense Gaston relax. She tried her best not to shiver as she ground her teeth nervously as she led the way towards the Courtyard, hoping to project to him an air of confidence, though she need not even look in a mirror to know just how timid she was coming off as instead.

She swallowed down past a lump in her throat, exhaling a shaky breath she did not even know she had been holding as her eyes soon landed upon a stone bench that overlooked the Prince's luscious rose gardens, though the flowers' scents were nearly dizzying and their intoxicating perfume somewhat overwhelming to the senses.

She got herself situated on the bench and dutifully held the tray containing the Beast's supper. Gaston hesitated as she held out the tray for him as he sat down on the ground in front of her, letting LeFou and Isabelle have the bench.

He seemed shut down and reserved, which if she was to take Princess Belle at her word, was not at all like Gaston, but then, he had never been cursed like this before, either. Isabelle furrowed her brows into a frown and tentatively ripped off a hunk of the bread and passed it to Gaston.

"You—you should eat." She waited a moment before adding a soft, "Gaston?" He seemed to respond to her the most often whenever she used his name, she noticed.

He seemed to take pleasure in hearing it and gave a visible start as he half rose from his spot to take the food she had offered him.

Somehow, Isabelle managed to keep herself from shying away from the Changeling Beast as Gaston reached out and took the plate in his paw and brought it to rest awkwardly on top of his lap. She could not help but stare at his paws as he did so, furry and with the longest claws she'd ever seen. The Beast's furry paws out of everything about him that was well, monstrous, were what demonized him and humanized him at the same time, she thought.

She thought back to what little Belle had told her of Gaston, which admittedly wasn't much. Only that he was loud, boisterous, and had been a formidable and skilled hunter for their village.

How many animals and perhaps even people had he killed with those hands that were now paws? For reasons Isabelle could not explain, she felt a sudden ache of loss. One of Gaston's paws touched the bowl of soup before he turned his back to her and his short little friend, LeFou.

Once his body was fully turned so neither one of them could see his face, he began to eat. Isabelle hesitated, exchanging a quick, worried glance with LeFou on the bench beside her, before gingerly raising from her spot and reaching out timidly to touch the Beast's shoulder, hoping to coax him to turn back.

"You—you don't have to hide from us, Bea—I—I mean, Gaston," she whispered shyly, stammering as she was quick to try to correct her slip up, though the moment the maid touched him, Gaston almost violently jerked away, and the bowl of steaming onion soup clattered onto the cold stone ground beneath him, the soup spilling all over the tattered hem of his dark cloak. "Oh, no, I'm so sorry, Gaston, here let me help you, this is all my fault, I—I should not have done it," she pleaded.

Isabelle swallowed and when she did, it felt like she was swallowing knives. Her ears were burning, and her stomach was in knots. Racked with embarrassment and growing fear, she felt the familiar disgusting feeling of bile rising in her throat and her skin was beginning to turn clammy and hot.

She began to shiver and ground her teeth in annoyance, squeezing her eyes shut. She did not want to leave, but she would have to. It had been so long since she'd had another incident like the one that had destroyed her family moons ago, and she knew that if she fought it, she would lose horribly.

The battles Isabelle was forced to fight were as futile as an expectant mother feeling the first sharp shooting pangs of her labor and thinking that it was an inconvenient time to give birth and doing everything she could to prevent it from happening. But nature always won out, in the end. Always. Her body continued to shiver, and her teeth chattered with the effort to control herself as her skin began to tingle and burn. Her heart beat so fast and hard against her ribcages that she gasped in air, though the crisp chilly autumnal air burned them with its purity now that they were outside and not in the dungeons. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, desperately willing the sensations to stop, but they didn't. From somewhere, she heard a man's voice calling to her, though his worried voice was faint, muffled, as though he were speaking to her from underwater.

Alarmed, having momentarily forgotten where she was and who she was with, she opened her eyes and surfaced from the temporary mental darkness she'd found herself in, to find both the Beast and his short little friend, LeFou, staring at her with incredulous disbelief, worry, and even fear in their eyes.

Both men reeled back the moment Isabelle lifted her gaze to their questioning eyes and their eyes locked. Terror rooted itself in the pit of her stomach now that her secret was out and was exposed for everyone to know it. She was sure that Gaston and his friend LeFou would tell the master of the castle and her friendship with Belle notwithstanding, she would be turned out of the castle by morning and sent back to the village with nothing to show for her time here, except how horribly she'd failed her Pop-Pop. Tears came to her eyes as she heard the men's gasps of surprise.

Instinctively, she ducked her head so that locks of her dark hair fell in front of her face like a curtain, shielding her shame from the monstrous Beast with whom she had one thing in common, though she felt the burn of the creature's gaze on her. She brought her hands up to cover her face and whimpered, feeling Gaston and LeFou's unblinking eyes on her. She knew what they saw. Her eyes. The eyes of the Devil. Her tear-filled eyes looked to anywhere but Gaston and LeFou in a panic and she kept her hands clamped over her head and her head ducked to conceal her shame from them. Her arms had begun to shake. She was truly terrified.

Gaston heard her whimper and felt a strange seeping pressure in his chest.

He did not like hearing her make that sound. He knew that he should say something to comfort her, but for many moments, he and LeFou could only stare at Belle's pretty brunette maid in shock and disbelief, at how the young woman's dark brown eyes had turned to purest black, how her body had started to shake, and it seemed tendrils of faint black smoke were emanating out of her body, as if by magic, or perhaps even another wretched foul witch's curse.

Gaston watched the woman keep her head lowered in defeat and recognition. She had the same all-black eyes from his dream, but what did it mean? He allowed himself the fleeting feeling of gratitude that his hunch that something was wrong with this woman had been correct, though who or what she really was, he'd not been able to guess.

But it was not until he had seen the whites of her eyes turn black, the brown color turning black as well, that he knew, without the slightest doubt in the world, what Belle's maid really was.

She was a Charmante, a Dire Woman, a monster, just like she was, though she was, for the most part, still human, save for her newly turned black eyes. Those soulless pits of black were the eyes of the Devil Himself. Dires were named for the dire devastation they caused.

He'd heard a tale or two about a few famous ones the stupid peasant tales the more simple-minded folk of the village spoke of in hushed whispers under their breath for a tale to tell anyone who was eager to listen over a pint of ale and a hot meal. Not much was known of Dire Women and Men like her, only that a dark, parasitical force attached itself to a girl or boy at a relatively young age, due to a traumatic event brought on by physical or even mental abuse.

Dires were said to lose control if they ever reached an emotional or mental breaking point and were known to release a nearly invisible and destructive power.

Their eyes turned the purest black in times of great emotional upheaval or stress and whatever followed after following a Dire's outburst, well…none usually lived to speak of what came of the encounter, and those that did manage to somehow survive by a miracle of God, were left damaged to the point where they were so traumatized, they did not speak.

Gaston felt heavy as he remained rooted to his spot on the ground. He wracked his brain for something to say, panic flaring to life within his chest as he knew if the maid could not be calmed down, then everybody within fifty miles from this exact spot was as good as dead if Isabelle were to lose control. A wave of sympathy, guilt, shame, and regret washed over him as he looked upon the young woman. This woman was no monster. Not like he was.

Isabelle seemed so shy and timid and sweet. She seemed a gentle soul, a genuinely good woman. How could someone like her be a mistress of evil? She was a person, a human being.

And this poor creature had lived through a world of hurt and anguish likely her entire life, but Beast or no Beast, Gaston knew that he was not about to continue that scorn. Not when their very lives depended on Isabelle being talked down from her struggling state.

"Isabelle." His voice was low and hoarse as he fought to look upon the maid's face without any sign of fear or hesitation. The nervous woman's black eyes hesitantly met Gaston's black eyes, moisture glittering behind her eyes, the only emotion left within them was nothing but dismay and fear. Her arms dropped slightly in hesitation when Gaston made no move. "You're a Dire Woman?" he questioned, hoping that his tone did not sound condescending or judgmental. "I will not hurt you. But…tell me the truth. Does Belle know the truth about...your, ah...condition?"

Isabelle's unnerving all-black eyes blinked rapidly as if she were processing Gaston's unexpectedly kind words. He realized at that moment as her lips parted though no sounds came out that Belle's maid had expected him to be afraid of her or stunned into confusion and terror at her unnerving black eyes, as he slowly realized his reaction was not a common one.

Sweet. Charming. Sensitive. Imaginative. Someone who were he human, he would have liked to know better and perhaps even court, since marrying Belle was no longer an option for him.

Those were the first thoughts Gaston had of Isabelle, not ones of fear or disgust. How could he, given what some witch who he had never met had done to him, then?

A sharp sudden wave of cold spread throughout the pit of his stomach as he realized that no, no matter what he was or wasn't, Beast or no, he would not hurt this poor creature who had clearly already suffered enough. "Look at me, Isabelle," Gaston demanded, though trying to sound as level-headed as possible, looking as kindly as he could into her soulless eyes.

Isabelle's breaths caught in her throat as she brought her arms down away from her face, but of course, her slender hands found their way to rest in front of him.

She blinked rapidly, and Gaston let out a breath he did not realize he had been holding as she inhaled sharply, and her eyes reverted to their normal rich dark brown chocolate hue once more.

Beside her on the bench, LeFou collapsed back tiredly against the headrest of the stone bench and let out a nervous little laugh.

"You're a Dire Woman? I've never met one of your kind before," LeFou exclaimed, his innocent yapping coursing through Gaston's brain, which still felt like it was reeling. Gaston was pulled out of his thoughts as he looked to LeFou. LeFou's shrill voice was laced to the brim with awe and wonderment, the man's eyes huge as he regarded Isabelle as though she were some fascinating creature in a menagerie that they'd caught and were not sure what to do with her at all.

Gaston let out a low threatening warning growl from deep within his chest. If the look he shot him now were daggers, LeFou would have been pinned to that bench.

LeFou immediately zipped his mouth shut and mumbled a half-hearted apology and scrambled off the bench, his cheeks red, and he turned to leave, though not before Gaston called to him as the little man scurried toward the castle.

"LeFou. Not one word to Belle or her wretched husband or the cooks or servant girls or any bloody one person inside about this, do you hear me? Not. One. Word or I'll give you a bite if I found out you couldn't keep your mouth shut!" Gaston shouted hoarsely. LeFou looked shocked at the vehemence in Gaston's voice, though luckily, LeFou had the good head of sense on his shoulders to shrug his shoulders and then disappear, leaving Gaston alone with the stricken woman.

Gaston hesitated, so unsure of himself, his usual boisterous bravado and confidence having fled from him the moment he'd woken at the bottom of the ravine when he should have been dead and instead found himself turned into this hideous Beast, this cursed changeling whelp. But he had to know. He spoke up quizzically, the question leaving his lips before he could stop himself from asking it, not knowing if gently prying into Isabelle's private life would make it worse.

"How long, Isabelle, have you been…like this?" he asked solemnly, his expression grave.

He grimaced and tried to smile, though he flinched, but only because Isabelle did so the moment his fangs were revealed. She was too nervous to eye him for long, he noticed.

The maid's round brown eyes darted from Gaston to the ground, to her shaking hands which were resting in her lap. After a moment, he realized with a sinking feeling, her cheeks reddened. He had not meant his question as an insult, but he needed to know the extent of her condition and what they were all dealing with and just how much of a danger she posed. Isabelle looked away from Gaston, studying the stones of the Courtyard's walkway beneath her boots in far too engrossed a manner. Gaston noticed Belle's friend's angry and crestfallen reaction and realized that she thought he was labeling her as a monster, a witch, though she would be mistaken. He was doing no such thing and her assumption could not be further from the truth. He was not judging her.

"I'm not judging you." Gaston tried to correct his mistake. "I…cannot imagine what you must have gone through for that—that parasite to attach itself to you. You have been this way, a—a Dire Woman, then, for a long time?" he asked.

He tried to shoot Isabelle a nervous little half-smile that told the maid he was trying his best, though it came out looking more like a grimace based on her pained expression.

The brown-eyed maid glanced from him to the ground, parting her lips to speak, and when she did, her voice was little more than a whisper.

"S-six years old. I—I was six, wh-when…when it came for me, when…it happened," she whispered, looking shamefaced and sounding more than ashamed of herself as she kept her head lowered.

"How?" Gaston asked, trying not to sound demanding.

He did not wish to frighten her more than the maid already was, for if he did, then he and the rest of this bloody castle and everyone within its walls, the Prince, LeFou, Belle, Maurice, and all the servants, would be dead. And as apathetic as he behaved towards the Prince and his servants, he could not—would not—let any harm come to Belle if he could help it.

Isabelle chewed on the wall of her mouth as she hesitantly lifted her gaze to Gaston and looked deep into the Beast's black eyes—looking for reassurance and trust—with fear.

Something within Isabelle realized then was that, despite the Beast's monstrous outward appearance, she had no reason not to trust him. Aside from her Pop-Pop back home in the village, this Changeling Beast, Gaston, was the first to know her secret. Not even the Prince and Princess knew her truth, and she hoped to keep it that way. She did not want to cause them to worry, not with Princess Belle expecting a baby, and she'd never allowed her emotions to get to the breaking point where she'd ever lost control, at least…not since…that night. Isabelle shivered and suddenly had trouble shaking the horrible memories away that she would really rather not think about.

She refocused her attention as she came back to herself a bit on the Beast in front of her, staring at her, unblinking, with wide eyes, a twinge of impatience in his black eyes as he waited for Isabelle to get a better hold on her bearings. She remembered that she owed the Beast an answer and spoke. Gaston had not flinched or recoiled when her eyes had shifted shape and changed color, he had not immediately alerted the guards or summoned the Prince or the Princess.

He seemed, for the moment, at least, willing to keep her secret, and if divulging at least a little bit of the truth to this Beast would help her keep her secret for a while longer, she supposed it could do no harm as to enlighten the poor creature as to why she was like him: a monster, broken, and damaged.

"My—my father, he…he was a violent man, and he angered an old woman one day, a wise witch, when he made a comment against her magic. I was too young to know at the time, but she cursed me in retaliation for his remarks, a-and caused this...force, to...attach itself to me, somehow, to my soul," Isabelle began speaking slowly, averting her gaze away and staring down at her hands, beginning to fidget with a plain silver band she wore on her ring finger that she'd taken from her mother's small wooden jewelry box before Mother had fled the household and left her alone with just Papa for company, much to Isabelle's horror.

"He…hurt me," she whispered, her gaze growing glossy and distant, as though she were lost in the past, in another time and place, somewhere Gaston could not witness.

There was a part of him that was not sure at all that he wanted to see it. Gaston said nothing but instead listened carefully to the pretty maid's every word as she poured out her painful memories, grateful at long last, to finally release them after years of keeping them pent up inside.

"He…hit me, said horrible things to me. When I turned twelve, he…snuck into my room and…and…" Her voice cracked and broke as it trailed off, tears welling in her eyes and she sharply turned her head away, bringing a finger up to flick away the tears that threatened to escape from the edges of her eyelids. "He…"

"He hurt you," Gaston growled simply, and she swallowed hard and nodded, closing her eyes for a moment. Reliving the memories seemed to be too painful to face.

Seeing her pain, Gaston stirred. He dared to stalk closer toward Isabelle, though he kept a respectful distance. He assumed that the girl would not want a Beast like him so close.

She did not see him creep closer but instead went on with her recollection. "My mother left us when I was seven, and Father, to—to keep my secret, once it—it came for me, whatever is inside of me, this darkness, he kept me locked away inside our home. I wasn't allowed to go outside our home or to play with any children my age. He did not want me to be discovered for fear that we would be driven out of town, or worse. That I would be taken from him and be killed, and he…he said that I was the only reminder of her he had left. When I turned nineteen, I'd had enough when he came for me, that night, on my birthday, I—I fought against him and I…lost control." Gaston grimaced. He could see just how much retelling the events of how she had become what she was, was paining her. Her breaths were coming to her in shallow waves, and the girl was gasping as she spoke in frantic, rushed tones. "I—I don't remember anything of what happened, j-just that I could hear Father screaming, and there was darkness, a—and then…when I woke, our home was burnt to the ground and my father was dead. There was hardly anything left to bury."

Her bottom lip quivered and her voice was warbling. Gaston searched his brain for the right words to say. For a brief moment, he wished LeFou were here.

His friend had always been the better man with words, not him.

"I'm…sorry, that happened to you, Isabelle," was all he could think to say.

Isabelle nodded, sniffing, as she shook away the horrific image of what she had done from her head so very long ago. It was as if the Beast's voice had brought her back to the present.

Even as he looked at her without a hint of fear or judgment or scorn in those black eyes of his, she immediately looked away to hide the pink blush on her face and the immense embarrassment and shame at what she was in her eyes.

She had not meant for anyone to find out her secret this way, all because the accumulated stress over the last couple of days had boiled over until she'd reached a breaking point that had snapped when she'd accidentally caused him to drop his supper. She'd not meant to give so much of herself away either.

Understanding the young woman's discomfort, Gaston looked away, letting Belle's hearth keep have a moment to herself to try to compose herself. He wanted to tell her he hated the monster that dared to call himself her father for laying his hands on his daughter in a way that a man never should and forcing her to endure such torment as a little girl. If the brute weren't already dead, accident though it was, he wanted to tell the maid he would have tracked her father down like the expert hunter that he was and would have dug his claws into his throat if she'd asked.

There was a part of him that wanted Isabelle to know that if she asked for something, he would give it to her, as long as it was within his ability to give if it meant she would linger. He liked the warmth the girl gave off and selfishly wanted to fence it and absorb it for himself if it meant that he would not feel so cold and alone in his wretched miserable life.

As long as she stayed by his side and did what he wanted.

He watched as the woman's eyes glistened with barely stifled tears as she lifted her gaze to his and found the same sorrow at her anguish there, but for different reasons.

Isabelle stared. Part of her was so overwhelmed by the Beast's apparent empathy for her, the two monsters that they were, that all she wanted to do was lose herself in the smoldering fathomless pits that were the creature's black eyes.

If she stared too long, she could almost see the shadow of a man that lurked underneath. But the part of her that won, however, was that which wanted to run away and hide. Isabelle snapped herself back to the moment and hid her emotions as quickly as she'd allowed them to surface.

"Well, I—I'd better, i-it's late, and I should leave you be for the night," Isabelle stammered uncomfortably, twisting her hands together as her stomach churned in an uncomfortable bundle of nerves.

She was well aware that she was babbling again like a stupid idiot, as she tended to whenever nervous or thinking about something, but she couldn't help herself.

She hopped up from the stone bench as though the Courtyard around them were on fire, but she was quick to remember her courtesies, even to a Beast like Gaston.

"Ah…thank you, Gaston…for…for listening." She bashfully turned her head to eye him from the corner of her lowered gaze. "Will you…will you tell Belle or the master?" she asked, suddenly fearful, worry worming its way into her stomach.

"No." He shook his head. "Not unless….I need to."

She nodded her understanding. She was truly grateful but overcome with awkwardness. She really needed a moment.

"I-I'll see you tomorrow?" Isabelle squeaked and in a fit of nervous anxiety, she turned on her heels and fled the Courtyard before Gaston could answer, leaving the Beast to watch her go.

As he watched her retreat back to the castle, he could only stare at the path she walked. He was glad she had briefly shared her past with him, and now he knew what she was.

It was painful, yes, but at least it was a connection. Perhaps even something to build upon.

He could only hope that she would continue to be able to control her emotions, and if Belle would need to be told, she would be the one to tell her herself.

He hoped he would not have to intervene as it was not his business to do so. He remained in the Courtyard for a while longer, his mind stuck on thoughts of the pretty maid, unknowing that all the while, Isabelle's mind was stuck on the Beast who was agreeing to keep her secret.

She knew the ramifications of what would come if the Prince were to learn that Gaston had hidden this from him, but she could not risk being discovered.

Dire's like her were always hunted and captured. There were stories of others like her being whisked away in a horrid black steel contraption that resembled a carriage, but with no windows, and hauled away to a place, an insane asylum, though those that went were never heard from again. She could only assume the worst, that they were killed.

As she hurried back to her rooms and settled in for the evening, eventually climbing into bed, the weight of what the Beast was doing for her gnawed at her and ate at her, and tore her apart.

He was risking his own safety in order to keep her secret.

Isabelle made a silent vow to be kinder to the Beast as she closed her tired eyes and rested her head against the pillow, letting her mind drift as she began to fall asleep. The last thought she had before she slipped into sleep was simple but poignant. One that stayed with her.

Perhaps…she had misjudged Gaston, and perhaps…in due time, the Beast could be a friend.