CHAPTER 2
Gaston picked himself up slowly, rubbing his throbbing jaw. Still reeling from the humiliation, but relieved at his lucky escape, he went outside and retrieved the magic hourglass.
He thought quickly. He must find the Enchantress and somehow force her to change him back. She must not be at his house anymore, or Pierre would have seen her. But there had to be another way to find her.
His head snapped up. Of course - the magic mirror! It could show him where she was. Feeling triumphant, Gaston ran back to his house, hurried down the stairs, and went to the table where he had kept the mirror.
But it was gone. His heart sank. The Enchantress must have taken it with her, or else Belle and the Prince had. Either way, the mirror was nowhere to be found.
No way of finding the witch, then. Gaston felt a rising wave of panic, but forced it down. He would not be defeated this easily.
One thing was clear: he had to leave town. He couldn't bear to stay here where everyone had known him as the mighty hunter and hero. He had to go elsewhere, where he could stay anonymous until he could break the curse.
And break it he would. No one got the best of Gaston. Not even a traitorous Enchantress.
He located the big rucksack he used for overnight hunting trips. He put the hourglass in first. Then he added whatever food was in the house, and filled some skins with water. He took his life's savings, putting the bags of gold in the rucksack and some money into his jacket. Then he went through the house, looking for anything else that might prove useful in his travels.
He paused at his weapons chest. He realized with a pang that most of its contents were useless to him now. He touched his sword, which had served him so well on so many occasions, and the bow and arrows that had brought him such fame. Now the sword was too heavy for him to even lift, and he couldn't see or aim well enough to use the bow. No strength, no skills, no gorgeous looks...The Enchantress had robbed him of everything that made him who he was.
No. He shook his head fiercely. He was still Gaston, and he would always win in the end, and get revenge on all who had wronged him. Enough pointless thinking. He was a man of action, and it was time to act.
He noticed his hunting knife in the chest, and slipped it into his belt. It was small enough for him to use. He could also use his rifle to defend himself at close range, he decided, even if his impressive long-range shots were a thing of the past.
Closing the rucksack, he left the house and went to saddle up his horse - a spirited black stallion named Tristan, the fastest steed in the county. But as he approached the stall, the horse backed away. When Gaston reached out to touch him, he reared, whinnying shrilly.
His horse didn't know him. The realization stung. He had broken the fiery-tempered stallion himself. No other man could ride him, only Gaston. But now Tristan eyed him with distrust, as though he were a stranger.
Reluctantly, Gaston backed off. He knew that in this tiny, weak body, he would never be able to control the powerful horse. It was just one more thing that had been taken from him, he thought bitterly.
He would have to walk. Resolutely, he shouldered the rucksack. He took one last look at the house that had been his home for his entire life.
Then he slipped unnoticed into the night.
He walked for hours, avoiding the tiny villages that clustered around his home town of Molyneaux. He wanted to get far away from anyone who knew him. It was slow going - the pack was heavy, and this body clearly wasn't made for long walking. It frustrated him. By midnight, he was exhausted and his leg throbbed painfully. He knew he would have to stop.
He was approaching Clermont-Ferrand, a large town. Gaston knew it well; he went there once or twice a year to pick up supplies. He was somewhat well-known there, but nowhere near the celebrity he was in Molyneaux and the surrounding villages. It would do.
The wide cobblestone streets were deserted at this time of night, for which he was grateful. The elderly innkeeper was irritable at being awakened, but a few gold coins mollified him. He showed Gaston to a sparsely-furnished room, containing only a bed and a dresser with a washbasin. A small mirror hung above the dresser. Gaston closed the door with relief.
He was weary, and wanted nothing more than sleep. But he had to think, to plan. He must find a way to outwit the Enchantress.
If she had to curse him, she could at least have given him the same curse as the prince, he thought bitterly. As a Beast, he would have been powerful and fearsome. He could have threatened the Enchantress with his deadly claws to make her change him back, or forced all the villages of the kingdom to send their girls to him until he found the one who could break the spell.
He paced restlessly, trying to scheme. As he passed the dresser, he suddenly caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He stopped cold, horrified at the sight. He had seen himself only briefly when the Enchantress put the spell on him. Now he stared long and hard at the repulsive image, taking in every detail: the bald head, the big hooked nose, the mottled skin, the craggy yellow teeth, the small frail body and stubby limbs. Could this horrid, feeble creature really be him? The flawless, magnificent Gaston?
With sudden fury, he slammed his fist into the mirror, shattering the hated reflection to pieces. His hand was bleeding from the broken glass, but he didn't even notice. He was too shaken by the sight of the wretched, pathetic thing he had become. What if he had to stay like this? The terrifying thought chilled him to the very bone.
He couldn't deal with it. He focused instead on what he would do to the Enchantress if he ever found her. He scowled darkly, remembering how she had lied to him and tricked him. She had told him she would use her magic to make Belle fall madly in love with him. But at the last moment - with victory so close he could taste it - the two-faced witch had betrayed him, calling him selfish and conceited and saying he needed to learn a lesson. She'd done this terrible thing to him, while that vile Beast got to turn into a prince and ride off with Belle - his Belle!
Belle. It all came back to her. Gaston's fists clenched. All he had wanted was to marry her. What was wrong with that? Any other girl would have been thrilled by his proposal. But not Belle. He had gone through so much effort and trouble to win her - and in return, she had ruined his life. He pictured her in her shining castle with her handsome prince, rejoicing over their happy fairy-tale ending. While Gaston sat here, an outcast, trapped in this hideous form, unable to return to the home where he had been idolized. He seethed with resentment.
They would pay for this, he vowed. Somehow, he would triumph over this curse, and make them regret what they'd done to him.
Imagining vengeful scenarios, he finally drifted into an exhausted, uneasy sleep. In his dreams, he was a terrifying Beast, and Belle, the prince, and the Enchantress all cowered before his ferocious might.