Copyright notice: 2006! We might have to wait until Two Thousand friggin' Six for Kingdom Hearts II! Gah! If you're looking for someone to blame, it's Squaresoft and Disney, since they created the thing. I just fill in the sizable gaps.

Chapter 4

So this was eternity.

It reminded Belle of a fitful sleep, tinged with the bitterness of unfulfillment, the regret of wasted time, and the shame of every mistake elongated into the fabric of this nebulous, but aware, existence.

But this sleep lasted too long.

And the nightmares…

They refused to leave her alone.

Beast.

Beast.

Beast.

Each time she called his name, a different man from the village appeared in front of her, crowding her silently. They said nothing to her; only their accusatory stares gave any hint that they might feel anything at all. Gaston appeared last, and though he smiled that ever-confident smile of his, the coldness that hung beneath his eyes chilled her, incensed her. He was a waste of flesh and bones and yet he still had the audacity to treat her as property, his property-

His wife.

She was his wife, and her belly swelled with his seed. She birthed six, seven boys and on the last one she died. The doctor pronounced that it was the loss of blood and the strain of childbirth. Gaston nodded, then hung her up on his wall in the tavern, the perfect trophy wife.

Belle screamed.

This wasn't real this wasn't real this wasn't real.

Why couldn't she wake up?

This wasn't sleep.

She was in hell. She had to keep reminding herself that she was in hell, and she couldn't wake up from hell.

Why was she here?

Was it the books she read? Was it true that though she had gained knowledge, that gain had cost her soul? For she ate of the fruit of knowledge…

No. Fairy tales, Shakespeare, Chaucer and Malory couldn't possibly be that damning.

Was it because…?

Was it because she had fallen in love with a beast?

She loved him.

She understood that now, now when it was too late to tell him.

And it had damned her anyway.

Then she would love him throughout the ages, silently and unabashedly. In the bouts between nightmares, or tortures, or whatever they were, she would dream of him, revel in the memory of him. She wouldn't let herself forget him.

Not that he was perfect.

Far from it.

But he was…had been…perfect for her.

He could be so obstinate.

But then again…so was she.

It was the same evening that he'd shown her the library. He'd left her earlier so that she'd be free to wander amid the thousands, millions of pages that begged her to be read. She had even heard a couple of whispers bouncing around the corners, telling her which shelves she might like to try first.

He returned to the library just before dinner and found her sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, buried in Thomas More's "Utopia." He walked over to her and, with his claws extended, slashed her neck open.

No!

Of course he hadn't done that- confound and damn this horrible place! He wouldn't, he'd never hurt her.

Now.

To be truthful, she still hadn't been so sure then. Homer had filled her mind with all sorts of creatures and wild things that all seemed hell-bent on destroying human life. Upon first meeting, Beast seemed to have stepped out of Circe's island, the snarling, wild mass that he was.

What had changed him?

That first evening in the library…

No, she hadn't been sitting on the floor; there was a cushioned settee next to the fireplace where she stretched her legs out, decorum forgotten in the midst of More's words. She heard his claws gently scrape against the tiled floor, the sound pulling her back to the fantastic reality she had found herself entwined within.

She suddenly realized that her need for books had dimmed during the past several days.

When she first looked up at him, he seemed so unsure, so awkward, so…human? Certainly less of the monster than she first remembered meeting. But she did remember that monster, despite his recent bout of kindness, despite the gift of the library…and something in her heart cooled immediately.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Beast announced simply after an odd moment's pause, "Dinner is ready."

She didn't close the book. "You're not going to yell at me this time?"

Taken aback, Beast retorted, "I didn't yell. I…bellowed."

"Bellowed?"

"Yes. Bellowed."

"I see. So you're not going to bellow at me this time?"

"No."

"Good."

He paused once more. "Will you join me for dinner…please?"

She nodded. "Yes."

On their was to the dining hall, silenced danced merrily between their footsteps, scurrying away any hint of conversation down into the long hallway shadows. Finally Beast asked, "Did you enjoy the…books?"

"Oh, very much. Thank you. I haven't had a chance to read like that for a while. Usually I have to do chores around the cottage all day long…" Her throat suddenly constricted, and she took a deep breath to stem the tears that threatened. The mundane, backwoods, poor provincial town that she had so eagerly wanted to get away from never looked so welcoming as it did in that moment. And her father…! The library had been a pleasant diversion, would continue to be a pleasant diversion, but in no way could those books ever replace her father's presence. "I never thought I'd be so lonely," she inadvertently whispered.

Beast's ears perked to the sound of her voice. "Hmm?"

"Nothing."

The Beast stopped walking and turned to face her directly. "Do you think you're the only one who knows what it's like to be lonely?"

Startled, Belle looked up to him. She expected him to be angry; the growl in his voice still echoed against the marble. But all she saw were the depths of his eyes, so mortally sad that her own sorrow was stilled. And beyond that sadness lay sympathy for her, for all that she was forced to give up because of him. And her heart began to beat warmly once more.

She stood facing Beast, closer than she recalled him ever being. He reached out to her-

and Gaston pulled her close, vice grip clenching her naked back…

She was being pulled.

Whatever was left of her, it was being pulled.

Towards Darkness.

Towards The Door.

And there were others. Five others whose presences she felt, all being summoned to this place, for reasons they couldn't begin to fathom and every reason to fear. Belle felt their terror, their hopelessness, and an infuriatingly demure acceptance as all were commanded:

"Princesses of Heart, reveal to me the Keyhole!"

Reveal nothing. Belle told herself, told the others.

Fight against it.

Fight it. Don't listen to it. Fight against the Darkness…

She didn't know if they heard her, but the sensation of the pulling stopped, and the isolation returned. But a new voice, friendly and comforting, placed a mantra into her consciousness, and she kept it, for it quelled the nightmares and lulled her into quieter thoughts:

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.