Disclaimer: I do not own Beauty and the Beast, nor do I own any of the characters. They belong to Disney and Disney alone.
The whole castle is silent. The moon shines down on it, casting the gargoyles and spires in its silver glow. The enchanted objects speak sorrowfully, haunted by mental pictures of never becoming human again.
Deep in the West Wing, a hunched figure wearing dark blue velvet crouches beside a wilting rose. It is silent in that room for only a moment more, and then the reality hits Beast like an arrow.
I release you. You are no longer my prisoner.
He growls, tears wetting the fur around his eyes. If only she had stayed! He had been so close to the life he had once thought so little of, and now it is gone from his clutches forever.
I release you. You are no longer my prisoner.
Suddenly, his breathing shortens, and the adrenaline rushes through his veins as the panic breathing makes him dizzy. He will die a beast. She didn't see the way he loved her! And now, she never can!
His ragged breathing scratches at his own ears. He makes a futile effort to cover them, but his large, clumsy paws will not move from where they hover protectively over the rose. The dying rose.
"Belle," he whispers, his voice harsh. More tears rush from his eyes. "Belle," he says again, taking comfort in the word. She will be happy to be away from me.
I release you. You are no longer my prisoner.
The words become a chant, running through his mind again and again. Sobbing like a child, he succumbs to sorrow, his eyes shut tight, trying to expel the chant.
Then, a timid voice from behind him: "Pardon me, master."
"Leave me in peace." The wordsare intended as a snarl, but they emerge as a sad half-sob.
"But sir!" Mrs. Potts' voice becomes more urgent. "The castle is under attack!"
He turns his head away, his eyes closing. He strains to recall those last precious moments with Belle, the feel of her soft hair in his paws, the tenderness with which she danced with him. He can't even let himself have the slightest hope that she has come to love him. It isn't possible. He had been rude, rash, angry, the whole time she had been his--his what? His prisoner?
"What shall we do, master?"
Mrs. Potts' voice cuts through his thoughts.
"It doesn't matter now," he says sadly, his hold tightening around the glass-encased rose. "Just let them come."
He hears the soft sigh, and the door shut softly. The sight of Belle, running from the ballroom, flashes before his eyes, and suddenly he thinks that he had said something horrible, done something terrifying, to make her run.
"No," he says roughly, his eyes opening. "No! I let her go."
With those simple words, the panic threatens to take over once again. He battles it down, and dejectedly drops his head.
The door opens again, and light is thrown across his figure. There is a noise, and he looks up through half-lidded eyes to see an angry man with soaked black hair pointing a crossbow at him.
Nothing really registers. Beast closes his eyes once again and bows his head. Let death come.