ch3

"I guess this will just have to do until Madame Pwen, can whip something up for her." Belle sighed while trying not to seem too disappointed as she and Madame Armoire stared at Denise's reflection in the full length mirror. Denise stood there in front of the mirror, wearing the gown she wasn't supposed to wear until her debutante ball, when she turned sixteen. An exquisite gown, which had been a gift from Queen Marie Antoinette herself. A soft, pastel green gown, made from yards and yards of satin, gathered and ruffled from the waist down, with thin pink ribbons twirled into the shape into tiny pink roses was sown at the gathered points of the dress and along her collar and scarf like sleeves. It was meant to be worn over a bustle, which helped provide room to cover Denise's new long bushy tail. But even though Denise had been eagerly waiting for the day when she could wear this lovely dress, she felt uncomfortable in it now. It was still a bit too long, and a bit too lose around the chest, and much heavier than anything else she had ever worn. But, it was the only thing that she could put on without ripping at the seams. She continued to stare at the image looking back at her in the mirror and to her surprise, it didn't disturb her. In spite the black claws and sharp fangs, the pointed horns and underneath this thick coat of hair that covered her face and body, Denise was still, well, Denise. Even in this beautiful but extravagant gown.

"I think you may want to here in your room until the seamstress can make some new clothes for you. What do you say?" Belle asked, also thinking the gown was woefully much for a girl her age to wear as everyday attire.

Denise turned, looking thoroughly disappointed. "No, Mamma, I don't want to hide in my room. I have to get out, I NEED to get out!"

Belle gave her a little sad smile, but nodded her approval. "Fine. But be careful in that dress. Its not easy to get around in something so cumbersome."

"Mama, will I still have to wear shoes?" she asked. Belle took a breath, and offered her daughter an uncomfortable smile.

"I have a feeling we're not going to find a pair that fits you any more," she honestly admitted. "Do you think you can manage going barefoot for a while?"

Denise nodded with a half smile. "I was hoping that would be your answer. I would hate to try to stuff my paws into a shoe."

Belle shuddered, hearing Denise so casually refer to her feet as "paws".

"Well, for now anyway, you can go without wearing any shoes. Hopefully, by the time the cold weather sets in, you will be back to normal. Otherwise, we'll have some nice boots made up for your," Belle paused. It was a comfort to know Denise was thus far handling the transfiguration well, but Belle was not quite ready to accept her daughter's fate. She swallowed hard and held up her chin before finishing her sentence. "Paws."

Denise turned, sensing her mother's tensions, and reached out to hug her. "I'm OK mamma, I can do this."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It took Cogsworth only a minute or so to give Forte the run down on how to work the castle's unique laving system as Maurice called his invention. It was a very simple process; just walk into an empty stall and close the wooden door behind you. This was the private dressing room area, where a person would unclothed themselves before walking into their private shower stall and close the curtain behind them; then turn on the faucets and stand under a metal cone shaped "thing" as Cogsworth called it, where temped water would sprinkle down at an easy flow. As Cogsworth excused himself and left him alone to clean himself in peace, Forte followed his instructions, and quietly went into the private dressing room carrying his bag of toiletries and borrowed clothes with him. Forte undressed himself and as he set his old clothes down on a chair, he caught a glimpse of himself in mirror that hung on the wall. The split second he saw the reflection of his face he grimaced, 'You again!'

He looked away only to have his attention fall on his pasty, frail, scrawny body and flaccid manhood that he had not seen in quite a long time. The sight reminded him of his age, making him feel frail, weak and flaccid. Even though he never saw what he looked like in his pipe organ form, undoubtedly he knew he looked strong and resilient because he felt strong and invincible. After all, even that tumble he took on that fateful night did not end his existence. As badly as some of his parts had been bent and even pulled apart after that fall, with a little help, he came back, good as new. If he had taken a fall like that one, in is human form, Forte was certain it would have ended badly. He reached down and touched his manhood, looking for any kind of reaction, but the limp limb simply refused to awaken from its dead like slumber. He rolled his eyes in disgust. 'What's the point in being made of flesh and blood, if that flesh and blood losses its liveliness?'

He found himself once again lamenting the loss of his metal form, but he tried to shake it off, 'No, no point living with regret. It's time to move on,' he encouraged himself. Then suddenly he softly chuckled to himself, remembering those were the exact words he told himself when he discovered as a pipe organ, he was bolted to the wall. In fact, as Forte began to realize, every time he was forced to pick himself up by the knickers and move on, it was those words that gave him the determination he needed to do just that. 'Mmm, looks I may have at least found a motto for myself, after all these years.'

He raised his bare left arm to wipe a strand of hair away from his face, and that's when he saw, it, again. He had nearly forgotten all about the nasty memento left behind from the time when no words of encouragement could ease his pain and anguish. He stared blankly at the twisted cluster of scars for a moment; for twenty years he'd been free of this hideous reminder. For the past twenty years he had nothing to force him to recall that weakest of all frailties, his heart. Those twenty years Forte enjoyed the peace of mind of living with no heart at all.

A heart could be tricked and deceived by beauty and sweet words. No heart meant no shame, no gullibility, no loneliness. No heart meant nothing to be broken, ever again. Being made of metal, made even the memory of his cherished one completely meaningless to him; even the gaping hole she tore into his heart was but a meaningless memory, replaced with only the melodious vibrations he could create within himself, for himself. The memory of her lovely face, her seraphic voice could no longer force him to suffer from the humiliation he endured from believing her lies, believing her love for him was true. He could live without her in peace, even knowing that she had used him like a puppet, then left him to pay for the crimes she and her two-faced lover had committed. Being made of metal made it easy to forget every wrong they had done to him. But now?

On his wrist was the evidence that he had in fact once been made a fool, and worse, tried a foolish thing to end the madness and suffering inflicted upon him. He continued to stare at those scars that would remain on his arm, silently mocking him of the days when he felt the jubilation of love's touch, and the days when love's touch abandoned him forever. Forte's eyes swelled with tears as suddenly the scent of her perfume stalked his memory, and he caught himself mournfully whispering her name under his breath, "Claudine."

He clinched his eyes tightly and swallowed hard; the taste of her memory was once again like a bitter poison to his soul. He dropped his arm and grabbed the soap, walking into the shower stall. He studied the knobs, and followed Cogsworth's instructions. Forte stood there under the running water enjoying a long soak, allowing the soap to do its job. The sound the water made as it spewed from the spout overhead, as well as when it hit the floor underneath, was a new sound to mentally take in, which he would eventually translate into music. No longer being made of metal, he would have to achieve greatness yet again with nothing but his amazing genius locked inside this frail and superficial frame. He wouldn't just make music, he'd make music so fine that the angels in heaven would weep with envy. He turned off the faucet and dried himself with a sad smile, 'Yes; there is no point living with regret. It's time to move on.'

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

At first Denise tried to walk down the stairs like a young lady, graceful and serene, but whether it was nerves, her young age, or new animal instincts, she suddenly bolted down the stairs and headed straight for the kitchen, just as she had done the night before. She leapt over the table like a cat or dog like animal, but then took her seat like any normal human child, "Good morning, Mrs. Potts."

"Heavens child," Mrs. Potts scolded her. "You mustn't barge in that way. You startled me!"

"Oh," she tried to sound polite, while mentally she thought to herself, 'but honestly, why do I have to be the one to control my actions? Can't Mrs. Potts just learn to get used to her coming in this way?'

She chose to be diplomatic instead, and said, "I'll try to be more careful next time."

Belle now came into the kitchen, looking quite cross. "Young lady, I except you to learn to control your impulses. You are NOT a wild animal."

"Yes, Mamma," Denise grumbled crassly, as she tried to adjust sitting in a chair with this new tail of hers. Adam then walked in and instantly his eyes went straight to Denise making them pop wide open as his jaw nearly hit the floor as well. All he had seen of Denise the night before was a brief glimpse, before he was whisked away to his own room. He over heard the excitement and shock in everyone's voice around him, and he understood it had something to do with his sister, but never did he imagine this is what had happened to her. "Holy hell, Denise!" he exclaimed, throwing out all self restraint. "What the blazes happened to you?"

Belle turned red with embarrassment, "Where did you learn to use language like that?"

Adam went blank, 'Where did he learn to use language like that?' He wanted to be honest, and tell her that he learned it from everyone in the castle, except for maybe her and Mrs. Potts; Grand poppa especially. He tried to dig up the courage, to tell his mother Belle, just that but instead, he stuttered, "Ah-h-h…"

Belle waved her hand and huffed. "I know where you heard it; from your grand poppa."

"Don't be mad, dear. All the men in the castle let their tongues slip now and then. " Mrs. Potts added to ease the situation.

"Including poppa," Denise mischievously added, in a matter of fact tone.

Belle half smirked at her daughter; she could either get up set and throw a crying fit or silently laugh at it all. She sat down quietly next to her daughter and let out a soft sigh. "I don't want to hear language like that coming from you, young man. Even at your age, you have a vocabulary extensive enough to express your thoughts without resorting to swearing."

Both Adam and Denise were glad he was not in any trouble, and he quickly took his seat across from Denise. "How did you get that way?"

Denise shrugged her shoulders. "I haven't a clue, Adam. I went to sleep and woke up this way."

"Did it hurt?" Adam wondered.

Denise shook her head, "No, I didn't feel a thing."

He then studied her hands which were now paw like. "Is it hard to use those?"

She lifted her paws and gave them a close look herself. "A little bit. I haven't really tried to do a lot of things with them yet."

Belle then put her hand gentlly on Denise's shoulder. "When your father was the beast, he had a difficult time eating with utensils, so be prepared to eat a lot of soup straight from the bowl."

Just then, Cogsworth came into the kitchen along with Forte, whose hair was still damp from his morning's shower.

"Good morning Princess Belle, Prince Adam and Princess Denise," Cogsworth stiffly followed protocol by addressing the royal family first, "and good morning, Mrs. Potts."

Mrs. Potts saw Forte lurking behind the majordomo, and offered him some fresh black coffee. "Here you go, Maestro. I knew you'd be ready for some more of this."

He gratefully took the cup and raised it to her in a toast. "My pounding head thanks you, Mrs. Potts."

"Good morning gentlemen," Belle softly welcomed them to join her family, but both men chose to stand. Forte then looked intently at Denise. He was still quite cross at her for what she had done, but was gradually getting over his rage. He studied her apparel with a judgmental gaze. "I didn't know breakfast was a formal occasion around here these days."

Belle knew sarcasm when she heard it, and gave him a sharp glare. "This is all Denise has to wear for now."

Forte returned the glare with one of his own. "Well, look at her; she's positively miserable in that thing. Trust me, I know miserable when I see it. Am I right child?"

Denise, shyly nodded. "I am, but I would be even more miserable if I had to stay inside."

Forte's mouth curled over to one side of his face as he pondered the situation. "Can't she wear someone else's clothes? You managed to drum up some new threads for me, a lowly servant. Surely there is some woman here in the castle who can spare a dress or two for the Princess?"

"We tried to see if any of my older clothes would fit, but she's too muscular in this form." Belle explained.

Forte then looked at Mrs. Potts. "Well, you're short enough and um," he hesitated as he tried to find a phrase that wouldn't offend the sweet lady, "um, healthy. I bet the princess would fit nicely in something of yours."

Mrs. Potts took no offense to his wording, she knew her size and was very comfortable with herself. "I bet you're right Maestro. Right after breakfast, I'll have a look see."

A moment later, the family was served breakfast. Hard boiled eggs, and buttered croissants. Denise quickly found out that it was hard to manipulate small things with such long claws and awkward shaped hands, but she also figured a way to use the tip of her index claw to peel the egg with little effort. Even Belle quietly marveled at how clever Denise was in figuring out how to manage her new body on her own. Even Adam seemed impressed with his sister's ingenuity and smiled at her rather pleased. He bent down to look under the table to see if he could see any more of Denise's new form, but only saw her gown.

"Are you feet like you hands?" he wondered as he looked up at her again.

"Yah, and they're even stronger," she almost sounded as if she was bragging.

"I can't wait to go outside and run! You want to come with me?" Denise asked Adam eagerly.

Adam then looked across the table to his mother with an pleading look. "Can I be a beast too, Mamma?"

Both Cogsworth and Potts broke into a laugh, as did Denise, as Belle shook her head and gave another one of her famous smirks, while Forte just stood there wishing they soon stop before his head would explode from the outburst of noise.

"One beast is enough for any castle," Mrs. Potts jokingly assured the young master.

"Yes, one is more than enough!" Cogsworth agreed, before all seemed to quiet down.

Forte stood quietly finishing his coffee, but was beginning to feel anxious. He had not gone this long without creating some kind of tune to ease his stressed mind in, well, forever it seemed. "Well, your highnesses, Mrs. Potts, Cogsy, you have all been charming company, but I must be on my way. I am eager to be with Mon Coeur again."

"Oh, Maestro," Mrs. Potts argued sympathically. "You don't have to go back into the dark cave; stay here with us."

Forte smiled smugly, feeling wanted. "You misunderstand, my dear Mrs. Potts. Cogsworth has explained to me that, Mon Coeur has be set up in the chapel."

"Ah-ah!" Cogsworth quickly corrected with a devilish grin. "I said, will be set up in the chapel. Will, be."

Forte's smiled vanished without a trace. His left eye began to twitch as he tried to remain civil, when what he really wanted to do was raise bloody hell. "All right, Cogsy," his voice was laced with spite. "Pray tell, when can I expect to see you fulfill the Prince's orders?"

Cogsworth's evil grin only broadened. "You see, Monsieur, Prince Adam told me to have it done, however, he left it up to my desecration as to when it would be done. Now, how many times have you called me, 'Cogsy' after I clearly forbade you to do so? Hmmm…"

He began to count in a whisper touching his finger tips as he counted. "one… two… three… yes, three times, if memory serves me. Does that sound right to you Monsieur Forte?"

Forte swallowed hard, he knew when he was about to be screwed. "I don't recall."

"Well, I do," Cogsworth spoke coolly. "It was three times. So, three times you deliberately disobeyed my orders, mmmm… lets make it three weeks before you will have your Mon Coeur back here in the castle."

"Three weeks!" the mad musician gasped in disbelief. "What in the blazes am I supposed to do until then?"

Cogsworth winked with a smug grin on his face. "We'll find odd jobs here and there to occupy your time. Oh, I know. For a start, after they finish their breakfast, you can take the children outside for a spell."

Forte folded his arms over his chest in defiance. "Have you forgotten? Vampires don't like sunlight!"

Once more, Cogsworth folded his arms behind his back and rocked back on his heels. "Then stand in the shade."