A/N: Thank you, whoever you are, for your amazing review! You're so sweet! Right now, I'm thinking that this will shake down to look like a series of vignettes from the Beast's point of view. Sorry to keep you waiting for the next upload!
And to everyone else, thank you for reading! I love reading reviews and messages, so if you like/dislike/have-an-opinion-of-some-sort-that-you-would-like-to-express, make sure to comment!
The days all blended together for the Beast. Time was no longer divided by the rising of the sun, but had become a perpetual stream to float upon. He needed only to satisfy his bodily needs as they occurred. Hunger and exhaustion alone motivated him into action. There was no joy in this life, but neither was there anger or pain. The Beast desired for nothing but his immediate survival. In between feedings and naps, he could be found up in the eastern tower, staring emptily into the forest. Most of the castle staff trembled any time he came across one of their paths, frightened by his new appearance. Except Mrs. Potts, of course. Now functioning efficiently in their porcelain skins, Mrs. Potts and Chip tried to draw the Beast out. "No amount of glowering will solve this," the tea pot scolded one day. "At least eat one of Chef Bouche's soufflés. No one else here can."
"Madame!" sputtered Cogsworth from his hiding spot around the corner, forgetting his own fear due to the sheer cheek displayed.
"Oh shut it," hissed Lumiere to the quivering clock, bending further at his metallic waist to watch Mrs. Potts berate the Beast. Behind him, an array of silverware, coffee tables, and brooms held their breath for fear of Mrs. Potts' safety.
The little tea pot puffed a noisy sigh, and watched sadly as the Beast remained perfectly still. She wasn't even sure he had understood her. After waking up in a new form, she had made the choice to keep on living. To remain human in her spirit, and not succumb to the temptation of slipping away into inanimation. All of the staff had. But the one person who could free them from all this was the one who now seemed beyond reach. "I know you're in there somewhere, Master. We're all waiting for you to come back," she tried to reason. "We've all seen the goodness in you, even though that witch couldn't." She waited another beat for some response, but left after receiving none.
Soon, the castle's inhabitants lost their fear of the Beast. They became used to his continuous silence, even comfortable with it. They freely chatted to one another as they worked, regardless of whether the Beast was pacing up and down the halls or sleeping in a corner. Some even found humor in the absurdity of the situation. "Fine weather for a hunt today, Monsieur?" Lumiere would cheerily call out to the Beast as he stalked towards the grand entrance. "Finer for romance, I think. Do not hurry back from your lover's hairy arms in time for your evening brood!"
They were not happy, but at least they achieved some sense of peace. They even kept a slender flame of hope alive. Small gestures demonstrated their tenacity- Chip found the witch's rose flung aside in the corner of the ballroom, and Cogsworth immediately ordered it to be preserved and displayed in the west wing. Monsieur du Jardin and Brickston, the gardener and groundkeeper, collaborated to build a glass hothouse to keep winter's chill at bay and the many exotic plant specimens alive. Chef Bouche still experimented with dishes, so no unexpected visitor could catch him off guard.
So when the tired, old French man stumbled through their gates one evening, the castle staff were nothing short of delighted. Finally, someone new and something interesting. As Maurice wined and dined, many were thankful for their Master's newfound apathy. The old Master certainly would not have allowed such frivolities at his own expense. And when the Beast lumbered into the room where Maurice slept, his frail fingers still clutching a rose plucked from the hothouse, everyone expected him to pass by silently, as he had for the past months.
The roar of anger and pain that erupted from the Beast's maw shocked all who heard it, including the Beast himself. Anger sliced through him, waking his mind from its catatonic sleep. Suddenly stripped of his stagnant placidity, the Master was bowled over by wave after wave of sensation—the spring of the soft carpet under his feet, the smell of evening tea and heady florals, and the pain of anger and sadness. Panting and disoriented, the Master reached out a paw to steady himself against the wall, only to find that he was still crouched on all fours. He reared up onto his legs, feeling his tendons groan with the unfamiliar movement. How long had he been mindless? He looked wildly around the room now, searching for what had shocked him into life.
There in front of a roaring fire sat the old crone from that fateful night. Her cloak still dripped from the rainstorm outside, and her gnarled hand still offered him the glowing rose. Not possible, the Beast thought. He clenched his eyes shut, willing the image to go away.
When he dared to open them again, vision had faded, now replaced by the old man who shivered in fear, hugging a blanket and flower to his chest.
Bitterness gathered in the Master's mouth. He worked his tongue and jaw, still not sure if he could speak through them. "Did she send you here?" he managed to croak.
"I don't…. I'm sorry I just needed shelter…. No one—"
The Master cut him off with a quick shake of the head. "I know the twisted ways of those hags. She sent you here to test me," he sneered. Catching sight of the rose, the Master felt both his heart and snout twist in anger. "Heavy handed with the parallels, but she clearly is not one for subtlety."
The old man gaped in confusion, "I swear, I'll leave this inst—"
Once again, the Master interrupted him, caught up in his own paranoia. "A test to see if I've changed," he muttered. A flash of pride stiffened his back. He was Master here. Not some crazy crone. He would not be played with, as if he was some toy. At least, that is what he repeated to himself as he dragged the fragile old man to the dungeon and locked him in the dark.
However, after the surge of arrogance and adrenaline subsided and the Master clambered up to his familiar tower, he was left feeling….. well, just feeling. And as he faced encroaching misery, the Master retreated once more into the arms of apathy. He became the Beast once more.