A/N: Hi all! Sorry about the wait. Vacation was wonderful, though =] So, about this chapter: so far, I've only had narrations from Clara's or Nathaniel's points of view (loosely) but in this chapter, I'm going to start expanding my narration base, if that phrase makes any sense whatsoever…anyways, enjoy!

Chapter 5: A Library Confrontation

Clara had explored the majority of the house by the time she reached the wide double doors on the third floor. Curious as to what the majestic doors hid from the hallway, she tried the handle. It was sticky with rust, but it turned slowly and the door creaked open. Inside was the largest library she had seen in one house at a time. The bookcases reached from floor to ceiling, and there were hundreds of books crammed in their every nook and cranny. Clara stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind her. Making her way through the dark room to the large curtained window, her crutch caught on a book lying open on the floor, and she nearly tripped. Clara righted herself, but not before a small table in front of her clattered to the ground. Wincing, she bent over and set it upright once more. Mentally scolding herself for being so careless, she limped slowly to the window and yanked the curtain open. The pale light streamed in through the dusty windows and Clara watched briefly as the snow swirled outside, rendering the entire landscape a monotone grey. Turning away from the window, she gazed around the bright room.

There was a large fireplace on one wall ringed with more shelves, with the ashes of a fire long extinguished still lying in the grate. There were more bookcases than Clara had initially thought, and as she approached the nearest shelf, she saw that all the books were coated in a thick layer of dust. She slowly ran her eyes over the many novels, but the old spines revealed few books that Clara recognized, and several were in languages Clara didn't even recognize. Eventually, she came across Wuthering Heights, a book that she had read many times over during her childhood. She had tried to read Persuasion and Emma, but had found their stories of true love and happily-ever-after to be inconsistent with her cynical view of love. But she did enjoy Wuthering Heights. While it recounted perhaps the most passionate love ever documented in literature, its dark nature and lack of a happy ending appealed to Clara. She pulled the book off the shelf, marking its place in the library with an empty, worn out pen she found lying on the ground, and made her way over to the cold fireplace. The gloomy atmosphere seemed to agree with her melancholy attitude. Brushing the dust off the book, she propped her crutches against the wall next to the fireplace, and settled in one of the large wing backed armchairs to read. She had just reached the end of Lockwood's first visit (1) when she felt another presence in the room, and she glanced around. Abruptly, her roaming gaze stopped as her eyes took in the large, animal like form silhouetted against the open door.

She gave a startled yelp, and stood up quickly, attempting to back away from the monstrous form. However, in her fright, she had forgotten the condition of her ankle, and when she made to back away, it crumpled beneath her, and she fell to the floor, whimpering in pain. Suddenly, large, hairy arms lifted behind her neck and under her knees, and set her back in the large chair. Relinquishing his hold on her, the creature backed away slowly before stopping in the half-light beside the fireplace. The two stared at each other for several moments, taking in each other's appearances. He stood about seven feet tall, and was covered in a thick layer of brown fur. Despite its matted state, Clara was sure that it would be incredibly soft, and her hands felt a curious ache to touch it. His hands and feet were almost human in their appearance, with the exception of course of the inch long claws that curled from his paws. He was wearing a large black tee shirt and a pair of enormous grey sweatpants, presumably, the only clothing items that fit his large body. Her eyes continued to travel upwards to rest on his face. Even more menacing than his size or his claws, he had a short, feline snout with a thick mass of hair running around his neck, reminding Clara of a lion's mane. Small horns adorned the top of his head, but it was his eyes that caught Clara's attention and held it. She had expected them to fit the animal-like appearance of the rest of his body: beady black like a rat, or a cat-like slit. However, they were undeniably and shockingly human in their appearance. Slate-grey and clear as glass, they seemed to bore into her very soul as they stared at each other from across the room. Clara's focus remained locked with his stare for several moments before she wrenched her gaze away, summoning her courage to speak.

"Wha- who are you?" her voice was barely louder than a whisper, and she could barely hear herself. She made to repeat herself, but just as she began to open her mouth, the creature replied, his voice low and hoarse.

"I am the owner of this house. I was…" He started to continue, but then stopped, his head jerking up. A startled, apprehensive look in his eyes flashed briefly before being replaced with an angry light. He snarled,

"You will leave as soon as the storm allows." And with that he turned from her, and stormed out the door. Clara sat in shock for several minutes after he left, unable to think or process anything.

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(1) A point about five to ten minutes into the novel, depending on how fast you read…

They watched as he paced the floor of the attic, the creaks and moans of the old wood growing more pronounced with each circuit. The light from the half closed curtain behind him illuminated the room with a menacing glow, accentuated by the low growls emitted by the Beast. They stood in the doorway, wringing their hands, wracking their brains for ways to help. There is only so much that one can do disembodied and invisible. They had tried to help him, tried to overcome the enchantress' trickery in hiding the house to the rest of the world by forcing him to come out of the attic and rescue the girl. They had been kind her when she woke up, aiding her in her preparation for the day. But they could not offer advice, explanations (or admonitions in the case of the Beast).

At the moment, the Beast was wearing a hole in the floorboards from his angry pacing to and fro across the room. Every so often, he would stop, cocking his head as though deep in thought, before snarling deep in his throat, a thick, menacing sound that would have sent the servants running if they had been human once more. At last summoning their courage, the servants floated across the room—the way a breeze would flow if it had a mind of its own—and attempted to appease their master with a chair, a book, some toast they had brought with them, anything to end his frantic pacing. With a low roar and a sweeping paw that sent the porcelain plate bearing the break smashing against the wall, the Beast out of the room, sweeping further into the recesses of the attic, and shutting the door to the adjoining room behind him. The servants waited there for several moments before throwing their—invisible—hands up in defeat, and turning to leave. Throwing one last look at the slowly wilting rose suspended in its glass dome in the corner of the room, placed on a small table which was the only piece of furniture that remained intact, the servants passed through the door way and into the hall. But just as they floated into the hall, the sight before them stopped them with they hung suspended in the air. Making her way slowly, painstakingly up the long flight of stairs with one crutch under her arm and her other hand grasping the railing to pull herself onward, was the girl.

A/N: So hoped you guys liked it! Sorry for the mini-cliffy, but I can't have you guys running out of interest in my story. =[ the more I think about that, the less I am inclined to write…so review, tell me you love it, hate it, want more, whatever, I'll take anything (and yes, I am begging…)

As to my loyal reviewers, I love you all, and I would spend the next half an hour replying to you messages and shouting your praises to the clouds, but as I am unsure of what I have responded to and what I haven't, and as I am also sure (or at least I hope) you all would rather me post sooner than write a lengthy I 3 U note, I'm just going to post this, and hope you all don't mind. Thanks, and love you lots,

A-N

PS. Oh, and it just occurred to me, my signature, A-N looks a lot like my abbreviation for Author's Note, but its not. A-N is short for Adele Noelle =P anyway, I'm kinda spastic this late at night…