She watches the snow falling against her window from her bed, lying on her stomach, mesmerized by the powdery flakes against the pane of stained glass, muted now since it is night, but still beautiful. Tomorrow she can go out and take in the sight of the snow on the hilltops and in the fir branches. Normally a perfect night to fall asleep, but sleep won't come. She wraps a shawl around her shoulders and slides into her slippers.
It's the perfect house to pretend to haunt, she thinks, creeping down the corridor. About seven other books await her in the library, histories, mostly, she'd seen, histories of foreign lands that sounded so exciting. It hadn't been her fault she'd picked up something that turned out to be..something not meant for a lady's eyes, that was for sure. The illustrations hadn't been that good, or proportional, she thinks, but they conveyed the meaning all too clearly.
Prancing down the main staircase, she turns towards the dining room where the gargantuan arched windows are. A pity they're covered by the curtains. How lovely it would be to watch the snow and the moonlight through them.
Glass shattering followed by a curse of frustration breaks her reverie. Tiptoeing to the back of the house, she holds her breath. She's not allowed to clean back here, the workshop/office area where those brave enough to seek him out and strong enough to scale the mountains end up. There's no door, no need. The threshold is protected by magic, allowing only him entrance.
And yet she gazes in, like an idiot, she thinks. Goodbye, world.
He looms over a vat, his weight on his hands, staring down into it with a violence that could boil the contents. Smoke shoots out every few seconds with a whistling sound, and Belle credits herself for not gasping in surprise. He spins and throws a bottle into the vat. More smoke answers him, a steamier, bluish vapor. Looking ready to ram his head into the wall, he steps away from the vat, hands on his hips, and heaves. Suddenly, he dashes back to it and curses at it, striking the brim with his hand until tears run down his face.
Belle sneaks back through the dining room and up the stairs, not making a sound until she has closed her door behind her. She crawls into bed and throws the covers over herself, resigned to watch the snow huddled up and alone.