THE Prince could feel the chill of the castle's grand ballroom, hear the echo of his laughter, and see the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows on the ornate walls.
The Enchantress, her presence looming over him like a shadow, her face obscured by a veil of uncertainty, floated before him. Her voice, icy and penetrating, reverberated in his ears as she pronounced the damning words that had changed everything as he had found himself cruelly transported back to the moment that had forever altered his life.
"You, Prince Adam, are cursed, fated to endure an existence as a beast, devoid of both love received and given until the essence of true love is revealed to you. May fortune favor you, Prince, for as I gaze into your heart, I perceive only a void where love should reside. It shall require a soul of exceptional kindness and a heart filled with warmth to embrace a being as unconventional as yourself."
The Enchantress's once-vibrant rose, a symbol of beauty and youth, withered in her grasp, its petals cascading to the ground one by one. Each petal descended like a crimson tear, a poignant reminder of Prince Adam's fading humanity. A deep ache of remorse and desperation welled within him as he attempted to implore the Enchantress, to beg for her mercy. Yet his words remained stifled in his throat, leaving him unable to articulate his plea.
Then, as if a phantom from the past, the image of the Enchantress gradually dissolved into a cold mist, replaced by the spectral presence of a young woman.
She was a vision of beauty, her dark hair elegantly pulled back into a low ponytail, her form gracefully outlined even beneath a simple travel-worn gown and a frayed cape. Her image radiated with an ethereal light, and her dark eyes were brimming with kindness and compassion. She extended her hand towards him, a glimmer of hope amid the darkness.
Prince Adam, struck by the sudden transformation of the apparition before him, reached out hesitantly, his outstretched hand trembling.
As their fingers touched, a sensation of warmth and gentleness coursed through him, like the first rays of sunlight breaking through a long night's darkness. In her presence, he felt an overwhelming rush of emotions he had not experienced in years. A glimmer of hope ignited within his chest, dispelling the heavy fog of despair that had clouded his heart for so long. Her touch, so tender and full of empathy, seemed to mend the frayed threads of his broken soul.
The woman smiled, a radiant expression of understanding and acceptance. But just as she parted her lips as if she meant to speak, however, the young woman's image started to fade, her eyes losing their warmth, her voice turning distant and hollow as the girl called to him.
The Prince awoke in a cold sweat, his heart pounding relentlessly in his chest. Fear took hold of his heart, and it took a few moments for the haze of confusion he found himself in upon waking to dissipate. When he sat up straighter in the chair he had fallen asleep in and looked around, he found himself no longer in the opulent ballroom where he had danced and reveled in his human form. Instead, he found himself in the dark confines of the castle's library, surrounded by towering bookshelves that seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions. The once-welcoming scent of old leather-bound tomes now filled him with a sense of foreboding and uneasiness.
As he struggled to push himself up from the chair, he realized that he was not in his human form but once again found himself trapped in the monstrous Changeling curse, this Beast's body, that had been cursed upon him when the sun went down. His hands, once elegant and dexterous, were now gnarled, clawed paws, and his body was covered in coarse, matted fur.
The mirror on the wall revealed a grotesque creature, the embodiment of his inner cruelty and vanity.
Despair washed over him as he remembered the fleeting vision of the girl with the brown ponytail, the one woman in the entire crowd of people he had wanted to dance with the most.
She had looked at him with kindness and compassion, seeing past his monstrous exterior to the wounded soul within. But now, that image had crumbled away, leaving him utterly alone in his cavernous and lonely library. His gaze fell upon the glass case in the corner of the room.
Inside it, the cursed rose still bloomed, its petals as vibrant as the day the Enchantress had cast her spell. The rose was a constant reminder of the merciless passage of time, the ultimate deadline for breaking the curse. If he couldn't learn to love and earn someone's love in return before the last petal fell, he would remain trapped as a Beast, forever. With a heavy heart, the Beast knew that he had to find a way to break the curse and regain his human form.
The library, filled with countless books and knowledge, seemed like the perfect place to start. But the journey ahead was daunting, and he was not sure if he could ever truly become the man he once was.
The Beast's brows furrowed as he felt the pangs of hunger gnawing at him as he rose from his chair, wincing at the stiffness in his joints, a constant reminder of the curse's cruelty. The Prince was about to bellow for one of his faithful servants, perhaps Mrs. Potts or Lumiere, to fetch him a meal. However, just as he drew in a deep, raspy breath to call out, the delicate sound of footsteps he did not recognize made the Prince freeze and turn toward the doorway.
His oversized ears twitched, trying to discern the source of the approaching sound. The footsteps were soft, almost hesitant, and they seemed to echo through the stone corridors. In the stillness of the library, the noise was amplified, and the Prince strained to hear more.
Then, there was a faint voice, so fragile and ethereal, as if carried on the whisper of a breeze. It was a young woman's voice, and she was softly, timidly, calling for help, sounding on the brink of illness as he could hear the woman's teeth chattering outside the hall.
The Prince's heart quickened, and his monstrous form remained motionless. The voice was ethereal, and its haunting beauty sent shivers down his spine. He couldn't quite make out the words from this distance, but the urgency and vulnerability in her tone spoke volumes.
Silently, he moved, his massive body surprisingly agile for its size, intent on following the sound of this stranger's desperate plea for someone in the castle to come to her aid.
It seemed to lead him away from the familiar safety of the library, deeper into the castle's labyrinth corridors. For reasons he could not explain, a glimmer of hope flickered within him as the Prince's overactive and sensitive imagination conjured images of the woman from the ball in his dream, his expression almost turning wistful. He could only pray it was the same girl.
The Prince followed the enchanting voice, moving silently as a shadow walker through the shadowy corridors, his massive form looming in the darkness. As he continued, his heart was pounding with curiosity and his body was tense and teeming with anticipation.
The voice led him closer and closer until he saw a corner and saw her—a young woman aimlessly wandering the halls. She was alone and shrouded in her own shadow, her steps faltering and unsteady, and all she could do was cling to the bricked walls to try to steady herself, and the Prince was sure it was all the girl could do to keep herself from fainting.
Her frail silhouette swayed as she moved, and it was clear that she was on the brink of illness. Her clothing clung tightly to her body, drenched and sticking to her skin, while her teeth chattered incessantly. From the shadows, the Prince's piercing azure eyes observed her, a blend of curiosity and desire surging through his veins.
As she turned her profile to the side to peer into one of the rooms of which the door was slightly ajar, his heart skipped a beat, and the Prince was stunned to realize that it was her—the beauty from the ball, the one who continued to haunt his dreams every night for the better part of a fortnight and continued to awaken the long-buried warmth within his heart.
Yet, as he looked upon the girl in his corridor with disbelief, a horrible bitterness welled up within him as he remembered the loathsome image of himself in his monstrous form when the sun went down each night.
He couldn't let her see him like this. The desire to protect the young woman from his hideousness was overwhelming.
He remained rooted to his spot and hidden, concealed in the darkness, his breath caught in his throat. His heart ached as he watched her, but he couldn't bear the thought of the girl witnessing the wretched creature he became every night without fail. The conflicting emotions of longing and self-loathing tore at his very being, leaving him paralyzed, yearning for her presence yet denying himself the chance to reveal his true form as this hideous Beast.
The curse had made him a prisoner of his hideousness in the evenings, and he feared that revealing himself might only frighten her. Still, this woman, whoever she was, might very well be his key to undoing his curse, and the Prince could not ignore her plight.
With a quiet, raspy voice, he spoke from the darkness, his tone both cautious and bitter. "It seems, lady, you're in quite the predicament, aren't you? Are you lost?" His words were tinged with a bitter edge, and he couldn't resist the urge to ask, "Pray tell, why have you ventured into my castle?" He cringed as the words left his mouth and realized that his tone was far from sympathetic, as the Prince grappled with the complexities of his own emotions.
The woman turned, startled by the voice that seemed to emanate from deep within the shadows. She strained to see into the darkness, her drenched and matted hair sticking to her pale face.
Her voice trembled with unease as she replied, "I…f-forgive me, monsieur, I-I didn't mean to intrude, I-I was caught in the storm, and your castle was the only shelter I could find." Her voice was shy and held a slight stutter to it, likely due to her growing nervousness.
The Prince watched her closely, his sharp eyes studying the young woman's every movement.
His bitterness waned somewhat as he heard her trembling words. It was clear this woman posed no threat, but his hideous form still held him captive. He longed to step forth from the shadows and reveal himself, to speak to her of his dreams, but fear held him back.
"You should not have come here, lady," he grumbled, his voice softer now, the bitterness in his tone yielding to a touch of remorse. "This castle is no refuge. It's a place of darkness and despair. I recommend you leave and seek shelter elsewhere."
The woman shivered from the cold and fear, and despite the abruptness of his words, the Prince felt an unusual, unsettling pressure in his chest. It sent an unfamiliar warmth radiating throughout his body. It was a peculiar sensation, one he had never experienced before.
The woman, her voice quivering with cold and uncertainty, took a step closer, beginning to nervously wring her hands in front of herself.
"I-I had nowhere else to go," she whispered in a shaky, meek voice. "Please, sir, can you help me? I won't be of any trouble. The storm outside is relentless, and I fear I won't survive if I'm left out there. Just until the storm passes, you've my word I won't intrude further."
The Prince hesitated, his inner turmoil evident in his eyes. Every fiber of his being wanted to dismiss her, to keep her safe from the abomination he had become, but her plea tugged at something he had long suppressed—a frustrated desire and compassion.
With a reluctant sigh, he finally relented. "Very well, lady, you may stay for now," he conceded, his voice still gruff but carrying a hint of reluctant sympathy. "But you will stay in this chamber here, just to your right, and do not wander or even dare to leave the room. Come the morning, however, you will leave this castle and not return. Wait here, I shall find you some dry clothes."
The woman nodded, gratitude in her eyes. He could tell by her expression that she was intelligent. She seemed to recognize that she was at the mercy of a mysterious host, and though it was clear she didn't fully understand the complex emotions churning within him, she was thankful for the temporary refuge he had offered.
With a sense of relief, the woman nodded her agreement and replied, "Thank you, kind sir. I am truly grateful for your generosity." She felt a mixture of trepidation and curiosity about her enigmatic host, but the warmth of shelter from the truly brutal storm waging war on the world outside was a comfort she couldn't deny.
As the Prince turned on his heels and blended into the shadows, he headed towards the spare chamber in the East Wing to fetch dry clothes for his mysterious guest.
He couldn't help but feel conflicted. Allowing her to stay until morning had awakened emotions he had long repressed. A glimmer of hope had begun to take root within him, hope that this woman, now a guest in his wretched and accursed castle, might hold the potential to break the spell and free him from his monstrous form.
While the storm raged on outside, the unexpected surge of hope swelled in the Prince's heart, and he dared to dream of a future where he might finally be free. Continuing through the darkened corridors of the East Wing in search of clothing for the young woman, he stumbled upon his three Heads of House.
Lumiere, the head maître d, who at night transformed into a charismatic candelabra; Mrs. Potts, who had become a teapot to match her maternal nature; and Cogsworth, now a meticulous clock who, during the day, oversaw the castle's financial affairs.
They were huddled together, their faces a mix of concern and relief.
"Your Highness, we were worried about you, master," Lumiere exclaimed as he was the first of the three servants to speak as his candle flames flickered with excitement. "We heard voices and were concerned for your safety, is everything well?" Lumiere questioned, concerned.
The Prince, still concealed in the shadows, offered Lumiere a curt nod and informed them in a low, gravelly voice, "There's a young woman in the castle. She's taking refuge from the storm outside, and I've permitted her to stay until morning, and then the girl will leave this place."
Mrs. Potts clattered her porcelain lid, her teapot form shaking with both worry and curiosity. "Oh, Your Highness, it's so…unusual to witness such an act of kindness from you. Could this girl be the one we've all been waiting for?" she asked softly.
Cogsworth, always cautious, awkwardly cleared his throat and voiced his concerns, answering before the Prince could speak. "We should proceed with caution, master. We don't know her intentions."
The Prince released a frustrated breath, torn by his inner turmoil. For a fleeting moment, he contemplated sharing the fact that their unexpected guest had appeared in his dreams for the past fortnight, but he chose to keep this revelation to himself. Instead, he addressed his loyal servants.
"I am aware, Cogsworth, but there's something about her... something I can't explain," he admitted, though the specifics remained a secret. "We must exercise caution."
When his three devoted servants nodded in agreement, Mrs. Potts, driven by her maternal and caring nature, hurriedly departed to retrieve dry clothes for the young woman from the spare bedroom in the East Wing. Her porcelain form clinked softly with each step.
The Prince turned to Lumiere and Cogsworth, a sense of urgency in his voice.
"We cannot allow ourselves to be seen in our cursed forms. Her presence here is unexpected, and we must be discreet. Is that understood?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
Lumiere and Cogsworth nodded in unison, their flickering candle flames and clock hands mirroring their agreement. "Understood, Your Highness," Lumiere responded, his voice steady and full of determination. "We shall remain in the shadows, guarding her from a distance."
Cogsworth, the meticulous clock, added with a touch of his usual cautiousness, "We shall be as discreet as the ticking of time, Your Highness, and make certain our cursed appearances remain hidden."
The Prince exhaled with a mix of relief and apprehension, grateful for their unwavering loyalty. He couldn't deny the strange pull this woman held on his heart, and he knew that his decision to allow her into the castle had set a potentially life-altering course in motion.
As they waited for Mrs. Potts to return with dry clothes, the Prince and his loyal servants remained hidden, shrouded in the castle's shadows, their fates intertwined with the hope that this mysterious guest might hold the key to ending their enduring curse. As the minutes passed, the castle's interior remained hushed, save for the ever-present howling of the storm outside. The Prince and his loyal servants, concealed within the shadows, were left with their thoughts and an air of anticipation that seemed to thicken with every passing moment.
Finally, the soft clinking of porcelain announced Mrs. Potts' return. She carefully held a bundle of dry clothes and placed them gently before the Prince, laying the wrapped bundle at his feet.
"Here you are, sir," she said with a gentle smile, her maternal warmth shining through even in her porcelain form. Mrs. Potts wordlessly communicated her intention for him to deliver them to the young woman.
The Prince, conflicted yet resolute, accepted the clothes from Mrs. Potts and nodded in gratitude. He stepped out of the shadows and moved towards the girl, holding the dry clothes in his gnarled clawed paws, still hidden from her view. The possibility of redemption now loomed on the horizon, shrouded in the enigma of the stormy night.
The Prince carefully carried the bundle of dry clothes in his gnarled paws as he made his way down the corridor and into the chamber where he had left the young woman. He remained concealed within the dimly lit room, ensuring his monstrous form remained hidden.
As he approached, he noticed that her back was turned to him. He cleared his throat before speaking in a gruff voice, "Here, you should change into these. They'll keep you warm and dry."
The young woman, shivering from the cold and hugging herself in a futile effort to stay warm, accepted the offered clothes with a grateful smile.
"Thank you," she replied, her voice quavering yet sincere. "You've shown me great kindness, sir, despite being a stranger. I'm truly thankful for your hospitality and hope to find a way to repay your generosity."
The Prince acknowledged her gratitude with a nod, though his heart remained in turmoil, hope wrestling with fear, an internal battle he despised.
"I had my reasons," he replied cryptically, his monstrous form still concealed. "Please change quickly and stay within this room until the storm has passed. It's not safe to wander the castle at night," he warned in a gruff tone.
As the young woman began to change into the dry clothes, the Prince watched her, still concealed in the shadows. The possibility of redemption hung in the air, and he couldn't help but wonder if this enigmatic guest held the key to breaking the curse that had haunted him for so long. While the young woman changed clothes, the Prince maintained his distance, keeping his back turned to afford her privacy. A feeling of vulnerability and tension hung in the air between them. Once she was dressed in the warm attire, she turned to him and spoke softly.
"Thank you, sir," she said once more, her voice tender and genuine. "I can't express how grateful I am for your kindness. I don't know what I would have done without your help."
As the Prince turned around to fully face her, still content to observe the woman from his dreams in the shadows, a sense of anticipation mingled with the bitterness that still lingered in his heart as he flicked his gaze to hers. To his surprise, he noticed her crinkle her nose in disgust and pull a face of revulsion as she tugged on the hem of the sleeves of the black dress and red vest that Mrs. Potts had graciously fetched for her. An unwelcome feeling welled up within him, and he thought the young woman ungrateful for her reaction.
After a moment of silence, he couldn't help but comment in a tone that was tinged with resentment, "I see you are not pleased with the attire we provided for you, lady. Perhaps you'd prefer to remain drenched in the rain, then?"
The young woman, still embarrassed and flustered from their previous encounter, quickly gathered her composure and turned to face the Prince. She could not see much of him from the shadows, but she could see his eyes, wintry blue, suspicious, and devoid of warmth.
A chill ripped through her and as she spoke, her voice was measured, despite the lingering discomfort.
"It's—it's not that, monsieur," she replied, her voice quivering slightly. "I appreciate the dry clothes, truly. I would have caught a chill otherwise. It's just…the colors of this outfit remind me of someone I'd very much like to forget. It's a painful reminder, sir, that's all, nothing more." She lowered her head in reverence towards her host.
The Prince, who had never been one for empathy, tried to conceal his frustration. He was used to people bowing to his every whim, not questioning his choice or attire.
"I see," he said curtly. "Well, I am sorry, mademoiselle if the colors offend you, but it is the best I can give you on such short notice."
As he continued to speak, the Prince noticed Mrs. Potts lingering in the shadows by the chamber's entrance. She held a tray with a steaming cup of tea and a plate of fresh cookies. Silently, she placed the tray on a small wooden table near the door, miraculously avoiding the Prince's direct gaze. She tried to offer the young woman an understanding smile, though she remained hidden in the dimly lit corridor.
"Here, dear, have some tea and a snack," Mrs. Potts said, her voice gentle and comforting. "It might help you feel more comfortable. My name is Mrs. Potts, dearie. Please don't hesitate to ring the call bell on the table just here should you need anything during the night; one of us will answer."
The young woman nodded, her curiosity piqued by the servant's preference for staying in the shadows, much like the master of the castle.
However, she pushed that thought aside and focused on the present. Grateful for Mrs. Potts' kindness, she accepted the tea and took a calming sip before nibbling on one of the cookies from the plate.
The Prince, still harboring some resentment but not entirely without empathy, realized that a different approach was necessary to ease the girl's unease.
He was beginning to understand that this was a unique situation, and he needed to make some concessions if he hoped to foster any kind of understanding or cooperation between them.
"I apologize if I came across as harsh," he said, softening his tone. "We don't get many visitors here, and my manners are a bit rusty. I'm not accustomed to having company. If you'd prefer, you can keep your distance from me during your stay. I won't take offense."
The girl, slightly taken aback by his unexpected apology, managed a small smile. "Thank you, Your Highness. I appreciate your understanding. I promise to stay out of your way as much as possible."
With that, the tension in the room seemed to ease a bit. The Prince, though still haunted by the bitterness in his heart, felt a glimmer of curiosity about this girl and the pain she carried.
As they sat in an uncomfortable silence, both were left with the sense that this unexpected encounter might lead to something more profound than they could have imagined.
As the conversation between the Prince and the young woman continued, they were interrupted once again by the sound of the old man's voice, echoing from the lower levels of the castle. The girl's eyes widened in recognition, and her expression shifted from curiosity to panic. She hastily rose from her seat, nearly knocking over the teacup in her haste.
"That's my father," she exclaimed, her voice filled with concern. "I have to go to him." Without waiting for a response from the Prince, she rushed out of the room, leaving him staring after her in a mixture of frustration and bewilderment. He hadn't expected this turn of events and found himself growing increasingly agitated at the unexpected disruptions to his solitary life.
Her name still unknown to the Prince, Belle quickly descended the grand staircase of the castle, her heart pounding with worry for her father.
She knew that his arrival in this strange place couldn't be a mere coincidence. As she reached the lower level, she found her father in a dimly lit corridor, looking disoriented and bewildered.
"Oh, Papa, what are you doing here?" she asked, rushing to his side.
He turned to her, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. "Belle, is that you? Where are we, my dear? I can't remember how we got here."
Belle hugged her father tightly, feeling a mix of relief and concern. "I don't know, Papa, but we'll figure this out together. We'll find a way back home."
Back in the room above, the Prince remained alone, his frustration growing.
He had been intrigued by the young woman's presence, despite his initial resentment and suspicions of her presence, and now she was gone, leaving him with his loneliness once more.
He couldn't deny that her departure had stirred something within him, a curiosity about her and her world that he hadn't felt in a long time.
As he stood there, watching the door through which she had disappeared, a sense of anticipation mingled with the bitterness that still lingered in his heart.
The Prince paced restlessly in his grand chamber, his irritation ebbing away, replaced by a sense of longing he couldn't quite explain. He found himself drawn to the door through which the mysterious girl had vanished. The silence of the castle weighed on him, and he began to feel the hollowness of his existence more acutely.
The Prince's anger at the interruption had given way to a profound sense of unease. He felt a strange connection with the girl, one that defied explanation.
His steps grew resolute as he made his way towards the door and followed the path she had taken, his steps echoing softly in the empty corridor.
As he quietly followed the girl, the Prince couldn't help but focus on his colossal hands, his mind filled with the image of her face. Her eyes, a rich shade of chocolate, held his attention as he yearned for her gaze to be fixed upon him. However, doubts crept in.
Was she perhaps looking at another man, someone who had claimed her heart?
A surge of anger boiled within him at the thought, and an involuntary growl escaped his lips.
Realizing he needed to divert his thoughts, the Prince resolved to assign Lumiere a crucial task. He needed to learn more about this enigmatic girl – her identity, how she spent her time during her stay in his castle, and the reason her father had trespassed into his domain.
He craved assurance that she would be his, no matter what until the curse that hung over him was broken.