The distance from the breakfast room to the music room was like going from her house to the town square. On the way, they encountered Cogsworth, who appeared cheerful and confident as he saw them coming along.

"Ah! Good morning, milady," he said with a bow. "I trust you had an enjoyable breakfast with the master?"

"Actually, he didn't stay for long," Belle replied. "But the breakfast was wonderful."

Cogsworth's smile faltered. "Oh, I am so glad to hear it. About the breakfast, that is. Ah… I suppose I should check on the master and see what is ailing him – if miss does not require anything further?"

"Go ahead," said Belle, still following after her guiding teapot. "Mrs. Potts is showing me the music room."

"Splendid, splendid," said Cogsworth, offering one final bow before darting off in horror to see what disaster had gone down with the Beast.

The music room was another enormous space, and despite its ornate walls and inlaid floors, it was disconcertingly empty. The instruments played themselves – there were no other musicians. In a time and place where music was a social event, listening to a live orchestra all alone seemed to Belle beyond eerie.

The instruments played a tune by Gluck called Dance of the Blessed Spirits. Belle listened patiently, but rather than cheering her, the activity left her with more time to dwell upon the nightmare she was living. Her thoughts turned to her papa. She worried that he was worried about her – surely he thought she was starving in a freezing prison cell, and not clothed in velvets listening to an enchanted orchestra. Her throat tightened and tears came to her eyes.

Mrs. Potts noticed that Belle was crying. Alarmed, she asked, "Why dearie! What is the matter?"

"Nothing," Belle said automatically. She wondered if she should drag Mrs. Potts into it… but there was nothing she would be able to do. "It's just a sad piece of music," Belle lied, sniffling.

She thought she had cried herself out the night before, but here she was at it again. Mrs. Potts went puttering away to find a handkerchief for the girl.

Belle remained behind, ruminating. Her decision to take her father's place to save him had seemed so natural at the time, when it appeared she was sparing him from a horrible fate; but now she wondered if it had really been the right thing, for his sake. He was back at the house all alone, with those awful villagers who made fun of him… no one to come home to, no one to remind him to eat instead of working on his inventions all the time, no one to read with or have meals with or chat with… she watched tears fall upon her finery and soak into the cloth. Meanwhile, the music played on.

She heard the door squeak open, and expected to hear the plunk-plunk-plunk of Mrs. Potts hopping across the floor towards her. Instead it was a heavy shuffling, with the soft click-click of claws.

Belle looked up, surprised. It was the Beast. And he was holding a large lace handkerchief in his bandaged paw. His big blue eyes were wide and confused.

There were no words said. The musicians continued to play, and the Beast sat down in the chair next to Belle. He wordlessly offered her the handkerchief. Wordlessly, she took it. She dabbed at her nose and tried to pull herself together.

Beast had been crying all morning too, but for a Beast, sobs came out as monstrous roars and growls. He and Belle seemed both in the same boat: unhappy at their situation. He desperately wanted to talk to her but had no idea what to say, and everything he thought of seemed like it would be too stupid to say aloud, and it made him feel even more stupid for having thought about saying something like that.

Beast sat beside her, dumb as a stone, until the music was done. At that point he began: "Umm…" then fell off. A moment later, another false start: "Er…"

Belle looked at him, her eyes red from crying, but the tears beginning to dry.

Beast turned desperately to the musicians. "Play something else."

The orchestra began to play the most ludicrous, unromantic German dance tune. The Beast groaned, sure that they were making fun of him. Still, Belle would have felt ridiculous crying to it. She even managed to crack a smile.

Beast tried to gather courage – but what could one say to a person where every prior conversation between them had consisted of him screaming at her? Screaming at her felt so much easier – but no, he mustn't fall into that again. He needed to fall in love – needed her to fall in love! So… what did in-love-people do in these situations?

Suddenly, Belle stood up, and walked away, out of the room, without a word.

Beast's heart dropped. He could only watch her, helplessly.

Belle stepped into the hallway and was surprised to find Lumiere, Mrs. Potts and Cogsworth all occupied at some trivial task like straightening pictures or watering bouquets, with just an air of being a little too casual. Belle suspected they had been spying or eavesdropping, but she couldn't get too mad as there wasn't much for them to have observed.

"Not enjoying the music, dear?" asked Mrs. Potts.

"I'm not in the mood for music now. Um… Mrs. Potts?"

"Yes?"

"Is there some way I can write a letter to my father? To tell him I'm alright."

Mrs. Potts eyed Cogsworth, as if he might have something to say on the matter. Cogsworth shuddered.

"Oh, no, no. I'm terribly sorry miss, but I'm afraid it's impossible at the moment. No post is delivered here, we would have to arrange a private messenger; and with the snowfall last night I'm afraid even that would be out of the question."

Belle sulked. "But once the snowfall is melted, I could write to him?"

"Er – " Cogsworth tried to think if there might be any complication with that. Fact was, by the time that much snow would melt, everybody's fates would be sealed one way or another. "I'm sure there won't be any problem with it by then," he replied.

Belle brightened somewhat. In the doorway behind her, a towering figure emerged from the now silent music room.

The servants bowed as best they could at his entry – mostly hoping to show Belle how important he was.

Beast, as if reminded by them, paid his courtesy to Belle. Belle in turn dipped in courtesy to him.

Then they stared at one another, with a steadily increasing awkwardness.

The servants who had hands were wringing them.

Silence.

Staring.

Lumiere endeavored to break the ice. "I'm sure that mademoiselle will be pleased to know the bandage she provided to the master has held up well."

Belle glanced down at the Beast's bandaged arm. "Well, good. I'm glad for that. I was worried the bite might require a surgeon."

Beast hesitated before shaking his head in reply. His eyes were wide, like he was afraid.

Out of Belle's eyeline, Lumiere and Cogsworth frantically gestured for their master to keep up the conversation.

"Umm," the Beast scratched the back of his neck uncertainly. "Do you… know anything about surgery?"

Beast could see Cogsworth fall down in a faint and Lumiere crumble with aggravation.

"Not really," said Belle, "but the village doesn't have one at the moment, so we have to attend what we can by ourselves."

"So... have you… surgeried anybody?" asked Beast trying his best to keep the conversation going.

"Just you… um…" Belle suddenly realized. "Say, what is your name?"

Beast was alarmed. "Mm! You don't want to know that."

Belle raised an eyebrow curiously. "I don't?"

"No," said the Beast.

"Why not?" She crossed her arms before her.

Beast frowned, crossing his own arms protectively, almost hugging himself. "It's a geek name," he said, looking away from her. "No one calls me that."

"Do you really think being called 'Beast' is better?" Belle laughed. "Because that's what I have to call you otherwise."

Beast grumbled. Then Belle listened to him blurt out some word that couldn't possibly have been Vercingetorix even though that was exactly what it sounded like.

"'Beast' is better," he said. And now he was too embarrassed to continue. He abruptly darted from her, moving as swiftly as he could while remaining upright on his hind legs, his cape swooshing loudly down the hall.

Left to clean up that mess, Mrs. Potts burst in with her stock suggestion: "Well, how about a nice spot of tea? It will warm you up, what with this cold weather that's come on."

"Well, alright…" said Belle, thinking that this was natural to the life of a prisoner, to be told by others what you'd be doing next.

Mrs. Potts thus led her into the den, where the night before she had tended Beast's wounds as they had worked out the boundaries of their affiliation. Belle took a seat before the fire, avoiding the chair which (she had been informed) had some particular significance to the Beast. Sultan, the little ottoman that behaved like a dog, came yipping in to keep her company.

Soon a tea tray was before her, and riding upon it was her favorite little teacup, Chip.

"Hi!" he said with such joy and enthusiasm at seeing Belle that it was impossible for her not to feel her day was brightened.

"Well, hello there, Chip!" Belle gushed as the little porcelain being leapt into her hands.

"I missed you!" he yelled.

Belle and Mrs. Potts both could scarcely withhold an awwwww at how cute he was.

"Well it's nice to have someone be happy to see me!" Belle replied, smiling.

Belle turned over Chip for his mother to fill with tea. Mrs. Potts noticed an insecurity in Belle's words that she felt needed to be addressed.

"What do you mean by that, dearie? Everybody here is thrilled to have your company!"

Belle laughed. "Well, not the Beast, obviously."

"What makes you say that?" asked Mrs. Potts, pouring forth her tea.

"Well, isn't it obvious?" said Belle. "He can barely stand to be around me. I mean, I can see he's trying to be polite about it, but, he would obviously rather that I wasn't here…"

"That's not true at all!" protested Mrs. Potts.

Chip piped up so excitedly he almost spilled his contents. "He's scared because he thinks you don't like him!"

Belle took Chip into her hands, holding him carefully. "Oh? And what makes you think that?"

"Pierre said he was crying all morning because you think he eats people and that he's too stupid to talk and that he can't even fight off wolves and you hate him," replied Chip.

"Chip!" scolded Mrs. Potts. "Don't gossip!"

"Sorry, mama," he singsonged.

"He thinks I don't like him?" Belle replied with surprise. She thought back to her actions with the Beast since their first meeting yesterday. He hadn't given her much to like, frankly; but as she mulled it over, his thought process started to make sense. When one locks up a criminal, though the criminal might read it as mere act of punishment, the real purpose is to keep him from going out and about making trouble in society. This creature, this Beast, was so accustomed to being ridiculed and rejected that he didn't even like to give his name out for fear it would embarrass him. Belle could suddenly see it: keeping people locked up was for his protection.

Belle had finished most of her tea before she spoke again. "I don't dislike… um. What was his name again?"

"Don't fret yourself about it, dearie," said Mrs. Potts. "He won't appreciate the effort of remembering that name."

"Well… in any case, I don't dislike him. But I can't get to like him if I can't get to know him."

Belle had no idea how greatly her words delighted the hearts of Chip and Mrs. Potts.

"Well!" said Mrs. Potts. "I'm sure he'll be glad to hear it. I'll… see if there's a way to arrange something," she said as if there hadn't been an abundance of such plans already laid. To know that Belle at least was willing made it that much easier.

Belle absently began to pet Sultan, which delighted the creature even if it didn't feel as satisfying to Belle's hands as would petting a real live dog. "But I should probably check on Philippe," she said at last.

"Who's Philippe?" asked Chip, his tone almost worried. "Is that your boyfriend?"

Belle laughed. "No! Philippe is my horse. I rode him pretty hard yesterday – he's the one who had to carry your 'master' back here from the wolf fight – so I wanted to let him rest this morning. Usually I check on him first thing." She then thanked Chip and his mother both for the beverage, but declared she was going outside to attend Philippe.

...

The life of the young Prince-turned-Beast was too routinely odd for him to see oddness to it. That his man-to-man talks came from an English mantleclock and a Belgian (well, Austrian Netherlandish) candelabrum, had been normalized too much to strike him as the least bit ironic. Hence this exchange with him and Cogsworth, as Lumiere gave critique and advice.

"Hello, Master-Beast!" Cogsworth shrieked in a high pitched falsetto meant to impersonate Belle, or some kind of female thing, whom he was roleplaying. "Why, what a lovely day we are having!"

Beast felt like an idiot playing along with this, especially since Cogsworth's approximation wasn't the least bit like Belle. "Um… yes," he grumbled. "I guess."

"Oh-ho, Master-Beast, you are certainly grumpy today!" Cogsworth squealed while flopping his body around in some kind of caricature of "female" movement.

Beast's eyes pivoted pleadingly over to Lumiere, perched across the salon. Lumiere waved him on. "Uhh…" hesitated Beast. "You seem strange yourself, Belle."

Now Cogsworth broke character. "Oh come now, you wouldn't really say that to a woman, would you?"

"Behaving like that," affirmed Beast. "What is this supposed to be?" Beast imitated Cogsworth's hippy floppy gesticulations so well that Lumiere couldn't stop himself from laughing.

Cogsworth folded his arms crossly. "It is roughly how a female might move," he said with his nose in the air.

"If she were having an epileptic seizure," said Lumiere with a smile, and he proceeded to crack a joke that couldn't be repeated in polite company.

"I'm doing the best I can out of mahogany here," Cogsworth answered defensively. Then his eyes lit up. "Though… if you can imitate it that well… you can still dance, can't you?" These last words he said in a tone of delighted amazement.

"Hm?" was the reply Beast made, startled by the suggestion.

"Of course!" Lumiere bounced forward joyously. "You still have an agile body! You can impress her, show her how civilized you are, by dancing with her! Not a word needs to be said!"

Beast looked appalled. "The dancing master turned into a wine cooler! It's been ten years!"

"And I'm sure you haven't forgotten a bit of it, with that sharp mind of yours," said Lumiere encouragingly. "We'll bring Chapeau up here to practice with you. Ah, I can see it now – the eve before your birthday! There'll be a romantic meal, music, dancing, all in a candlelit castle. No woman could resist such charms! All you'll have to do is blurt out those three little words to her, and she'll parrot them right back. Alors, pouf! We're all human again."

"But you forget, Lumiere," said Cogsworth, "she won't agree to a romantic evening of dinner and dancing unless he can ask her to join him, and thus far, he's been unable to withstand her company for more than five minutes without yelling belligerently."

The Beast winced. It was all true. Everything he'd ever said to Belle was the wrong thing.

He instinctively retreated from his companions, going out to the balcony in his state of shame.

The Beast was surprised when he stepped outdoors to find that Belle was literally in his sight. She was down in the yard below, wrapped in her cape, and leading her big Clydesdale horse through the snow. At first Beast thought she might be trying to escape again. Yet, watching her, it was soon apparent she was merely exercising her animal.

Lumiere and Cogsworth caught up to him and perched on the balcony ledge.

Beast watched her, awestruck. It was the first time he had seen her in full daylight. She looked magnificent in the light.

Lumiere seemed attuned to the Beast's thinking. "Oui, monsieur. All this can be yours, if you will only try."

"But what am I supposed to say to her?" said Beast. "The words I say, in front of her, makes me feel… so…" He knew the word but couldn't bear to say it aloud. "I've never felt this way about anyone," was as far as he could manage. He paused, thinking of Belle, thinking of all the good she had done for him already, and all the good she could – no, surely would – do for the members of his household. "I want to do something for her," said Beast. "But what?"

"Well there's the usual things," offered Cogsworth. "Flowers, chocolates, promises you don't intend to keep..."

"Ah, non, non," interrupted Lumiere. "It has to be something very special. Something that sparks her interest – wait a minute!" Lumiere looked over his shoulder at Belle, then motioned the others to come in closer so he could whisper without fear she might overhear them. "What if," he said softly, "we give her the library?"

"The library!" said Cogsworth. "What would a peasant girl want with a library? How could she even read the books?"

Beast retorted, "She wanted to write to her father. That means she can read."

Cogsworth made an accepting groan: he allowed it, strange as it was for a peasant girl.

"But... would she like a library?" asked Beast.

Lumiere smiled and put an arm around Cogsworth. "When I, and my companion here, sought to keep her out of the West Wing, we tried to tempt her with everything else in the castle. The library was the only thing that sparked her interest."

"But she went to the West Wing," said Beast.

"Yes," said Lumiere, "she wouldn't believe that there was nothing in there of interest."

"What did she think was in the West Wing?" asked Beast, genuinely curious.

"Who knows? You can ask her yourself. There's a conversation starter for you. But to the library… what do you think about it? Shall we turn it over to the mademoiselle?"

Beast thought about it. His library. One of the best, if not the best, in all of France. It had brought him much comfort through the lonely years of Beasthood. He'd be giving it all up to a virtual stranger. Yet… "If it would make Belle happy, I'll do it."

"Excellent! Cogsworth, go down and let her know that the master wishes to see her."

Cogsworth was too glad for the excuse to leave. Lumiere meanwhile gave the Beast a look-over, to make what improvements could be made. "Take that bandage off," he instructed.

The Beast cradled his arm resistantly. "What for?"

"You don't want her looking at you and trying to talk surgery again. Take the bandage off. You can see there's no more bloodstains – it's not necessary."

Beast unwrapped the bandage as instructed. To his surprise, the wound didn't look too bad; the marks were concealed under his fur, and they seemed like they were already well mended. Apparently whatever kind of a Beast he was could heal faster than humans. He pulled his sleeve down.

Returning toward the salon, he caught a glimpse of his figure in the glass windows. He smiled. In the shadows, he thought, he looked almost human.

...

Belle was informed by Cogsworth that "the master" wished to see her once she finished caring for her horse. She wondered whether the Beast had actually demanded she come, or if he really had only requested it, as Cogsworth put it; but after her earlier chat with Mrs. Potts and Chip she felt like she should be more charitable to the fellow. Mrs. Potts, Chip, Cogsworth, Lumiere et alli seemed like good enough people (or whatever one wanted to call them) and they all seemed to speak in defense of their master even when they had to acknowledge his flaws. Obviously he wasn't that bad of a guy. He appeared to be more careless than malicious… though perhaps careless wasn't the right word, since if he was getting upset over conceits that she didn't like him, plainly he cared a great deal.

Belle hadn't been told just where to meet the Beast and she spent a while roaming the castle in search of him. At length she discovered him, waiting at the end of a hallway, under a window through which the midday light was shining.

The expression on his face was new to her: he appeared positively giddy.

The Beast did not dare approach his dream girl, and he waited till she came to him. "Belle? There's something that I want to show you," he said in his gentlest tone.

She silently walked forward to see what was in store.

The Beast began to open a door that was at the end of the hall, but stopped abruptly. "But first, you have to close your eyes," he said.

Now she was really suspicious. The Beast had to be plotting some kind of prank. He would probably lead her into a barn so she was standing on a dungheap and have a good laugh at her.

"It's a surprise," he reassured.

That didn't sound better to Belle. Still, it couldn't be worse than the rest of what went on here. She obliged him. Next she knew was the sound of a door opening, and then the Beast seized her hands in his two enormous claws. He began to lead her forward, into the room. It didn't smell like a barn… impatiently, she asked to open her eyes.

"No, no. Not yet." He pulled her a few steps further into the room. "Wait here," he said, before releasing her hands.

She stood, and could hear the flap of a curtain pulled aside, immediately followed by a burst of light coming through her sealed eyelids. Maybe this wasn't a prank. "Now can I open them?"

"Alright. Now."

Belle opened her eyes.

What was before her was like a dream come true. Books. Books as far as the eye could see. The room was larger than her whole cottage with papa. Larger than the whole village square. There were more books in this place than people in her village. There were sliding ladders for reaching all the books, ladders so tall one could fall from them and die. Think of the books that were worth dying for!

"I can't believe it. I've never seen so many books in all my life!" she cried in astonishment.

Beast seemed like he was puzzled for a moment. "You… you like it?"

"It's wonderful!" she said, growing dizzy as she craned her neck to see the vast numbers of volumes.

"Then it's yours!" Beast proclaimed.

Belle was already smiling, and she turned to the Beast to see that he had upon his face a grin as big as her own. "Thank you so much!" she said, taking his paws in her hands.

Twenty-four hours ago she had been suffering through Gaston's impertinent proposal. She'd never thought this would be her existence a day later. She didn't know what to think now.

But she didn't need to think. She now had books that did the thinking for her.

Beast watched happily as Belle began enjoying her new toy, crawling around the ladders looking at where all the books were at. He wasn't sure what to say; but he didn't need to say anything now. Books were full of words.

Though, at last, he did feel the need to let the girl know that when crawling on a forty foot vertical ladder in a dress, everyone below could see up her skirt.

She told him to quit gawking or she'd throw him in a prison cell.

END.