The Beast crouched on the roof of the tower, feeling the stones quake beneath his palms as his home heaved and trembled below him.
It was over. She—that mystery she—never came. No one did. And now everyone else was dead.
He'd tried so hard to keep them at a distance, for he'd promised himself long ago that he would never let another close to him again. But in the end, it didn't matter. He'd cared for them regardless, and he'd lost them. Just like he knew he would the moment the curse had been cast.
And so he'd held them as they left this world, leaving nothing but the adornments of his former life cold and lifeless in his paws. He'd wept for them, every one, though not one was left alive to hear him.
And then the palace began to tremble, and break, burying the golden and wooden and porcelain corpses before he could move them to safety. He'd barely escaped to the roof without being crushed himself…though now he wondered why he'd bothered.
"Why must they die, and not me?" he asked the cold night air.
It answered with a howl, rain beginning to beat down on him as the castle crumbled into a million pieces below.
"Why?!" he cried, clenching his fists so tight his claws dug into the flesh of his palms. "Answer me!"
Whether he was shouting at the sky, or God, or Fate, he didn't know—whoever it was, they never listened to him anyway. The anger faded at the thought, and he was left empty and cold. Letting his fingers grow limp, he stared into the wet darkness.
"...Why am I always left behind?" he whispered.
The tower only trembled again. Closing his eyes, the Beast stood and waited.
Another jolt beneath him. He fought the urge to crouch, to jump to a safer tower, to flee to the safety of the woods while he still had time. Instead he stood there, squeezing his eyes shut, wishing it would just end already.
It then did, with a fall and one instant of pain as his body crumpled amid the ruins below.
And the next morning, he opened his eyes.
The woman slept through the night. The Beast had set her on the mess of furs that was his bed, spreading his cloak over her before spending a sleepless night beside the fire. So deep and still was her sleep that he repeatedly found himself holding his breath just so he could listen for her own.
It began to snow again as the night grew on, building up to the edges of his single window by the time the sun slipped through its panes. He rose when it did, eating a leg of salted venison for breakfast as the storm finally ceded.
And still she slept, as though she never had before.
The Beast glanced about the space—half cave, half cabin, built into the side of a mountain no man had trespassed in at least the ten years he'd been here. And it looked as much, he realized, embarrassed by the cobwebs and the piles of odds and ends gathered in the corners. He rose at the sight of them, then stopped, not wishing to wake the woman with his movements. So again he sat in the only chair he owned, paws coming together in his lap since they had nothing else to do.
"No…"
He looked up when she spoke, but her eyes were still closed. She moved, for the first time since he'd laid her there, twisting beneath his cloak while her face twitched in distress. "No," she said again, voice muffled with sleep. She whimpered then, body curling into a ball as she brought her arms to shield her face.
The Beast was standing now, unsure what he should do. "Madame?" he said carefully.
"No!" she screamed, eyes still closed as she let forth a stream of terrible sobs.
The Beast moved over quickly then, heart pounding, crouching and reaching out to wake her. He hesitated, however, second guessing whether it was right to touch her. "Madame," he said instead, with greater force than before. "Madame, you must wake."
Her sobs had grown silent, though they still wracked her frame and left tears streaming down her cheeks.
He couldn't… he couldn't watch this any longer. And so he reached out, barely touching the side of her arm. "Madame…"
At his touch she finally woke, gasping and staring across the room as though she still weren't really there. The Beast pulled back quickly, standing and stepping away for fear of frightening her even more than she already was. "Forgive me," he said. "But you…you were in distress, it seemed."
She blinked, looking across the room before staring up at him. "Oh," she said. She closed her eyes, squeezing them shut and bringing a hand up to cover one side of her face. "I'm sorry…"
He shook his head, even though she couldn't see him. He wanted to say something more, but he wasn't sure what.
She spoke first. "You…" she began, looking back up at him for a moment longer before turning towards the sunlit window. "This is real, then?" she whispered.
"Yes."
She sucked in a breath, then struggled to sit up. "I'm not always sure what is real anymore," she said quietly, wiping her tears with the heel of her palm.
"I…can understand that."
They were quiet for a long moment. The Beast felt he should look away, but he couldn't help but stare at her bruised skin and blackened eye. He glanced back at her wedding band, and frowned.
"I have taken your bed," she said suddenly, moving to untangle herself from the furs. As she did so she winced, grabbing her side.
"No, please," the Beast said, anxious that she was even more hurt than he'd realized. Should he have examined her for injury last night? But the thought of how he could have done so… He shook his head. "You should rest," he said, turning and moving to open the hatch that led to his cellar. "You must be hungry." He'd opened the door wide when he stopped, closing it again and moving to the large water basin beside the door. "And thirsty. Sorry. Here," he said, reaching for a ladle and cup—before realizing the latter probably wasn't very clean. He ladled a few scoops of water in an empty pail, cleaning the cup out the best he could and hoping she wasn't watching too carefully.
God, he had no idea what he was doing. Twenty years without seeing human flesh, ten of them without a living soul at all…he'd forgotten his manners entirely.
Yet the woman didn't seem to mind, simply accepting the cup of water when he finally brought it over. She drank it quickly. "Thank you," she said, turning to hand it back to him. She grimaced as she did so, grasping at her side again.
He hesitated for a moment, but felt he must offer. "I have some knowledge of healing," he explained. "A, um, necessity, when living alone." Among other reasons.
She only watched him, not saying a word. Her expression was impossible to read.
He swallowed, but went on. "Your side…" he said dumbly. "I mean, if you have questions, or need me to fetch something…or, um—"
"You may examine it."
He'd been talking to his lap, but looked up when she spoke. She almost smiled, it seemed, though there was no joy in her eyes. "I do not fear you, remember?" she said. "If you were planning to hurt me…"
I would have done so already. He nodded in understanding, wondering at her brave practicality.
"May I have a moment?" she asked.
Beast nodded again, turning and heading quickly out the door. He hurried to his small barn, found some rags and an empty pail, and filled the latter with snow with a single scoop of his paw. Then he returned to the house and paced for several minutes, wondering if she could hear his heart pounding from out here.
Some quarter hour had passed when he knocked on his own door.
"I'm ready," came her voice from the other side. She sounded as nervous as he felt.
The Beast nodded yet again—for what reason, he didn't know—and pushed open the door with the bucket in tow. She lay on her side facing away from him, his cloak pulled up beneath her chin. He moved over, kneeling slowly beside her.
"It seems…I'm afraid it looks worse than I thought," she admitted, glancing back at him. Slowly, she pulled the cloak down, and beneath it her shift had been pulled away far enough to reveal the length of her back. With one arm she had pressed her crumpled dress against her front, holding it tightly in place.
And yet the Beast almost didn't notice these things—for a very large, very dark bruise covered the length of her waist and crept up towards the center of her spine. It hurt just to look at, but he didn't dare let his gaze linger anywhere else at the moment.
"I don't understand," she went on, biting her lip and glancing back once again. "I hardly felt it last night…"
"You were, um… likely in shock," he explained.
"Oh."
I'm likely in shock, he added internally. He gave a measured exhale, begging his stupid male brain to stop thinking about stupid male brain things. "It would help to know what happened," he managed.
She stiffened, pulling her makeshift cover closer to her chest. "I fell off a horse."
He frowned at that, glancing towards her black eye.
She sighed. "Forgive me, I'm used to lying about such things," she admitted. She took a shallow breath then, and her voice grew shaky. "I was…th-thrown. Against a table."
The Beast swallowed. "I understand," he said gently. Except he didn't understand at all. Had he really deserved his fate while the man who had done this ran free in the world?
You were a different kind of evil, a voice inside reminded him. The kind who hurt hundreds without ever laying eyes on them. The kind who killed the people in your care with your failure.
You deserve everything you were given.
"I'm going to touch a few places now," he continued, burying those old thoughts.
"That's fine," she said. She closed her eyes, and bit her lip hard.
He reached out, pressing against a single place near the bruise where her kidney should be. She flinched as he did, and he pulled away. "That hurts?"
"Only a little," she said, shaking her head. "Sorry, I didn't…it wasn't from the pain."
She was afraid, despite her claims. Maybe not of him, specifically… but of this. The thought left a dark feeling in his heart, but also a determination to put her at ease.
"And your stomach…here?" he asked, reaching around carefully to prod her abdomen. "Does that hurt?"
She shook her head. "No."
"And your rib cage…here?"
He'd only barely pressed his finger at a place a few inches higher when she gasped. "Yes…yes, that hurts."
He removed the pressure. "I just need to feel for abnormalities," he said, brushing two large fingers along her lower rib cage. Her skin, even damaged and bruised, was incredibly soft. He pointedly ignored that, assessing the damage quickly before pulling the cloak over her and sitting back on his wolfish heels. "And is breathing painful?" he asked, clearing his throat.
She took in a deep breath, and winced. "Oh. Yes."
"But you don't feel ill?"
She shook her head. "Only tired."
He nodded, humming. "I think your organs are safe, but you have at least a couple broken ribs," he explained. "Maybe more, but I, um…don't want to prod it any more than I have."
She looked back at him, face growing pale. "I can't see a doctor," she said. "Not in the village..."
So that's why she'd let him so close. He understood it now. Waiting for her was a husband so violent that she would let a monstrous stranger touch her over risking a return to her own home. That darkness swelled in his chest once again, but he buried it for later. It wouldn't do any good here. "I've broken a number of ribs myself," he said instead. Actually, he'd broken them all several times over, but he kept that to himself for now. "They are painful, and take time to heal, but usually require nothing more than rest to do so. As long as you don't grow ill over the next few days, you should heal on your own."
She let out a breath, closing her eyes in relief.
"Here," he said, turning and reaching for the bucket. "The snow will numb some of the pain."
She watched as he packed a small handful of it into one rag and tucked it against her side. "I am imposing on you," she said, wrinkles creasing her brow.
"You're not imposing," he insisted. God, no. Not at all.
She fell quiet for a long moment, lying still while he placed a second bundle of cold against the injury. "How long?" she asked at last. "Will it take, I mean. For me to recover."
"A few weeks, I'd guess. Though you should be back on your feet long before that."
"I should not…" she began, looking back towards the bright window while settling deeper into the furs. "I really shouldn't trouble you for so long…"
"You have somewhere to go, then?" he asked.
She bit her lip at that, and lowered her eyes. She shook her head.
"Madame," he said, picking up the empty bucket and rising to his feet. "I'm afraid you leave me no choice. I am keeping you prisoner until you are better."
Her mouth fell open in surprise, then—realizing he was joking—offered one short, delightful laugh at that. And winced.
"Ah," the Beast said, trying not to smile at his success. "Laughing makes it worse, I'm afraid."
She smiled, somewhat painfully, but still—it was a real smile. "Thank you," she whispered, and with another breath sunk further into the blankets.
"You're welcome." He watched her for a moment, then cleared his throat and looked away. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook," he said, moving back towards the cellar. He threw it open, climbing down the ladder to find something for her to eat. Of course, he knew all he would find was a mountain of dried meats and cheese, and he frowned at it all as he scoured the space for something less primeval. Didn't he have anything besides...?
There. "I've got eggs," he called up, tugging the small basket out from behind several large bottles of whisky before climbing back up the way he'd come. "How do you like them? I think I could—"
He stopped talking as soon as he emerged, for across the space she lay fast asleep once again. Setting the basket down, he gingerly closed the cellar door. And then, after a moment of hesitation, he looked back towards where she slept.
Her smile had been real, hadn't it? And that laugh… perhaps she would be all right after all.
Perhaps the reason he was still alive was to make sure of it.
The thought left him with a strange, warm feeling. One he hadn't felt since… well, long before curses and magic had ever entered his life. He moved towards the small window, resting a paw against the wall and staring out over the hills of white-topped pines. Of everywhere he could have been last night, everyone he could have come across… it had to mean something, right?
It means she has terrible luck.
He scowled. The voice was back. The only companion he'd had for a decade, and one he loathed to the core. It was an irritating voice—youthful, arrogant, and utterly condescending.
The voice of the prince he'd once been.
The Beast grit his teeth. I saved her life, he thought back.
And now you're a hero! the prince laughed.
Shut up.
The voice only grew dark, and cold. The hero who failed his whole household.
He clenched his fist. You failed them too.
Failed an entire kingdom, if I recall, the prince went on, ignoring him. And after all that, you still think you're the one to help her?
The Beast paused, glancing back at the woman as she slept. Yes, he told the voice. Because unlike you, I'm actually going to try.