Two figures breathed side by side in a dark, silent room. The first a father, gasping for his final breaths. The second his daughter, gasping through her tears.

"This is all my fault," Belle wept, gripping Papa's limp fingers where she knelt beside his bed. "If only I'd gotten to you sooner…"

If only she'd agreed to Gaston's deal the moment he offered it. If only she hadn't delayed the inevitable in hopes of finding a better way. God above, she was a fool, letting them cart Papa away to catch his death in that terrible place.

"Maybe it's better..." Papa coughed, wet and sharp. "It's better this way…"

"Don't talk like that," Belle said, reaching up and dabbing the blood from his lips with a rag. Everything she'd done… had it all been for nothing? She couldn't keep going without him. He was all she had, the only bit of light left since she'd made her deal with the devil.

"Belle, listen to me. It's all right," Papa said. He tried to hold her hand, but it was barely more than a brushing of fingers. "When I'm gone—"

"N-no…" she sobbed.

"When I'm gone…" he repeated, gripping her hand with all the strength he had left. "Leave him."

Belle's cries grew still, and she looked up.

"Find a way. I know you can," he said in earnest. And then, for the first time in days, he managed a smile. "Go, my Belle. Have your adventure. Find your true love. Live you life."

Belle breathed once, then twice. "But I'm…" She swallowed, and ducked her head. She hidden the worst of it from her father—he'd been burdened so much as it was—but in this moment she couldn't bear the pain alone any longer. "Papa… I'm already ruined."

"No one can ruin you, Belle—" His words were stopped with another fit of coughs, but he only shook his head when she tried to help. "No one," he said again, fiercely. "Do you hear me?"

Tears began pooling in Belle's eyes again. She nodded.

"I couldn't stop him in this," Papa went on. His hand grew limp in hers, so she held it in both her own. "But at least I can die and free you from him now."

Belle didn't argue with him anymore, much as she wished to. Instead she lifted his hand to her face, hoping to feel its warmth one last time.

"I love you, Belle," Papa said. He closed his eyes. "Don't be afraid."

"I love you too, Papa. I'm not afraid," she whispered. She turned to kiss his palm, holding his hand tight as her world died beside her. "And I will escape. I promise."

The tall, dark pines flew past as Belle raced through the forest. "Hurry, Estelle," she panted, urging the young horse faster with a kick of her heels. The beautiful, white-coated mare obeyed, leaning forward and speeding ahead into the growing darkness.

Estelle was a gift from her husband, just one more way to show off his wealth and his young wife as they rode through the village. Still, she was a good horse, loyal to her mistress and with a gentler temperament than his other animals. And with Philippe gone, Estelle was all she had. Papa had been too sick to care for the young work horse at the end, and Gaston had refused to take on such an inelegant beast of burden in his stables. At least, that's what he'd claimed; Belle suspected it was because Philippe tried to bite Gaston anytime he came close. So Philippe been sold, another of Belle's loved ones lost to her forever.

Though now, in a way, she was grateful—for as loyal as Philippe had been, he could not run like Estelle. And whatever horse she took in her escape would have to be sold once she made it to Paris.

Belle's heart leapt at the thought. Paris. She'd been born there, a lifetime ago, and finally she would return. It was the only place she could imagine where she could truly vanish from Gaston forever. She would change her name—she hated it anyway—cut her hair, perhaps work as a maid or a washerwoman or a seamstress if she could. And if worse came to worse, she could always join a convent. Anything was better than staying here.

A sound cut into her imaginings. One sharp bark, and then another, eager and excited. Belle whipped her head around, and watched as two large, grey hounds hunted them from behind. She cursed, digging her heels harder into Estelle's sides. "Faster!" she shouted. The mare obeyed, but it was too late, for the dogs had already reached them. They snapped lightly at Estelle's heels, slowing her to a trot as two riders drew up on either side.

Belle gripped the reigns tight, the leather digging into her trembling hands. He had caught her… again.

Estelle had stopped now, snorting and backing away nervously from the dogs. Gaston was to his feet in an instant, reaching for her reigns with a sour expression on his face. Belle yanked them away from him, trying desperately to urge the horse forward again. But he only grabbed her wrist and tugged her out of the saddle. And so Belle leaned forward and—remembering Philippe—bit him hard.

Gaston yelled. She kicked him in the shins. Finally his grip loosened, and she bolted towards the trees. But he was on her again in a moment, wrestling her to the ground.

"You know, at first this was kind of cute," he huffed, pinning her arms to her sides. "But it's time to stop fighting me."

"No," Belle snarled, staring up at him in fury. "I won't stop. For every minute of the rest of my life I will fight. I will never stop trying to get away from you!"

Behind them, LeFou sat atop a borrowed horse and stared uncomfortably into his lap. But Gaston didn't seem to care. He only glared down at Belle as she struggled again, holding her so tight she could barely budge. "In that case, I must break you," he said quietly. He glanced over his shoulder at Estelle, who looked away from him in fear. Then he stared back down at his wife, and grinned. "My little mare. So wild and free…"

Belle spit in his face. "You'll never break me."

He grunted, but his smile only grew. "I did always like a challenge, you know. LeFou!"

The man started, looking up from his lap. "Y-yes?"

Gaston dragged Belle to her feet, then looked up towards the sky. The sun had nearly set now, wisps of the moon beginning to appear in the eastern sky. "Escort Belle back to the house, and keep an eye on her. I'm heading out."

"Yes," Lefou said, nodding quickly. "Right away, Gaston."

The ride back was quiet, and slow. Lefou kept his eyes straight ahead, the right side of his lip a violent red where he'd been chewing on it for the last half hour. He was christened Leroy Fouch, an unfortunate name that made an easy joke—one that had yet to die since their childhood playmates invented it.

Belle eyed him as their horses walked quietly between the trees. And then she pulled on Estelle's reigns, and stopped.

Lefou noticed a few paces ahead, pulling his own horse to a stop and turning back. "Belle, what are you—?"

"Leroy," she said, and sucked in a breath. "You have to help me."

He swallowed, but for a long moment he actually seemed to consider it. But then he glanced over her shoulder and into those dark, silent woods. "I… I can't," he whispered, and looked back at her. His eyes were trembling. "You're not the only one afraid of him."

"That's not the same. You're not married to him."

Lefou's eyes grew wide at that, and he flushed. The response confused Belle, but before she could puzzle it out he was shaking his head. "He… he wasn't always like this," he said quietly.

Belle could hardly imagine that. "Well, he's like this now," she replied, feeling herself growing frustrated with the spinelessness before her. "Do you have any idea what he does to me? Or would you like me to spell it out for you?"

Lefou's expression grew pained. He couldn't even meet her eyes. "Belle, I'm sorry. I really am. I just don't… I don't know what I can do."

"I just need more time to get away," she asked. Begged, really, for it had come to that. She'd been caught trying to flee a half dozen times now, and it was becoming abundantly clear that she couldn't do this alone. "I'll handle the rest myself. Please, Leroy."

He looked up slowly. "You know… you're the only one who still calls me that." He bit his lip again, and this time a spot of blood began to pool there. Finally, he sighed. "Shit. Okay, look," he said. "He's gonna be gone for two nights this time. The skies are clear, and he wants to take advantage of the full moon for the hunt."

Two nights. Two full days to get away from him. Belle's heart raced as she stared back towards the trees, and if Lefou didn't have the faster horse she'd have taken off that very moment.

"I won't stop you," she heard him say. She looked back, and for the first time since she'd known him he wasn't trembling with nerves. For the first time, Leroy Fouch held himself tall. "He'll be back Friday," he went on. "I'll keep to the nearby woods that morning, tell him you only barely ran off. He'll think you close by, and it will throw off his search."

Belle could have cried. Instead she reached over between the horses and grasped his arm. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you so much."

He just shrugged, and looked away again. And so before he could change his mind, Belle gave a sharp hiyah! and sent Estelle galloping back into the darkness.

She rode through the outskirts of the woods to avoid the hunter within, but far enough from town that no one would spot her. She trusted no one but Lefou, and him only barely.

Only when Estelle began to stumble and her own eyes refused to stay open did Belle stop. They'd ridden through the night and the following day, passing three villages and endless acres of golden wheat. She was too nervous to go into public, and too exhausted to search for a room regardless, so she tied Estelle to a tree in a dense grove and fell asleep in the grass.

At dawn, a gun fired.

Belle was startled awake at the sound, and beside her Estelle cried out in agony. The horse stumbled once, twice, and Belle barely managed to roll out of the way before she fell to the earth.

"Poor Estelle," came a voice. "It seems she's been injured on your journey."

Belle's heart flew into her throat, and she looked up. Gaston stood before them, watching the mare shudder in pain and holding a smoking pistol in his hand.

Belle looked back at Estelle, neighing desperately while her front leg bled heavily in the grass. The sight of it numbed Belle's despair at being caught and replaced it with a nauseating horror. "How could you?" she cried, shaking her head as he eyes filled with tears. "You've as good as killed her!"

"Indeed," Gaston said, reloading the gun. "She will need to be put down."

Belle's eyes grew wide. "No," she gasped, stretching her arms across Estelle's shuddering form. "Wait, please, wait—!"

He aimed for the head this time, and fired again. Estelle went still.

"It's a shame, really," he said, blowing the smoke from the end of the barrel before tucking it back into his belt. "Though perhaps it's best you don't have a beast after all."

"It wasn't her fault," Belle wept, running her fingers through Estelle's coat. "She did nothing but obey…"

"Yes," Gaston agreed, dragging Belle to her feet and glaring at her with his icy cold gaze. "A lesson you would do well to learn."

Gaston didn't have his own horse, but rented a large horse-drawn wagon in the closest town and nearly rode the creatures to their own deaths on the journey back. Belle could do little else besides weep for the duration of it.

As they neared their village, however, her tears finally dried and she dared to speak again. "I don't understand… how did you find me?" she asked weakly, exhausted and weary.

Gaston only smirked, and sent a whip cracking over the team. As they turned onto the main road of town, Belle supposed he'd simply tracked her using whatever unreal ability he used to hunt down all his prey. He wasn't famous for miles around for nothing. Still, even then he would need some kind of hint about which way she'd gone, and when.

The ache of betrayal washed over her. "He told you."

Gaston grabbed her wrist, jumping out of the seat and pulling her to the ground with him. The team of horses panted hard beside them, dangerously so. "Oh yes, Lefou told me everything," he finally answered, dragging her towards the house. "Though he needed a little… persuasion."

Belle frowned as he opened the door and pulled her inside. "What—?"

But the answer was waiting for her, crumpled in a heap in front of their hearth. The man lay on his side, the arm beneath bent the wrong way, an ankle dark and swollen. His face was a mess of dried blood, beaten to the point where she might not have recognized him had it not been suggested a moment before. In terror, Belle recalled Estelle's lifeless form—but then the man took a breath, long and ragged. So he was still alive, if just barely.

Belle had cried out at the sight, but when she tried to go to him Gaston held her back. And so all she could do was stare at the form in the shadows. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Leroy, I…"

But she couldn't say another word, too great was her shame. This was all her fault. How could she have been so foolish? How could she have been so selfish?

Gaston's heavy hands moved to her shoulders, and he leaned down close from behind. "The townsfolk need you, Belle," he said in her ear. "You see, when you leave… they're hurt."

And in instant, Belle felt cold as ice.

"Mounsier Fournier, is it? And his wife, Marie?" he went on. "Did you know they had a new oven built last week?" He hummed, rubbing his chin. "I do hope it's sound. We certainly wouldn't want a fire breaking out."

Belle was feeling faint now. She forced herself to breathe.

"And little Timmy… he's a clumsy lad. Would be a shame if he fell into the old well just 'cause no one was around to keep an eye on him."

"You wouldn't!" Belle gasped, finally turning around to grasp his shirt with pleading fingers. "Gaston, please, you wouldn't!"

He laughed, and no beast in the world could have sounded more terrible. "Oh Belle, don't you see? What happens to them… that all depends on you."

Belle woke with a gasp. A fire burned beside her, the place she lay warm and soft and safe.

She closed her eyes, breathing out slowly and fighting her trembling hands by grasping them together. The dream had felt so very real because it had been, once; just another memory of her past, as all her nightmares were. She'd been hoping they'd stopped, but it seems she'd only had a temporary respite from them.

You'll hurt him too.

Belle stopped breathing. The voice—it was her own, but younger, from the days when she'd craved adventure and romance and a life beyond these hills. That girl had thought it really all possible, knew it should have been had Belle not failed so miserably to achieve any of her dreams. And so as the years passed that voice had grown cynical and cruel, bitter at all she'd never become.

Belle frowned in the darkness. What do you mean? she asked herself.

You hurt everyone you let close. And he's next.

Belle sucked in a sharp breath, then grimaced at the pain in her side. Adam, he's… he's strong, she tried to reason. And we're far away from them.

And if they find you here? If the villagers see him? You really think he could face a hundred men alone?

Belle's eyes shot open, staring at the dark, cave-like ceiling above her. She imagined the mountainside swarming with villagers, their torches filling the air with hot, blinding smoke. She watched as the little cabin burst into flames, as Adam fought them off until he was overwhelmed, as they crawled over him like ants and thrust their long pitchforks over and over into his heart.

The pounding in Belle's chest was so fierce now she wondered if her own heart wouldn't burst. Oh god, she thought in horror. What have I done?

She rolled over as slowly as she could manage, glancing across the small space. Adam was lying in the dark corner of the room, arched back rising and falling slowly with sleep. Had he carried her to bed? He must have, for she had no memory of lying down, no memory of setting his book so carefully on the blankets beside her head.

But now, as she thought, she did remember something of the night before. A light, appearing in the corner of her vision and growing stronger in the small room until it illuminated the shadowed pages. Adam, standing beside her, the handle of a glowing lantern hanging from a single finger.

"You should sleep," he'd said softly. "The words will not vanish with the darkness."

Belle tore her eyes away from the page. "Oh, I couldn't possibly go to bed now. Lancelot, he's…" She stifled a yawn. "… off to rescue Geneivieve from…" The yawn won, but she refused to give up. "… her kidnapper."

Adam smiled then—or smirked, perhaps—and set the lantern down beside her. He glanced towards the page. "That is a good part," he admitted.

Belle had no memory of the rest of the conversation; perhaps she'd been too tired. Perhaps that's simply where it had ended. She certainly couldn't recall whether Lancelot had been successful in his quest. She smiled, reaching out to touch the book's soft leather binding. How long it had been since she'd felt that, since she'd run her fingers over old inked parchment and lost herself in the worlds they created?

Having fun, were you?

Belle pulled her fingers back as though burned. No… I mean, I was only—

Reading, laughing, sleeping all day as though you hadn't just murdered a man? How dare you.

I didn't… Belle thought, shaking her head. He was—it all happened so fast. I didn't want to kill him!

Didn't you?

Of course not!

Then why were you so relieved when you did?

Belle cowered under the blankets, eyes wide in the darkness. The guilt flooded over her like a wave, the fear battering her to and fro like a terrible storm.

They're coming for you, the voice whispered. And they'll find him too… unless you leave.

Belle lay like that for a time—minutes or hours, she couldn't tell. Every possible consequence of her actions played through her thoughts, and every time it ended with her trapped behind bars in the jailer's wagon while a mob carted Adam's corpse back to the village.

He had been through so much already. She'd seen it in his eyes, heard the pain in his voice as he related a tale that only confirmed it. Was she really so selfish that she would put his life in danger just for a book and a warm bed?

No. She was better than that.

Gritting her teeth, Belle rolled over and rose slowly to her hands and knees. Her side was flaring in pain again, and she had to stop and breathe for several long moments before she could even attempt to stand. In agony she did so, trembling all over and stepping out from the warm blankets.

And still Adam slept. No doubt he was exhausted from what she'd put him through. Holding her side and biting down on her lip, Belle slipped past him and crossed the room. She did so in perfect silence, toes before heels as she tested each floorboard for creaks. It was a skill she'd taught herself many years before, for this wasn't the first time she'd wished a man to remain sleeping.

Reaching the door, she slipped her feet into her boots and retrieved her cloak where it hung on a nail in the wall. Yet when her fingers touched the door's wooden latch she hesitated, glancing back at Adam's form in the darkness. A great sorrow overtook her at the sight, an overwhelming temptation to crawl right back into bed and pretend everything was fine. This small, dusty mountain home—it was the first place she'd felt safe in so long, its owner the first person to care for her in years. And now she was leaving him.

I didn't get to say goodbye. I'll never see him again.

But of course, she couldn't say goodbye. He was too kind, and might not accept the very real danger she was putting him in. And so before she could change her mind, Belle lifted the latch and slipped out the door.

She gasped at the sudden cold. The mountain winds were like icy fingers, crawling beneath each layer of clothing and chilling her to the bone. Her injury suffered the worst, and she grabbed it again as she stumbled down the path. She headed towards the outhouse, then past it into the trees and down the face of the mountain.

Everything was unfamiliar now. Belle brought a hand to her head, unable to think clearly past the aches in her body and the freezing air against her skin. Where will I go? she asked herself. I don't even know where I am.

There's nowhere to go.

And suddenly the trees had parted and she was standing on the edge of a rocky ledge. It dove straight down towards the forest below, an empty, terrifying drop of several hundred feet that hugged the entire mountainside.

Jump.

Belle gasped, and stepped away from the ledge. No, she thought desperately, clinging to the nearest branch. Not again. I—

Do it. What choice do you have? It's either this, or go back and face what you've done. They'll hang you anyway.

Please, Belle begged the voice. I don't want to die… not yet…

Why? You've amounted to nothing. Thirty-five with no children, no home, not even a friend in the world—

Belle's fingers relaxed at that, and she looked back in the direction she'd come. I have Adam, she thought. And for the barest of moments, a bit of warmth seeped into her chest.

Yet the voice only laughed at her, and the feeling drained away. You think he's your friend? it asked.He only feels sorry for you. Do you really think he enjoys babysitting you all day? Or letting you eat through his food? Or sleeping in a corner of the room at night while you enjoy the warmth of his fire? You're already hurting him, just like you hurt everyone.

Belle brought a hand to her mouth, and pressed it there as she began to weep.

Just listen to yourself, the young woman scoffed. You're pathetic. Pathetic, and broken, and utterly worthless.

Belle brought her hand to her head, fingernails digging into her hair. "S-stop," she whispered.

Have you forgotten what Gaston did to you? young Belle went on, her voice growing louder and uglier with each word until it barely sounded like her at all. He used you up, ruined you inside and out. There's nothing left.

Belle gasped for breath, losing her grip on the branch and slipping slowly to the earth. She sat there in the frozen snow, pressing her face into her palms as darkness crept into her heart. Those words felt so real, so true. Was it even right to fight them?

I'm… Not all of me is gone, she thought desperately. I just have to remember who I was before… I just have to find her again…

You'll never find her, the voice said, disinterested and cold. That girl is dead.

Belle let her hands fall back to her lap, then stood slowly. She felt numb, that numbness spreading to the forest around her and dampening every sound. She blinked, and took a step forward, glancing back over the cliff. It was frightening drop, but it would be over quickly, without a jeering crowd or any number of terrible things they could do to her while she awaited her sentence in prison. And this way, they would find her body before they ever found Adam.

Maybe this is the right thing to do, she thought. She slid her foot closer, sending a scattering of pebbles over the edge. Maybe this way, I can't hurt anyone again. She moved closer still, and the wind from the valley flew up her cloak and through her hair. Maybe—

But before she could move any further, something reached out of the darkness and yanked her back.

Belle screamed. They've found me! she thought in terror, pounding her fists against the stranger's chest and kicking at the shadows with all her might. Yet despite her best efforts, the hands held her firmly, and so she cried out harder. They're here! They'll find him! They'll—

"Belle!" called a voice. It was deep, and rough… and warmly familiar. "Belle… it's me."

Belle grew still, realizing the hands which held her were giant and soft. She sucked in a shallow breath. "Adam?"

His grip loosened, though he kept her encased from shoulders to elbows. He exhaled deeply, and Belle felt his warm breath as it parted the freezing air. He stood like that for a time, breathing roughly, holding her in two quaking paws. Belle ducked her head in shame and waited for his rebuke, for him to scold her for trying this again after all he'd done to care for her.

Yet he didn't say a word. Instead, he reached around her shoulders and silently guided her back up the path towards the house. Belle let him, overwhelmed with a guilt she couldn't decide was because she'd almost jumped… or because she'd failed to. It was too much, and soon the trees grew blurry and her tremors returned with such force that she could barely manage to stay standing.

And so she found herself in his arms again, except this was unlike any time before. This time he held her close, intimately so, as though she might vanish in a moment. "You're all right," he whispered, heart thundering madly beneath his chest. He reached even further around her, cradling her head in his paw and pressing his forehead to her hair. "You're all right."

Belle wasn't sure which of them he'd meant those words to comfort. But it didn't matter—they'd comforted her, and she found herself wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face there. It made every terrible thought of the nighttime vanish, if only for a moment.

Only when the wind grew fierce again did Adam look up and continue back to the house, back to the bed of furs and the quiet fire. He helped her sit, set her boots to dry by the fire, pulled the blankets back over her lap. Then, with nothing left to do, he sat beside her and stared into his lap.

Belle felt cold. The blankets were nothing to Adam's embrace, and she found herself wishing for his arms again. Instead she drew her own arms around herself and wondered what on earth she should say.

"Belle."

She looked up, though Adam was still looking at his hands, claws trailing through the furs. "I will not pretend to know what you've been though," he finally said. Then he sucked in a breath, and looked up. "But I have been on the edge of that cliff too."

Belle's eyes grew wide.

He reached for her arm then—much as she had the day before, Belle realized—but drew back at the sight of her yellowing bruises. His eyes fell to her hand then, pale and untouched. And so he reached for it instead, holding it gently between two giant fingers and a thumb.

Belle nearly gasped at the touch. He couldn't have known, could he? That no one had touched her hands in years, that Gaston had seen little use for them besides letting them cook his meals and clean his home and please him in whatever ways he commanded. He certainly never held them like this.

"Things get better," Adam went on. She looked up then, eyes trembling, and he wrapped her hand completely in his own. "It takes time… but they get better, Belle. I promise."

And at that, she burst into tears.

Adam, the poor man, immediately went into a panic, trying desperately to apologize for saying the wrong thing. Belle wanted to explain that the exact opposite was true, but every time she tried to speak she only broke into sobs again.

Are you really crying in front of him again? Ugh, you're so—

Be quiet, Belle thought, so tired of the voice and so very desperate to let everything out. Please, for just a moment… let me be.

Amazingly, it obeyed. And so Belle leaned into Adam's open arms and cried until she could cry no more. It was strange, for in a way it felt so wonderful to do. How long had she been holding this in? How many times had she shed a few tears only to bury the rest inside? It was as though her chest had been filling itself with them for years and years, and now that they were free to spill out she could finally breathe again.

Adam had grown quiet, holding her close until her breathing grew regular and the tension in her limbs seeped away. Eventually, slowly, he pulled back. "I'm so sorry," he said. His expression was pained. "I just thought… God, I didn't mean to make you cry."

Belle shook her head, lifting the corner of her dress to wipe the wet from her face. Adam stood quickly, crossing the room and digging around somewhere in the dark before returning with two bright, clean handkerchiefs. She blew her nose quickly, dried the rest of the tears from her eyes, and finally managed to answer him. "No," she said in earnest. "No, you didn't… you didn't make me cry."

Adam grew very still. He looked back at his hand, which had found hers again, and furrowed his brows. "It must have been so awful… having someone you love turn on you like that."

Belle blinked. "I never loved…" But she trailed off quickly, thinking what a simple, tender assumption he'd made. It left her feeling soft.

"Belle?"

"I owe you an explanation," she said. "Everything you've done and shared with me… I've been unfair to you."

Adam watched her for a moment, and she saw the curiosity in his eyes. "Only if you wish to share it," he said slowly. "But you owe me nothing."

"I do," she insisted. She looked away. "For I've put you in danger."

He grunted, and waved it off. "I doubt that. I'm, er, very difficult to kill. Though..." His voice grew soft again. "If it would help you feel better to explain…?"

"It would," she said, and realized in that moment that she meant it. That not only did she trust him, but that maybe… maybe she had found someone who would really understand.

I have been on the edge of that cliff too.

"Yes, it would help," she said again. Then she frowned. "It's just… I don't know where to start."

Adam squeezed her hand gently, then let it go and rose to his feet once more. He placed two new logs on the fire, turned, and settled back beside her. "The beginning is fine by me."