A/N - Guys! I'm... ALIVE! hahaha not sorry
But seriously, thank you for your patience. I've had a lot going on, but haven't given up on this yet. Also I really suck at responding to comments, but they do mean a lot to me and every time I get one I work on the next chapter a little more :) xoxo
"Are you sure about this?"
"Oh yes," Belle said. She stood on the edge of a narrow river, clear water feeding into an eddy churning quietly against the bank. She breathed in the crisp air, then turned back to where Adam stood in the snow. "It isn't the first time I've taken a winter dip."
"But the mountain water…" He frowned deeply, eyeing the small river as though it were the Nile itself. "I'm telling you, it's incredibly cold."
"If I wait any longer, I'll scare off every living creature in this forest with my stench." Belle untied her cloak and hung it on a nearby branch. "Besides, I'm tougher than I look."
He sighed. "I know." Then he blinked, and looked up at her with wide eyes. "I-I mean, that you're— not that you stink! You don't."
Belle smirked, and took the clean towels and clothes he held in his arms. He didn't seem to notice, however, glaring at the river once again.
Belle glanced that way, then back at him with a raised brow. "Um…"
"Hang on." He turned around, scanning the thinly-spread trees for several long moments. At last he stepped towards them, picking out a large, fallen truck and prying it loose of the ice and moss with a single tug. Then he returned, prize in tow, and with a giant splash it landed in the water, one end resting on the opposite bank and the other in the muddy snow on their own. Adam adjusted it once, twice, then finally stood and rested his hands on his hips. "Just so you have something to hold onto," he explained. "The rocks on the bottom are slippery."
Had Belle been her younger, prouder self, she might have told him she was perfectly capable of taking a bath without killing herself. The thought made her pause, however, and she flushed. She hadn't exactly given him much confidence in that, had she? "Thank you," she said instead, the shame leaving her hot despite the cold mountain wind.
"Sure." He brought a paw to the back of his neck. "I'll just, um… I'll go now." He turned, heading back the way they'd come. Then he paused, and looked back. "I'll stay outside, near the house. Just— just shout, if you need anything." Then, sucking in a breath, he ducked his head and disappeared between the trees.
She'd really worried him. Of course she had. The heat persisted, seeping into her gut and leaving her nauseous. Belle glanced back at the freezing water, suddenly a very welcoming sight.
She undressed quickly, and took a quick assessment of her injuries. They were healing well, it seemed, more yellow than blue now and less tender to the touch. She couldn't wait for them to be gone— less for the freedom from pain than the freedom from their memory.
Banishing the thought, she picked up the bar of soap tucked between the towels and stepped into the freezing water. As a girl, Belle would have abandoned all caution and leapt straight in; she could almost see that child now, running atop the old log and diving into the churning water, shrieking with glee as she emerged. Belle smiled a little at the thought, resting a hand on the tree and walking carefully into the calmest part instead. Once the water reached her waist, she gripped the tree with both hands, sucked in a breath, and pulled herself beneath the surface.
She came up quickly, resisting the urge to holler at the cold. She'd rather not have Adam rushing back only to find her soaked and naked in the middle of the clear water. She flushed again, though for a very different reason from before.
Shaking her head, Belle got to work. She washed her hair twice, then her body three times over before she was satisfied. Finally, she submerged herself once more and let the flowing water wash every last bit of filth away.
Every last bit of Gaston away.
She stayed beneath the water until her lungs ached, until she no longer felt the cold or anything at all—then finally rose back into the bright air. Now that her body had acclimated to the water, Belle realized she had no desire to leave it. So, rolling onto her back, she floated in the gentle eddy and stared up at the sky. It was a crystal blue, and with her ears half submerged all sounds of the forest were muffled and still. A few birds flitted between the trees, the branches bouncing gently in the mountain winds.
That wind brushed over the water, and she filled her lungs with it. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so alive.
It only been a week since the darkness had pulled her to the cliff, one week that Adam had shared the space beside her. She'd already grown used to him there, to his long deep breaths that rumbled the floor beneath them and the way his fingers flexed against hers as he dreamt…
That was something she didn't fully understand. The way their hands found one another each night, and how this was never spoken of during the day. In fact, Belle had woken each morning to an empty bed and Adam outside chopping firewood, or tending to Bonne, or simply sitting in his chair and staring out the small window with a frown. Simply an early riser, perhaps.
Still… she wondered.
Obviously, it was a peculiar situation. This place, her history… his curse. But she knew one thing— that a beautiful form mattered very little to her. After all, she'd been wed to the most handsome man in town, and he'd made her life unbearable. And her own beauty had been the cause of it all. No, beauty was nothing but a lie.
She looked back up at the trees, the birds, the gentle clouds in the sky… and frowned.
All of this— it's a lie too.
The voice had been silent since the night on the cliff, and Belle groaned at its return.
You think this will last? it asked. You really think he wants you here, bothering him, intruding on his peace?
This again. The voice was persistent, but not very creative. He cares about me, Belle thought back. He listens to me. She smiled, watching a cloud float by that had an uncanny resemblance to a large, clawed hand. And he's so kind, and gentle...
And you're desperate. Really, you off your husband and just leap at the next male that talks to you?
I'm not… I don't even know if… Belle stopped, scowling. She didn't want to think about this anymore. And so she rolled over and swam back the short distance to shore. She dried off quickly, shivering at the now-unwelcome breeze, and reached for the pile of clean clothes. Adam had left her one of his shirts— threadbare and stiff, but clean, falling to her ankles when she put it on. There was also a robe, less worn than the shirt, which was— well, to call it enormous was almost sinfully understated. Still, a head of wet hair had left her very cold, and the shirt alone was quite indecent, so Belle bunched up the robe about her waist and wrapped it around herself nearly three times over before securing the sash with a large bow. Then she slipped her bare feet into her boots and turned to her old clothes, washing them in the river as she had herself before hanging them over the nearest branch to dry.
Then she tromped back to the house, and— despite the heavy, borrowed clothes, despite the nagging voice that hadn't quite left— felt lighter than she had in years.
Adam was leaning against the side of the cabin, arms crossed, that perpetual scowl on his face that was always there when he didn't realize she was watching. But at the sight of her it vanished, and he quickly pushed himself upright and approached her with an almost-spring in his step. Belle's heart fluttered a little as he did, recalling the conversation she'd just had with herself.
"You didn't drown," he said, looking breathless.
"I didn't drown."
He smiled a little sheepishly, gaze sweeping briefly over her makeshift outfit. And while his smile remained, it changed somehow. "Feel better?"
"Yes," she answered honestly, forgetting the unpleasant thoughts and remembering those few moments of peace in the water. "There's something exhilarating about—" She was about to say, floating nude in a mountain river, but caught herself quickly. "Well… it was refreshing."
A few extra teeth were showing along his left jaw now— a smirk?— and Belle wondered if he'd guessed at her thoughts anyway. "You are brave."
He helped her back to the house, where she knelt beside a well-stocked fire to dry her hair. Another towel lay there, and atop it was the brush she'd seen in the outhouse now free of every strand of fur that had been there before.
So thoughtful, she thought tenderly. She reached for the brush and pulled it through her tangled hair, watching the flames dance in the hearth beside her. Could he really have been so bad as he claims?
Belle did not believe the curse itself was proof enough. From the stories she'd heard, witches and faeries were petty and senseless in their magic, and she wondered if this wasn't just another tale like the rest.
You just don't like the idea that Adam could have been like him, came the voice. Gaston might have turned out better too had he suffered such a curse.
Belle frowned deeply. She imagined that, watching the Gaston in her mind grow more terrifying than ever, powerful and bloodthirsty and wild. He would have truly become a monster, finally giving in to his deepest desires to roam the land and kill without ceasing.
No, she thought. No… I don't think he would have. I don't think they were the same at all.
She hoped not, anyway.
She glanced behind her now. Adam was focused intently on the ceiling, running a filthy rag along one of the crooked beams while dust billowed in the air around his head. Nearly all of it settled right back where it had started, the rest floating to the floor. Unaware of this, Adam stepped through it as he worked, leaving a trail of wolf-like footprints in his wake.
Suddenly, he sniffed the air, then turned abruptly to see the small oven smoking. He swore under his breath and ran over, setting the rag on the stovetop and crouching down to stare inside. But a moment passed before the rag caught fire where he'd forgotten it. He cursed again, louder this time, and threw the cloth to the floor before stomping out the flames with his foot.
Belle had to press a hand to her mouth to stop her laughter.
Adam had the window open now, fanning the air with the ruined rag and muttering a fresh string of profanities under his breath. The cold air crept across the room, but that wasn't all. A creature with black fur and yellow, upturned eyes had followed, leaping up onto the windowsill, the back of the stove, and finally sauntering up Adam's arm and taking a place on his shoulder.
"You have a cat!?"
Adam yelped, sending the animal on his shoulder leaping into the air before it came back down and clawed fiercely at his shirt.
Belle sat tall now, both hands on her hips as she stared at them in disbelief. "You have a cat, and you didn't tell me!"
"He is not my cat," Adam insisted, prying the animal from his shirt claw-by-claw. "He just comes around when he's hungry." He finally pulled himself free, holding the cat at arm's length in both hands and giving it a stern look. "And bothers me."
Belle smirked. "Sounds like he's your cat to me."
Adam sighed, setting the creature down on the floor and returning to the smoking oven. "He's a little demon is what he is," he grumbled.
The cat had wandered over towards Belle now, eyeing her suspiciously for a moment but quickly slipping into her lap. "Aw, he's nothing but a big sweetheart," she cooed, running a hand over his head as he purred happily.
Adam gaped at them for a moment, but quickly turned back to his task.
"So," Belle went on, for she hadn't had quite enough fun just yet. "I suppose if he isn't yours, then he doesn't have a name?"
Adam was silent for a very long moment. Then, without turning around, he offered a dramatic sigh. "It's Cesar."
Belle grinned, but said nothing more. Instead she looked back down at Cesar and scratched him gently behind the ears.
Adam joined them a minute later, setting out a bowl of milk which Cesar drank heartily, and left her a plate of more dried meats and a few wild berries. "I burned our dinner," he said. His brows came together, and he closed his eyes. "Forgive me. I'm not very good at this."
Belle glanced at the still-smoking stove; the dusty footprints along the floor; the burnt rag on the windowsill. No, perhaps he wasn't very good at this, but it was more than anyone had done for her before. "I don't mind," she said softly.
He only pursed his lips, and glanced towards the window. "I sense another storm," he said. "The winters here come early. It's possible the pass will be buried within a fortnight." He looked back at her with an unreadable expression. "And we will unable to leave the mountain until spring."
"Oh."
A heavy silence fell over the room. Belle bit her lip, staring into her lap, not wanting to hear what she feared was coming. Realizing that, perhaps, the voice in her head had been right.
"I didn't mean to trap you here," he said quietly. "If you wish to leave, I'll carry you down, take you… take you anywhere you wish to go."
There was nowhere she wished to go. There was nowhere she could go. "I-I could help you," she said quickly, gripping the robe she wore in both hands looking up. "Do the cleaning, a-and the cooking, and—"
"No."
It was like a ton of bricks hit her all at once. Belle looked back into her lap, heart heavy and aching in her gut. So that was it, then. He'd grown tired of her, and whatever affection she'd felt growing between them must have been nothing but her own desperate imaginings.
"Belle." His voice was gentle; no doubt to soften the blow. "I've lived alone for a long… long time. Just having someone here…"
It's too much for him, she thought, squeezing her eyes closed. He's too used to living alone, and he can't take it anymore.
He sucked in a deep breath, and went on. "Having you here with me… that would be enough."
Belle's heart skipped a beat, and she looked up. "What did you say?"
"It's just… he made you do all that, all those years." He was staring across the room, frowning deeply. "I won't make you do it anymore. This isn't a… I mean, I don't want…" He grimaced, scratching the top of his head and humming deeply. "I guess, what I mean to say, is that it would be nice just to have a... companion, you know?" he asked. Finally he looked back, offering a pained smile. "Besides the damn cat."
Belle laughed a little, but soon felt the tears tracing down her cheeks. It seemed she'd lost all control of them since she'd entered this place.
"Belle…"
"I'm sorry. It's just, no one's ever…" But she couldn't finish, for her throat had grown tight. He wanted her there after all; the voice had been wrong. "I was so sure you wanted to be rid of me," she managed at last.
Adam's eyes grew pained at her words. "That's the last thing I want." He sucked in a breath, and let it out roughly. "Look," he said. "Those people you grew up with? They're idiots."
"Adam…"
"They're idiots," he insisted. He bit his lip then, glancing down at his fingers. They flexed where they rested near hers, curling back in on themselves quickly. "Belle, you're… you're a really nice person to be around."
Belle pursed her lips, feeling more tears pooling in her eyes. "Thank you," she said, patting her face dry against his robe. "And forgive me. I promise not to cry so much from here on out."
He was staring at their hands now, so close that if either of them moved they would surely brush against each other. But they didn't need to, for despite the bright rays of the evening sun piercing across the floor and laying all of it to bare… he reached out and took her fingers in his own. "Don't apologize for that," he said softly. He brushed his thumb across her knuckles once, and then again. "This is a good place to cry."
Belle stared at him. There is no way you were ever like Gaston.
He cleared his throat then, loudly, but didn't let go. "Anyway! The only reason I brought it up was because you can't eat like this all winter," he explained, nodding towards her plate. "And I suspect you would like some new clothes."
"Well, yes," she admitted. "But I can't go back for mine now…"
"Of course not. I was just, er…" His fingers twitched against hers, and he seemed to be avoiding her gaze. "You know… planning to head into one of the northern towns tonight."
"But how will you…" Belle paused, her thoughts suddenly catching up with her. "Oh, no. No."
"I only take from the wealthiest estates," he said. Then he raised a heavy brow. "I can't exactly waltz into the marketplace for what I need."
Belle pursed her lips. "I suppose not."
"I promise you, they won't miss a thing." He leaned a little closer, and smirked. "I was one of them once, remember?"
For some strange reason, Belle flushed. She nodded slowly.
"Perfect." He finally pulled his hand away, resting both paws on his knees. "Now then. Before I go… there's something I wanted to show you." And before she could answer, he'd crossed the room, opened the cellar, and lowered himself inside.
Belle blinked, forgetting her dinner and following slowly. "What is it?" she asked, peeking curiously towards the dark opening.
Adam's head popped back up from the floor. "It's a surprise."
Belle's heart fluttered again. How strange he was acting! She tried to look around him, but he raised a giant finger to stop her. "None of that," he said, and grinned. "You have to close your eyes."
She gave him a look, though her insides were all butterflies. And so she closed them.
Waiting behind the darkness of her eyelids, Belle heard a muffled grunt, then an enormous thud that rattled the floor beneath her feet. "Can I open them?" she asked.
"Not yet."
She heard the object being dragged over toward her, scraping roughly against the old floor. "Now can I open them?" Belle whispered.
She sensed Adam move beside her. "Yes. Now."
She opened one eye, then the other, and looked upon an enormous leather-bound wooden trunk. The latch was gold, though tarnished, and an ornate family crest had been carved into its surface. "What's this?" she asked.
Adam didn't answer, but instead held up a tiny key, gold like the latch, between his thumb and forefinger. Belle watched, chest brimming with excitement, as he knelt beside the trunk, slid the key into place, and turned the lock. The lid cracked open, and as it did the smell of old parchment greeted her. She knew that smell, that memory, and before he'd even forced open the lid she knew exactly what she would see inside.
"Oh," she gasped. The tears tempted her again, but she wouldn't let them. It would only blur the titles on each of those beautiful, glorious books. Instead she knelt slowly beside Adam, smiling and shaking her head. "This is worse than the cat…"
He chuckled. "Sorry. I wanted to save it."
He didn't explain what he wanted to save it for, but Belle was too distracted to care. "I've never seen so many books in all my life," she said reverently.
"You haven't?"
She ran her fingers along the covers, worn soft with time and use. "Where did they come from?" she asked. She stopped suddenly, and looked back at him with a raised brow. "Stolen?"
"Nope!" He paused, however, then furrowed his brows as he glanced back at the trunk. "Er… maybe a few. But most I uncovered from my home's remains."
"Really?"
He seemed to brighten, oddly enough, and leaned an elbow on the corner of the trunk while he went on. "We had a library. Best room in the place. Balconies that went eight— no, more like ten floors up," he claimed, raising a paw above his head to illustrate. "And scads of books. Mountains of books! More books than you could read in a lifetime."
Belle smiled wide. Surely he was exaggerating, or the passing of so much time had altered his memory. Still, it was a beautiful thing to imagine.
"Of course, I rarely used it when I had it…" Adam trailed off, looking looked a little lost for a moment before he recovered and glanced back at her. "You would have loved it, though."
"It sounds like something from a fairy tale."
"Maybe so…" He sucked in a breath, and as he blew it out it ruffled the fur along his brow. "Well, anyway. This is what's left of it. It isn't much in comparison, but…"
"It's wonderful."
The corner of his mouth twitched up at that. He reached back for the key, twisting it free from the lock before turning to face her. Then he took her hand in his, turned it over, and placed the little key in her palm. "Then it's yours."
Belle looked wide-eyed between the key, the chest, and finally Adam. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. Instead she watched dumbly as he folded her fingers over the key and gave them a pat. "So!" he said, not giving her a chance to argue anyway. "Which will you read first?"
Belle recovered— barely— and glanced back at the covers. She reached out with her free hand, tracing the letters along their bindings, and realized she didn't know a single—
"Oh!" she realized, spotting a familiar name. "You have Shakespeare!"
"Naturally." He stopped, blinked, then shook his head. "I mean… did you have a favorite play?"
"Well, I only ever got my hands on Romeo and Juliet," she admitted. "But I did adore it."
He groaned. "That's the worst one! All that heartache, and pining…"
"You have Geneivieve and Lancelot," she smirked, poking him in the chest.
The fur along his shoulders and the top of his head went up on end. "I-I… that's different," he stammered. "It's got knights and men and swords and… things."
"Yes. Things."
He let go of her hand then, and Belle almost regretted teasing him. Almost. "For that," he huffed, digging through the chest for a moment before pulling forth a massive tome. "You are stuck with Sir Thomas Browne's Encyclopedia tonight."
She laughed, and held up the key. "I have this, remember?"
"Ah! True." He put the encyclopedia back, and pulled out a much smaller book. "Actually… try this one."
Belle took it in both hands, and read the title. Othello. She looked up at him, and smiled. "I will."
He smiled back, just for a moment, watching her with those strangely bright eyes. Then the room grew dark, and he turned to the window just as the sun disappeared over the edge. When he looked back at her, his smile was gone. "There's something else."
Belle watched as he reached into the front pocket of his shirt and pulled out an old cloth. He placed it in one palm then unfolded it carefully, revealing a shard of glass no larger than her pinky finger.
"It's a piece of the mirror, given to me by the enchantress," he explained, frowning down at the little object. "You remember from the story?"
Belle looked at it, confused but curious. "Yes…"
He closed his fingers carefully around the shard, then shoved his free hand into the pocket of his pants. From there he produced a folded piece of parchment, which he handed it to her. She unfolded it slowly, and read the rough letters in the center.
For Belle.
"If you start to feel, um…" He paused, pursing his lips. "In danger," he settled on. "Or need me back for any reason at all, throw that into the fire."
Belle looked between the parchment, and the mirror in his palm. "I don't understand."
"In its current state, the mirror will only show me a portion of whatever I wish to see. It's a real pain in the—" He coughed into his fist. "… a real pain. But it also won't show me something that doesn't exist— which is what I'm going to exploit."
Belle blinked. "I think I understand less than before."
"Here, watch." He held out the tiny mirror again, and spoke. "Show me Belle's name, written in my hand …" He paused, wrinkling his nose. "It's a little awkward I suppose, but— ah, there."
Belle gasped, for a harsh glow had filled Adam's palm and left greenish shadows across his face. It faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the glass the very color of the parchment in her hand. As Belle leaned close, she noticed the black curve of a letter in its surface—the upper curve of the final e in her name.
"Now," Adam went on. He took the parchment from her, strode over to the fire, and tossed it into the flames. Belle moved beside him, watching the paper dissolve into ash. As soon as it had, Adam repeated the command to the mirror once again. Except this time, the enchanted fragment did nothing at all.
"It doesn't work if the words are gone," Belle breathed.
"Exactly," Adam said. "So if I give the order and the mirror doesn't respond… I'll know to return, no matter where I am."
Belle was still staring at that tiny piece of glass. It seemed so ordinary now, something she'd have tossed out as rubbish had she not known better. And yet it was this object that held the power to connect them, no matter how far apart. "Adam…" she breathed. She looked up at him, eyes bright. "This is quite brilliant."
He shrugged, though the corner of his mouth quirked up. But then it fell again as he looked around the room— towards the roaring fire, the mountain of wood in the corner, the half dozen extra furs he must have brought up earlier while she slept. "You'll be all right, then?" he asked. "While I'm gone?"
Belle followed his gaze, setting her sights on the chest filled with her own personal treasure. And finally it made sense, why he'd chosen this night to give it to her. He was afraid— so afraid to leave her alone that he'd given her the perfect distraction from the cruel voice in her head. He'd given her another reason to stay alive.
That shame began to swell in up inside once again. She nodded slowly.
Adam moved to the table, retrieving another piece of parchment lying there and scribbling her name in the center once again. "And you'll burn it?" he asked, returning to her side and handing her the fresh note. "The minute… the moment you feel something's wrong?"
She bit her lip, and nodded again. "I will."
He took a step closer, reaching out to hold her arm in one giant paw. "Just stay where you are," he said softly. He leaned down then, face only inches from hers, and his warmth seeped into the air all around her. "After you burn it. Stay here… and wait for me."
Belle sucked in a shaky breath. She wouldn't let herself stand on that cliff side again. She couldn't. And right then, she realized that she needed this promise as much as he did. "I'll stay," she whispered. Then she looked up, right into those breathing blue eyes. "You have my word."
Adam watched as the mirror's glow faded… again. He'd already lost count of how many times he'd checked it now. He'd also underestimated the brightness of that ugly green glow, and had to keep the mirror partially wrapped in its cloth to avoid lighting up half the forest every time he spoke to it.
Except his worry was only slowing him down. And so Adam pocketed the mirror with a sigh, and stared up at the towering estate looming between the trees. He hadn't come to this one in some years; it belonged to a single father and his daughter, and Adam far preferred the larger households. They simply had more to steal. But tonight, however, this house was the closest, and he didn't want to venture any farther from Belle than he had to. It would have to do.
What the hell do you think you're doing?
Adam frowned. The voice had been quiet for some days now, and he'd almost forgotten it was there. What do you mean? he thought back, feeling irritable. I'm getting supplies for—
Not that. With the woman.
Her name is Belle.
Ah yes, your "companion," the prince mocked, and Adam could practically see his pale, ring-covered fingers forming the quotations mid-air.
Adam frowned deeply. What's wrong with that? She wants to stay.
She can't break the curse. Or did you forget?
Adam's cheeks grew hot. "That's— I'm not— I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered aloud. He looked pointedly back at the mansion, though he found himself squeezing his fists together. Nothing's happening. We're just— friends. We're friends.
The prince was silent for a long moment. My god, you're serious, he said at last. You really are an idiot.
Adam scowled, but couldn't stop himself from pulling out the mirror once again and muttering the words. It glowed, and he stared at the small portion of parchment it revealed for a long moment before putting it away once again. Then he gripped the straps of his empty bags and crept through the mansion's dark gardens.
"Mother, I don't see why everybody else seems to have such nice things to wear and I always end up in these old rags!"
Adam ducked quickly into the shadows as the words pierced the air from above.
"This sash!" came another voice. "Why, I wouldn't be seen dead in it!"
Two young women, it seemed, though they sounded far more like whining cats than human beings. Adam wrinkled his nose; the sound reminded him too much of the kinds of people he'd once surrounded himself with. Too much of that stupid, selfish prince that may never leave him alone.
"You should talk!" shouted the first voice. "These beads! I'm sick of looking at them!"
Adam heard the window upstairs creak open, and a moment later a long chain of blue beads landed not far from his feet in the darkness. He raised his brows. Yep. This place will do.
He picked up the necklace— why not?— and waited until the voices died down, until a large carriage arrived and took the obnoxious nobles away into the night. Then he checked the mirror once more, and got to work.
He raided the cellars first— for the first time stealing things like apples and grain, pans and bowls, a small flour mill and a long wooden mixing spoon. Belle had helped him with the list— reluctantly at first, but by the end of it all she seemed to forget he was going out to steal each item rather than fetch them from the market for her.
"I'll bake you a cheese soufflé," she'd told him, those big, hazel eyes checking over her tidy list. Belle had beautiful penmanship; just watching her fingers sweep over the page left him mesmerized.
Adam suddenly realized he was smiling dumbly at the list while he stood in the middle of a dim hall. He quickly shook his head. He was upstairs now, and couldn't afford to lose focus here. His victims might be gone, but their servants could still be lurking anywhere.
The thought made him pause, and he stared at the little glowing candelabra he'd picked up from a table downstairs. The sorrow swelled in his chest, but he pushed it away. Focus.
He searched the nearest three rooms before finding what he'd come for. A dressing room, twice the size of his current home and lush with elegant furnishings and half a dozen wardrobes. Most were open, their contents scattered across the room— dresses and scarves and hats that could be sold to feed a village, all left to be trampled underfoot.
The sight of it made him sick. And the memory that his own dressing chamber had been far larger, his clothes a hundred times as expensive as these… that made him even sicker.
I was such a fool.
Another thought to torture himself with later. For now, he stepped into the room, opening one of the undisturbed wardrobes and beginning his search. Belle said she could sew her own clothes— an immense relief, since he would rather not go digging too deeply among a strange woman's intimate things.
The closet he'd chosen was full of shiny heeled shoes, so he moved to the next and finally found what he was looking for. Drawers filled with rolls of cloth, and the supplies to go with it. He found a large spool of thread without too much trouble, and the needles only after being pricked by one of the little bastards.
He paused, suddenly solemn again. It had been a long time since he'd gotten upset with household objects.
Fabric, he reminded himself. He checked the mirror again, then opened the next drawer and lifted the candelabra so he could see. He looked through the rolls of cloth inside, but was quickly disappointed. One was a deep mauve with an excessive amount of sequins, another a violent red with thick black stripes. There was even one in bright teal covered in bright orange squirrels and rabbits.
Good god, said the prince. Adam couldn't disagree. Growling in annoyance, he yanked the offensive patterns from the drawer and tossed them across the room. It was already a mess anyway. He tossed out one hideous roll of fabric after another, not caring whether he tore the dreadful stuff while he did. No one should be wearing it anyway.
And then the drawer was empty— almost. Something had been shoved into the very back, slightly wrinkled but otherwise unharmed. He pulled it out, more curious than anything; this had to be the worst of them all. But when the light of the candles fell on it, he realized he'd been wrong. It was a simple yet elegant cloth, with a subtle floral pattern all stitched in the same color: a soft, golden yellow. It was the color of his childhood, of warm summers in the garden and shared blankets under the firelight when it snowed. A color that had left his life long before he'd ever encountered magic.
Adam realized he was gripping the fabric in a shaking paw, and quickly loosened his grip. He shook his head, looked back at the cloth, and then carefully tucked it into his bag.
In the lowest drawers he found other non-insane colors and patterns, and grabbed several more along with a large roll of soft cream cloth in case Belle needed it for her under… things. He blushed at the thought— actually blushed, as though he were a teenage boy and not approaching forty. He hurriedly tucked everything into this now-bulging sacks while the prince laughed at him.
Back in the hall, he checked the mirror again. The corridor glowed with its green light, and just as it was beginning to fade again the room across the way caught his eye. Floor to ceiling shelves, worn armchairs, and that smell…
He stepped inside. The library was empty, quiet, and filled to the brim with beautiful, expensive, untouched books. Adam hummed, moving in further. He still had time, if he hurried. He scanned the covers quickly, but found himself disappointed with the selection. Until…
He nearly laughed aloud. Romeo and Juliet stared back at him from the shelf in flashy gold letters on a bright red binding. He took a step closer, and smiled.
Don't you— don't you dare, gasped the prince.
Adam ignored him, grinning to himself as he plucked the book from its place and shoved it into his bag.
Oh my god.
Having now found more than what he'd come for, Adam went to the nearest window and pushed it open. Far below were the gardens, and to the north a barn, and inside…
Geese. He could smell them from here. When was the last time he'd eaten anything but deer, or those tough, scrawny little rabbits? Adam's mouth started to water. Sometimes… well, sometimes he really was just a big, hungry beast.
Blowing out the candle, he set it on the nearest shelf, swinging over the windowsill and scurrying down the outer wall into the gardens below. He touched down quickly, then crept between the rows of the tall, manicured bushes towards the barn. He could hear them now, a strange tremor of honks upon the midnight breeze. Just outside the doors he paused, checking the mirror again. It glowed bright in his closed palm, and dimmed. And so, in perfect silence, he pulled open the door and moved inside.
Dozens of geese greeted him, perched on four nesting shelves that lined the walls and sleeping soundly. Well, all but one, which was now staring at him with beady black eyes. It opened its mouth to cry out— but Adam was faster, reaching out and encasing its long throat in his paw.
"Sorry," he whispered, then snapped its neck.
The prince gagged. Adam rolled his eyes, grabbing three more sleeping birds in the same manner and swinging them over his shoulder before he turned back toward the door.
But then he froze. For a bright, very familiar green glow was seeping into the barn from the night air beyond.
Adam stopped breathing. Eyes not leaving the glowing doorway, he reached slowly for the shard of glass in his pocket to make sure he hadn't dropped the object on his way inside. But no— it was still there, buried in the cloth deep inside his pocket.
The light shifted across the barn's dusty floor. Adam forced himself forward one silent step, then another, heart hammering in his chest as he dared a glance outside.
The light that greeted him was so bright that it took his eyes a moment to adjust. More colors appeared now, golds and blues and pinks, all dancing across the gardens and the sky above. As his eyes finally grew used to it, Adam finally saw their source. A woman— older, with a cheery face, waving a stick about her head as though she were conducting some invisible orchestra. And beside her was a girl— a servant, based on her ragged clothes— watching in amazement as a carriage, six horses, and several finely-dressed footman appeared from thin air beside her.
An enchantress, Adam realized, watching more sparks shooting from old woman's wand. He gripped the edge of the door so hard it splintered beneath his fingers, wishing he could run but having no means of escape without crashing through the opposite wall of the barn.
And then enchantress waved her wand once more, and the girl herself vanished in that bright, green light. And as it grew dim once again, a beautiful, stunning young woman in a flowing white ball gown stood in her place. A different young woman, Adam realized.
He watched as she entered the carriage, as the footman took their places, as the enchantress waved them off into the night. And then, with one final wave of her wand, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal—
Adam flew back from the door. The prince inside was screaming in terror, and Adam's own hand was pressed to his mouth lest he scream himself. If the birds had awoken at his movement, he didn't hear them. All he could sense were the great tremors that wracked his body as the truth flooded over him like the icy mountain river.
That wasn't just an enchantress. It was his enchantress.
The light from the doorway shifted again. Had Adam the ability to sweat in this form, he'd have been soaked in it by now; instead, the desperate urge to pant overcame him, but he didn't even dare to breathe at the moment lest he be discovered.
And so he watched as the light crept across the floor, fading so painfully slowly Adam thought he might pass out from lack of air. And then, finally, it vanished, and he finally let out the breath he'd been holding.
And then then entire barn filled with light.
"I knew I smelled more of my magic around here."
There she stood, exactly as he remembered her. That golden hair, floating in the air as though emerged in an invisible sea; the enormous gown, sparkling beneath a thousand emeralds stitched into its surface; that face, pale and beautiful and more terrifying than anything he'd ever known.
"Enchantress," Adam gasped. He fell to his knees, letting the bags slide from his arms as he pressed his palms and forehead to the floor. Every inch of him was trembling.
He felt her draw close. "Remind me…" A cold hand touched his chin, lifting his face to meet hers. Adam didn't fight her— he didn't dare— staring in unblinking horror as she scanned his eyes. "Who were you, again? You know, before I…" She dropped his chin, waving her wand lazily in explanation.
Adam blinked. She didn't remember? "A-Adam," he stammered. He bowed his head once more, staring at his paws. "Prince… Prince Adam, of the Northern Realm."
A moment passed— and then she laughed, long and loud. The remaining birds woke at the sound, honking furiously until another green glow filled the room and silenced them. "Oh my," the enchantress gasped, voice still laced with amusement. "How could I forget that one?"
Adam only stared at the floor, face hot with shame. A goose fell to the ground beside him. It was dead.
"You never wanted to rule anyway, did you?" she asked brightly.
Adam sucked in a breath, and finally looked up. "No."
"Well then, it looks like I did you a favor."
A favor? growled the prince. A FAVOR?! He'd emerged from where he'd been hiding deep in Adam's mind, now snarling with boiling hot fury. I told them, I TOLD them you'd bring nothing but death. A-and I was right! And— and you know what, I'd throw you out again. I would! You ugly, filthy HAG—
The woman was examining one long, sharp nail, unaware of the prince's protests. "I'm afraid I've gotten better since I made you," she said absently.
She didn't elaborate. Adam swallowed roughly and then asked, "Better?"
"Oh, you know," she said, as if that explained it. She was looking back towards the half-open door, as though already bored with him.
And suddenly, with as much as he hadn't wanted her to find him, Adam felt he couldn't let her leave without doing… something. "That girl—" he blurted out.
She turned back, and raised a brow.
Adam bit his lip hard, but went on. "The girl, in the garden… did you curse her too?"
"Hmm?" She glanced that way, as though she'd already forgotten about it. "Oh!" she cried at once. "Oh, no. Actually, I gave that one a lovely new face for the evening. She's a bit of plain thing on her own, you see."
Adam frowned. True beauty lies within, she'd told him long ago. Had he misunderstood?
"Of course, no one will believe her when she tells them what happened tomorrow. But she'll remember." The enchantress grinned, clapping her hands together. "Oh, what fun! I'll have to pop into the ball myself and see who she meets there."
Adam didn't understand; he must have been missing something. "But how does that help her?" he asked.
"Help her?" The woman cocked her head, as though the words were foreign on her tongue. "Whatever makes you think I'm trying to do that?"
"Oi! Who's there?!"
The enchantress glanced over her shoulder at the shouts. "Time to go!" she trilled. Then she looked back at him, and raised a brow. "I made you immortal, right?"
But before Adam could reply, she was gone, vanishing in the blink of an eye. And in the doorway just beyond stood the mansion's gardener, angry and old and holding a long-barreled gun.
Adam was too dazed from the previous encounter to properly react to this one. He glanced around himself, slowly realizing how it must look to find a creature like himself surrounded by dozens of slaughtered birds.
The man was fumbling with the gun now, squinting hard as his aging eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness. "Damn fox," he grumbled. "How many times I gotta…" But then his words trailed off, and those eyes grew wide in horror.
Adam ignored the fact that he'd condescended to the level of an orange woodland creature as he scrambled to think of the best way out of this.
The man was still staring at him, utterly dumbstruck, and finally lifted the shotgun up with quaking arms. Sucking in a breath, Adam raised his paws and took a slow step forward. "Sir," he said slowly. "I—"
The man screamed, and fired. Adam felt it like a blow to the chest, and a moment later he felt the wetness of his blood spilling into his fur… his lungs.
Shit.
He heard the weapon cocking again, violent shouts still piercing the air. "Stop," Adam gasped, and the sound was wet and hollow in the air. "Please, just— just hold on a—"
The man fired again. Adam stumbled to his knees where his palms found the damp, blood-soaked ground.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
There wasn't time to think about the pain, or about the sea of blood filling his chest and spilling over his fingers. The gardener was fumbling to reload now, and Adam wasn't about to let him fire again. And so, with the only strength he had left, he reached out and took a swipe at the man with the back of one powerful paw. The blow was hard enough to throw the old gardener off his feet and into the heavy barn door, where he crumpled in a heap.
Adam stared at the unconscious form, then coughed up blood. He gasped, but couldn't breathe. His heart… it had stopped beating.
And just as the world began to fade, Adam forced a trembling paw to retrieve that tiny shard of mirror once again. "Show me…" he croaked.
But he died before he could finish.