CH. 1: Gorgeousness and Gorgeosity Made Flesh

Maurice, the old and crazy, wrapped his threadbare cloak tightly around himself, desperately trying to shield his body against the ferocious winter winds that sliced through the night-dark evergreens all around him. His nose, akin to a babbling brook, streamed incessantly, and a dreadful cough gripped him, stifling his breath.

He knelt down on the cold dirt of the forest, thinking that now might be a good, indeed, necessary time to take a rest. But no — surely he couldn't. Not when his beloved daughter was in danger! He imagined her in the Beast's prison cell, her tiny frame shivering in the cold, her stomach empty, her heart racing in fear. God, he hoped that was all that was being done to her. What horrible intentions such a terrifying Beast could have in mind were… beyond comprehension.

It didn't matter if he had to die in the process, he'd make sure of Belle's freedom from the grasp of that vicious creature.

Spitting up a vile mouthful of mucus, Maurice hurried onward a few steps more, battling the relentless winter squalls, as if nature itself conspired to impede his advance. His body felt worse than numb — numb would at least be pain-free. The coldness was like knife blades cutting at him. His muscles were beginning to seize up.

He roamed the shadows a while more, until finally, willpower was no longer enough to sustain him. He collapsed into a snowbank, unconscious, and all alone in the darkness.

…

Gaston had hoped to receive swift word of Belle's return to her house so that he could get his oh-so-clever blackmail plan underway and thus be cheerfully married to her faster than the villagers could spell GASTON. Instead the hours dragged on, turning into days, and LeFou did not arrive with any word for him.

It seemed that Belle always brought a sort of misery into his world. He wished he knew how to quit her; but, like swallowing five dozen eggs or learning the hard way not to shoot yourself in the chest, one had to put in effort for anything worthwhile.

M. d'Arque had refused to wait in town after the first night. He was back at the madhouse and would need to be summoned once Maurice was in place. M. d'Arque was mostly just for show anyway — if all went to plan, there would be no need for him to take Maurice anywhere, since Belle would immediately agree to marry the heroic Gaston in exchange for keeping her father out of the madhouse.

Gaston thought it was so annoying that Belle and Maurice should have disappeared right around the time he thought up his brilliant scheme. Maurice had even been in the tavern on that very night — he could have caught him and taken him directly to d'Arque in the midst of the crazy "Beast in the castle" rant, had he only thought of it sooner. Man, that old coot must be crazy indeed to have immediately afterward gone off traveling with his daughter during a snowstorm in the middle of the night! They probably had another fair to attend, some 'midnight market' to show off Maurice's latest unintentional explosive device. But the only fair that interested him was Belle.

Gaston frowned, his mind wandering to visions of Maurice and Belle being in proximity to one of Maurice's batty devices as it blew up, leaving the pair injured, dead, maybe even (God help them) disfigured… but that was thinking too much. Thinking was a dangerous pastime.

Everything would be fine, he assured himself. He just needed to be patient. For in the delightful world of Gaston, where charm, muscle, and impeccable grooming reigned supreme, one simply couldn't be bothered with the whimsical misadventures of inventors and the perils of overactive cogitations.

"Keep up that music," ordered Gaston, instructing the trio of fair-haired maidens who fervently played for him on kazoos, rendering Ludwig van Beethoven's latest opus. They performed to amuse their handsome hero, who lounged in a chair fashioned from bits of animals he had killed and taxidermied. And as he slooshied, he knew such lovely pictures.

…

The Beast found it strange to dance, even stranger to dance to phantom instruments in an otherwise empty room. Each step he took, he worried about how Belle perceived it.

But her smile was evident. Everything seemed to be going well.

He must not lose his nerve. The flower was almost wilted; his birthday coming tomorrow. If he didn't break his curse by then, he would spend forever as a hideous monster. He couldn't bear the thought — to be so ugly, so isolated! But here was hope set before him. Belle — whom he loved so greatly — she could break the curse, if only she would love him back. Surely the fates would not be so cruel as to let him love someone so fully, and yet not receive their love in turn?

At last, as they danced in all their finery, Belle rested her head affectionately against his chest. The Beast was overjoyed. Such an action would not be taken by a mere friend! She must love him. He certainly loved her — and in that moment, he resolved that he would tell her so.

"Belle…" he began. He hesitated just for an instant, fighting just a small moment of doubt. What if she rejected him? But — so what if she did? Could delaying this declaration really change such a fact before tomorrow? "Belle…" he began again, gazing into the gorgeous eyes that peered back at him so kindly, so openly. "I… I love you!"

Throughout the room, breathless servants watched, and were they possessed of any residual breath, one could be certain that it would have been collectively held in eager anticipation. Surely, they sensed, the moment they had been waiting for was now upon them.

Unaware of the others, and of the stakes, Belle blinked, and blushed. The music played on, but to Beast it was like the world had gone silent. He awaited some kind of reply from her.

"Do you really?" she said, flattered yet taken aback by the sudden declaration. They stopped dancing.

"Belle," he continued, holding her tight in his arms, a hint of desperation rising in his tone, yet every word he said coming from his heart. "If you love me back… you can be my wife. You can stay here as mistress of the castle. We can even bring your father here to live with us…"

"Me? Your wife?" she echoed, aghast. "But — I'm your prisoner!"

Beast was genuinely surprised by the response. "Belle! When you ran away that first night, you showed I had no control over you. Did you… really still think you were my prisoner?" His heart began to sink. Maybe she didn't love him afterall, and all this time she had been merely indulging him out of fear of him. Maybe it really was hopeless.

Belle turned her eyes to the floor, thinking heavily over what was just said. "I came back because I was worried for you…" she replied softly. "I couldn't leave you like that, in the woods. But… I think… I saw the potential… that… maybe…" she looked up at him. She smiled once again. "Maybe I do love you, afterall."

That, was apparently enough.

The Beast's eyes suddenly went wide and stupid. Belle was alarmed by the response, and released him from her grasp. She stepped back, retreating, watching helplessly as the Beast began to float off the ground, and a golden light shimmered around him.

He started to twirl midair. Gilded beams of light shot from his limbs, and they seemed to transform their very shapes.

In another moment, he fell to the ground, no longer a Beast. A glittering steam rose up from his blue coat, and his now copper-hued hair fell in long locks around his face.

No one was less stunned by the transformation than himself. His entire body felt different. His limbs moved easily, lightly. He braced his hands — hands, real hands — against the marble floor and lifted himself up.

There he stood before Belle. A handsome Prince, just a few hours shy of twenty-one years. He looked a little silly dressed in his full finery, but barefoot (for as a Beast, he'd been unable to wear shoes). He brushed a ridiculous cowlick of hair out of his face, which immediately fell back over his eyes. He was maybe not a perfect specimen of manhood, but…

"Beast…?" Belle asked, completely puzzled over what had just transpired. Undeniably she had just seen him transform, but why? How? What was happening?

Before any answers could come, the servants all came hopping forth, cheering and congratulating their Prince. All of a sudden, they too began to transform into humans amidst flashes of golden light. Lumiere became a slim auburn-haired man in silken livery. Cogsworth became a chubby mustachioed fellow in the habit of an upperclass servant. Chip became a little blond boy, adorable as ever. Mrs. Potts became a grandmotherly sort with powdered hair that aged her beyond her years — but still, she couldn't have been any happier at the change.

Soon everyone in the palace was transformed — and even the building itself began to change. Monstrous statues turned into naked Grecian figures. Gloomy black stone became shining white marble.

The Beast — or now the Prince — tried his best to explain to Belle what had just happened, but the joyous cries and celebrations of the servants drowned out all his words. In the end, what did it matter? Belle loved him and he loved Belle. The happy couple threw themselves together and shared a passionate kiss.

As the delighted lovers resumed their dance amidst the celebratory joy of it all, Belle declared:

"Just wait until papa hears about all this!"

But even Belle thought it would be folly to return to the village in the middle of the night. Through those wolf-infested woods? She'd been through that once before. Besides, it was difficult to break up the impromptu celebrations of the servants, who were so glad to finally see an end to their decade-long curse and couldn't help but revel in their new condition.

The dancing, drinking, kissing and feasting lasted all night long. Belle and her new Prince stole off from time to time, into some dark corner where cursory examinations of his new body were made. But in the end, Belle's heart belonged to daddy — and she wanted to inform him of the happy news before she took anything too far.

Almost as soon as the the rising sun became visible through the palace's many windows, Belle insisted on heading out to the village so she could tell him all about what marvelous things had transpired — and the happy news that he was to have a new son-in-law.

The Prince was in too good of a mood to deny anything to his Belle. Although he was tired after a sleepless night, he changed into his everyday clothes — silk pantaloons, a white shirt and a colorful velvet cape, and for the first time in a decade, boots. When he reconvened with Belle, he found that she had changed back into her ugly blue kirtle and cape, the very one she had arrived to him wearing.

"I don't want to raise eyebrows in the village," she explained. "The people there have such…" She trailed off, not sure how to describe it.

"What'll they say?" asked the surprised Prince. "Is there something shameful if you get new clothes?"

Belle rolled her eyes imagining the possibilities. "They'd twist it somehow. The people there… they aren't bad people," she said, trying to explain. "But the things that they want out of the world, the things that are important to them… they always want the familiar."

And for Belle to arrive dressed as a princess would certainly be an unwelcome change that might draw ire — especially from certain enemies she knew she possessed in the village.

The new couple were able to pull the stable-master out of the revelry and get him to saddle up a horse for the Prince. Belle had previously seen the stable only full of disturbing sentient wheels and benches that had formerly been horses — but now the animals were back to their old selves, looking fit for a Prince, and making some good company for her own horse, Philippe.

A fine white mare named Isolde was selected for the Prince to ride, chosen for its especially good temper. It had been quite a while since he had ridden a horse. He began to sweat with uncertainty as to whether he still remembered how.

He and Belle mounted their respective steeds, and as they began to gallop, the Prince was nearly knocked flat on his back. Belle observed his difficulty, and despite her anxiousness to see her father at home, she consented to move along at a slow pace for the sake of the Prince.

Thanks to the leisurely travel, the couple were able to talk a little as they went along. At last the Prince could explain to Belle what had transpired at the castle — how he was a Prince and a Duke, how an Enchantress had cursed him when he was a child, in retaliation for youthful rudeness in valuing appearances over all else. How nothing but love could have broken his curse.

Hearing the tale, Belle was a little disturbed. "You mean," she said, "you fell in love with me — because you had to?"

"I suppose," replied the Prince, desperately trying to keep his balance on his horse, and more focused on that necessity than on the deeply emotional question. "But the curse wouldn't have broken unless it were real love. Belle… you don't doubt it, do you?"

Belle smiled. "I think it's a little early for doubts. We've barely even begun! In fact… for heaven's sake, what is your name? I'm not supposed to still call you Beast, am I?"

"Matthieu," he replied.

"Matthieu…" she repeated to herself. That was an old fashioned name.

"Matthieu-Amédée, if you want to be formal," he added. "But, that never went on anything but paperwork."

"Why couldn't you be a beast named Matthieu-Amédée?"

"Because the Enchantress warned it wouldn't count if I won someone using my name or rank," he answered. "Or if I revealed that we were under a spell that could be broken."

Belle nodded. It suddenly made sense why she had seen Cogsworth become upset when he believed that Lumiere had divulged information about the enchantment. "You must have insulted her pretty bad. It sounds like she didn't want to make it easy."

The Prince shook his head and nearly lost his balance so doing. Belle tried not to laugh at him, she found his awkwardness rather charming.

"I don't think she intended for me to succeed at all," he answered. "The fact is… if I didn't have enough reason to love you before, Belle — having done such a favor — !"

Suddenly Belle shushed him. There was an odd noise nearby, kind of a wheezing sound. "What is that? A sick animal?" she asked.

She and the Prince turned their horses to investigate the source.

To Belle's astonishment and horror, in a melting snowbank just off the side of the road, she discovered her father Maurice. He was unconscious. His clothing glittered in the sunlight, soaked through with water that was barely-above freezing.

"Papa!" Belle screamed. "Papa!" She flung herself down from her horse at once and came to his assistance. She touched him, feeling flesh so cold that she would have believed he was dead were it not for his labored breathing. "Papa, are you alright? Wake up! Wake up!"

Maurice remained unconscious.

Belle immediately pulled him out of his wet cape and wrapped him up with her own cloak. In the meantime the Prince dismounted his horse, intending to offer assistance.

"Should we… take him back to the castle?" he asked, alarmed and frankly puzzled for what to do. He was not accustomed to being a problem-solver. He had servants for that.

"No time — we're closer to the village!" Belle cried. She spoke to her father as she tried to hoist him up. "Hang on, papa! We'll be home soon."

The Prince helped carry Maurice to the horse, although he found that Belle seemed able to manage the job pretty well herself. Still, the work went faster with two, and soon Maurice was loaded up on the saddle, with his daughter in front.

Belle took off riding at lightning fast speed, without even waiting for the Prince.

Dismayed, the Prince struggled to get back up onto his mare, then galloped after Belle as fast as he dared — certain that in doing so he was going to fall from the horse and die, but glad at least he'd do so as a human. A human in love.