BELLE'S heart raced as Gaston dragged her deeper into the dark woods, his grip like a vice around her arm. She knew she had to stay calm and think quickly if she had any hope of escaping his clutches.

"Gaston, please, let me go!" Belle pleaded, desperation tingling in her voice.

Her heart pounded like a drum against her ribs as she realized she was trapped in a nightmare with seemingly no way out. Gaston's grip on her arm was unyielding, his knife glinting ominously in the dim light of the early morning. She recalled the Prince's eyes, wide with shock, concern, and fury, burning into her soul as she was forcibly dragged away, her protests drowned by the chaos erupting around them. Grateful, at least, that her Papa wasn't there to witness the horrific scene, Belle heard the villagers gasp and murmur, their voices a chorus of disbelief and fear as she was led away.

As Belle's mind raced, she scanned her surroundings for any opportunity to break free from Gaston's hold. The dense trees seemed to close in around them, casting eerie shadows that danced in the faint light filtering through the canopy. Every step they took deeper into the woods felt like another knot tightening in Belle's stomach.

"Gaston, please, think about what you're doing," Belle implored, her voice trembling with fear. "This won't solve anything. Let's go back, we can talk about this."

Gaston's bark-like laugh cut through the tense silence like a blade. "Talk, Belle? There's nothing left to talk about. I can see that you've made your choice, and now, you'll face the consequences."

Belle's heart sank as she realized the depth of Gaston's rage. She had never seen him like this before, consumed by a darkness that seemed to twist his features into something unrecognizable. She knew then that attempting to reason with the man would be futile.

Summoning every ounce of courage she had, Belle twisted her arm in an attempt to break free from Gaston's vice grip on her arm. But his grip only tightened, to the point of nearly bruising, his fingers digging painfully into her skin.

"Stop struggling, Belle, or you'll get worse than a bruise," Gaston growled, his voice low and menacing. "You belong to me, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you understand that."

Panic surged through Belle as she realized the gravity of her situation. With each passing moment, the forest seemed to grow darker, swallowing them whole as they pressed further into its depths. But Belle refused to give up hope. She knew that somehow, she had to find a way to escape Gaston's clutches and make it back to the safety of the village.

With determination fueling her actions, Belle continued to search for any opportunity to break free from Gaston's grip. As they trudged deeper into the woods, she kept her senses sharp, looking for a chance to outmaneuver him.

Suddenly, Belle spotted a fallen branch lying nearby, partially obscured by underbrush. It was her only chance. Summoning her strength, she feigned stumbling over a root, hoping to catch Gaston off guard. As she stumbled, she yanked her arm with all her might, breaking free from his grasp.

Surprised by Belle's sudden movement, Gaston lunged forward to grab her again, but she was already on her feet, brandishing the branch like a makeshift weapon.

"Stay back, Gaston!" Belle warned, her voice quivering with newfound resolve. "I won't let you harm me or anyone else. Do not think that I am afraid of you."

Gaston's eyes narrowed with rage as he assessed the situation. For a moment, Belle could see the flicker of uncertainty in his expression, but it was quickly replaced by a dangerous glint.

"You think a little stick will stop me, Belle?" Gaston sneered, taking a step closer. "You underestimate me."

But Belle stood her ground, her heart pounding with adrenaline. She knew she had to stay strong, for herself and the safety of the village. Gaston lunged forward again, his expression twisted with fury as he attempted to grab Belle once more. But this time, Belle was ready. With a swift motion, she swung the branch with all her might, aiming for Gaston's hand holding the knife. The branch connected with a resounding thud, causing Gaston to cry out in pain as his grip on the knife loosened. Seizing the opportunity, Belle kicked the knife away, sending it skittering across the forest floor. Breathless but undeterred, Belle backed away from Gaston, keeping the branch raised defensively between them.

"Stay back, Gaston," she warned again, her voice firmer this time. "I won't let you hurt me or anyone else."

Gaston's face contorted with rage as he realized he had lost control of the situation. He lunged at Belle again, but she sidestepped his attack with surprising agility, causing him to stumble forward and lose his balance. Before Gaston could recover, Belle turned and sprinted deeper into the woods, her heart pounding in her chest as she raced through the dense undergrowth. She could hear Gaston cursing behind her, his footsteps pounding on the forest floor as he gave chase. But Belle refused to give up. With every ounce of strength and determination she possessed, she pushed herself to run faster, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she darted between trees and leaped over fallen logs.

As she ran, Belle's mind raced with thoughts of escape. She knew she couldn't outrun Gaston forever, but she also knew she couldn't give up hope. She had to find a way to outsmart him, to outmaneuver him, and to make it back to the safety of the village. With that thought burning bright in her mind, Belle pressed on, her footsteps echoing through the silent woods as she raced toward the uncertain promise of freedom.

Belle's heart pounded in her chest as she sprinted through the tangled underbrush, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She dared not look back, for fear of seeing Gaston's looming figure hot on her heels.

She knew she had to lead him away from the tavern, away from the Prince, and away from any other innocent souls who might become entangled in Gaston's dangerous game he was set on playing with her.

As she ran, Belle's mind raced with worry for her father. She prayed fervently that Papa wasn't at home, that he was safe somewhere else in the village and unaware of the danger she was facing. The thought of Gaston laying eyes on her beloved Papa filled her with dread, and she knew she had to do everything in her power to protect her father.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of frantic running, Belle burst through the trees and into the clearing where her small cottage stood. Relief flooded through her as she saw that the door was closed, a thin wisp of smoke curling from the chimney. With a silent prayer of thanks, she dashed up the worn path to the front door, her heart still racing with adrenaline.

Fumbling with the latch, Belle threw open the door and stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind her with trembling hands. Leaning against the door, she took a moment to catch her breath, her chest heaving as she tried to calm the frantic beating of her heart.

But her respite was short-lived. From outside came the sound of heavy footsteps crunching on the gravel path, followed by Gaston's booming voice calling her name.

"Belle! You can't hide from me, Belle! I'll find you, no matter where you run!"

Panic surged through Belle once more as she realized that Gaston was still hot on her trail. With a sinking feeling in her heart, she knew she couldn't stay here for long. But where could she go? Where could she hide from the man who seemed determined to hunt her down like an animal?

Then, a sudden realization struck her. The cellar. It was the one place in the cottage where she might be able to hide from Gaston's searching eyes. Without hesitation, Belle dashed across the small living room and threw open the trapdoor that led down into the dark, musty depths below. With one last glance around the room, Belle descended into the cellar, pulling the trapdoor closed behind her with trembling hands. In the darkness, she huddled against the cool stone walls, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she listened for any sign of Gaston's approach.

Outside, she could hear Gaston's heavy footsteps drawing nearer, his voice growing louder as he called out her name once more. But Belle remained silent, praying with all her might that he wouldn't think to search the cellar. The minutes seemed to stretch into eternity as Belle waited in the darkness, her heart hammering in her chest as she listened for any sign of danger.

As Belle strained to listen in the darkness, her heart sank as she nearly screamed upon hearing the sound of Gaston kicking down the door of their home. His heavy footsteps reverberated through the wooden floorboards of their home, causing them to creak ominously. With dread, Belle knew her hiding place was bound to be discovered in moments.

Gaston's relentless pursuit led him to the cellar. Flinging open the door, with a sneer on his lips, he gazed down at Belle, his eyes filled with scorn. He scoffed, his voice dripping with derision.

"If you've truly fallen for that back-stabbing Prince of the realm, Belle, you've gone off your wits and lost all your senses. And if you refuse to come to your senses and marry me, then a hole in the ground is where you belong."

Tears welled in Belle's eyes as she pleaded with Gaston, her voice trembling with desperation. "Please, Gaston, don't do this. Whatever you're thinking, please stop. I beg you, this isn't you," she implored, her words choked with emotion.

But Gaston remained unmoved, his sneer deepening as he looked down at her. "Enough of your foolishness, Belle," he spat. "You belong to me, and I won't let some prince steal you away. You'll come to your senses soon enough."

Belle's heart sank further as she realized Gaston was beyond reason, consumed by his desires and ego. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she whispered, "Please, Gaston... Don't make me do something I'll regret forever."

Gaston's laughter echoed through the cellar, a cruel sound that pierced through Belle's heart like a dagger. He mocked her with disdain, his voice dripping with contempt. "Regret? Do you think you have a choice, Belle? You're mine to do with as I please. No prince, no fairy tales will change that."

Belle trembled, feeling utterly helpless in the face of Gaston's overwhelming dominance. She clenched her fists, her resolve wavering but not breaking. Despite the fear coursing through her veins, she knew she couldn't surrender to Gaston's cruelty. As Gaston's laughter subsided, Belle lifted her head, meeting his gaze with steely determination.

Though her voice quivered, her spirit remained unbroken as she whispered, "I'll never be yours, Gaston. No matter what you do, I'll never belong to you."

Belle's heart pounded with dread as she watched Gaston's expression darken, his colorless grey eyes flashing with a chilling resolve. For a moment, he looked insane.

His voice turned cold as he declared, "That's a shame, Belle. Since you've rejected me the last time, then you leave me no other choice. If you will not be mine, then you will belong to no man."

With a sinking feeling of horror, Belle realized Gaston's intentions too late. Before she could react, he seized one of her father's nearby rags he used to wipe his hands clean whenever he was finished tinkering with one of his inventions, setting it ablaze with a nearby candle. The flames danced wickedly as Gaston tossed the burning rag onto the wooden floorboards of the cellar.

Gaston's malicious grin widened as Belle's frantic cries filled the air as she pleaded for help. "Scream all you want, Belle," he taunted, his voice laced with cold amusement. "No one will hear you down here in your old man's basement."

With a last contemptuous glance at Belle, Gaston turned and ascended the cellar stairs. The heavy thud of wood against wood echoed through the confined space as he barricaded the trapdoor behind him, sealing Belle inside with the encroaching flames.

Alone in the suffocating darkness, Belle's heart pounded with a mixture of fear and desperation. She coughed, her lungs burning from the smoke, as she realized the gravity of her situation. Trapped and helpless, she fought against rising panic, searching the cellar desperately for any means of escape from Gaston's cruel intent to watch her burn.

But as the fire raged on, consuming everything in its path, Belle knew that her time was running out. As the flames licked closer, casting eerie shadows against the cellar walls, Belle's mind raced, desperately seeking a way out of the impending inferno. She scanned her surroundings, her thoughts clouded with fear and urgency. With trembling hands, she groped along the rough stone walls, searching for any hidden passage or overlooked exit.

However, her efforts yielded no results; the cellar seemed an inescapable fiery tomb, closing in around her with each passing second. Coughing violently from the smoke, Belle's vision blurred as tears stung at the edges of her eyes and trailed down her cheeks, her senses overwhelmed by the acrid stench of burning wood.

Panic threatened to consume her, but amidst the chaos, a spark of determination ignited with her. Summoning every ounce of strength she possessed, Belle refused to succumb to despair. With a fierce resolve, she pressed on, determined to defy Gaston's cruel fate and emerge from the flames unscathed. But as the fire raged on, its searing heat growing more intense with each passing moment, Belle knew that her chances of survival were dwindling rapidly.

With tears streaming down her face, she whispered a fervent prayer, hoping against hope for a miracle to deliver her from the jaws of death. Summoning every ounce of courage she possessed, Belle searched for any possible means of escape. Her hands scraped against the rough stones of the cellar walls, her movements frantic and desperate as she sought out even the smallest crack or crevice that might offer a chance of survival.

But as the fire continued to rage unabated, devouring everything in its path, Belle's hopes dwindled with each passing moment. The heat was becoming unbearable, searing her skin and seeping into her very bones. Yet, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, Belle refused to give up. With a steely determination born of desperation, she pressed on, driven by the unwavering belief that somewhere, somehow, there must be a way out of this inferno.

And then, just as all hope seemed lost, Belle's fingers brushed against something—a faint draft of cool air, barely perceptible amidst the suffocating heat. With a surge of renewed hope, she followed the elusive current, inching her way toward what she prayed might be her salvation. With trembling hands, Belle pushed against the hidden opening, her heart pounding in her chest as the trapdoor above finally gave way, flooding the darkness with blinding light.

Gasping for breath, she scrambled towards the newfound exit, her limbs trembling with exhaustion and relief. Emerging from the fiery depths of the cellar, Belle collapsed onto the cool earth, her body wracked with sobs of gratitude and exhaustion.

Weak and disoriented, Belle crawled toward the cellar's entrance, her hands and knees scraping against the rough ground. The flames gnawed hungrily at the wooden structure above her, sending billows of smoke curling into the night sky. With each labored breath, she could feel her strength waning, her body protesting against the exertion.

Summoning every ounce of willpower she possessed, Belle managed to pull herself to her feet, her limbs trembling with fatigue. Through tear-blurred eyes, she beheld the devastation unfolding around her. Flames leaped from window to window, devouring the familiar facade of her home and engulfing it in a hellish inferno.

Amidst the crackling roar of the fire, Belle's ears caught the distant tolling of the village bell, its mournful chime echoing through the night air. Panic-stricken cries rose from the village as the other villagers caught sight of the raging conflagration, their voices joining together in a chorus of alarm. As Belle stumbled forward, her body wracked with exhaustion and despair, a voice pierced through the chaos, calling out to her. Blinking through the haze of smoke and tears, she turned to see a man approaching, his features blurred by the swirling smoke and flickering flames.

"Are you alright?" the man shouted over the crackling roar of the fire, his voice tinged with concern.

Belle's heart hammered in her chest as she collapsed to her knees, her strength finally failing her. Before she could respond, she felt a pair of strong hands wrap around her waist, pulling her close.

Panic surged through her veins, and she screamed, her voice raw with terror, as she instinctively twisted away, expecting to find herself in Gaston's clutches once more. But as she struggled against her unseen assailant, the hands turned her around, and Belle found herself staring into the face of her father.

Maurice's heart clenched in fear as he beheld Belle's panicked expression through the dirt and soot that now marred her face, her lips cracked and nearly bleeding.

"Belle! My dear Belle!" he exclaimed, his voice trembling with both relief and distress.

Belle's wide eyes met his, mirroring her terror. "Papa!" she gasped, throwing herself into his arms, seeking solace and safety in her father's embrace.

Wrapping his arms tightly around her, Maurice felt a surge of protective instinct. "We must flee, Belle," he urged, his voice urgent yet tender. "The fire is spreading rapidly. We must find safety and let the others tend to the fire." With trembling hands, Maurice guided Belle away from the inferno, their steps quickened by the looming threat of destruction. Each crackle of the flames seemed to echo the pounding of their hearts as they navigated through the chaos of the village.

As they hurried away from the blaze, Belle's breath came in ragged gasps, her mind still reeling from the terror of the fire and the traumatic images that now flashed through her mind.

"I-it was Gaston, Papa," she spluttered weakly, her voice barely audible among the chaos as the villagers rushed to put out the fire. "He…he started the fire, trapped me inside the cellar…."

Maurice's eyes widened in shock and fury at Belle's revelation, but he pushed down his anger for the moment, focusing instead on his daughter's immediate safety and well-being.

"We'll deal with him later, Belle, my love," he vowed, his voice firm despite the rage and disbelief simmering beneath the surface. "Right now, we need to get you to safety, and I want the town's doctor to take a look at you."

Belle nodded, her thoughts still consumed by worry. "And the Prince?" she asked, her voice trembling with concern. "Where is he, Papa?"

Maurice's jaw tightened at the mention of the Prince, but he forced himself to remain calm for Belle's sake. "He's coming," he assured her, his tone resolute. "We just need to keep moving. He'll find us."

With renewed determination, Maurice led Belle away from the chaos of the village, their path lit only by the flickering glow of the flames behind them. As they pressed on, the distant and unmistakable figure of the Prince came into view, his expression a mix of disbelief and fury as he beheld the sight of Belle's father's home now fully engulfed in flames.

But despite the chaos around them, his eyes were fixed solely on Belle as if the realm were devoid of women and she was all that was left, a detail that did not escape Maurice's notice. As the Prince drew nearer, his anger palpable, he demanded answers. "What happened here?" he shouted, his voice echoing with authority. "Where is Gaston?"

Maurice, sensing the urgency of the situation, urged the Prince to remain calm.

"There is no time to explain now, Your Highness," he said, his voice surprisingly steady despite the chaos surrounding them. "We need to get Belle to safety and the doctor to look at her."

With that, Maurice guided Belle towards the village's chapel, knowing it would provide some refuge from the raging fire. Sensing that the Prince needed to speak to Belle alone, Maurice hastened to fetch the doctor, leaving the two alone to address the tumultuous events that had unfolded.

Meanwhile, the Prince's expression softened slightly as he approached Belle, concern etched on his features.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine worry as he reached out to gently touch her arm.

Belle met the Prince's gaze, her own eyes reflecting a mixture of fear and gratitude. "I'm…I'm alright, sir," she managed to say, her voice still trembling from the shock of the ordeal. "But my father…he needs help."

The Prince nodded, his jaw clenched with determination.

"He will come back to the castle with us, Belle. I'll make sure he gets the help he needs," he assured her, his tone firm as he glanced back towards the engulfed house through the chapel's window.

As Maurice returned with the village doctor in tow, the Prince turned his attention to Belle's father, directing the doctor to tend to his daughter's injuries. With a sense of relief knowing that her father would be in capable hands, as the doctor examined her, Belle turned back to the Prince.

"What about Gaston? He started the fire, Your Highness," she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the memory of his treachery still fresh in her mind.

The Prince's expression darkened at the mention of Gaston's name. "He will face justice for what he's done, Belle, this much, I can promise you and your father," he vowed, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Let's get you and your father back to the castle," the Prince said gently to Belle, his voice a reassuring anchor amidst the chaos.

Belle nodded weakly, grateful for his steady presence. As the town's doctor declared her shaken and in shock but otherwise unharmed, the Prince took charge, ensuring that Belle and her father received the care they needed.

With Belle's hand in his, the Prince guided them away from the devastation of the village, his determination unwavering. As they made their way towards the safety of the castle, Belle couldn't help but feel a sense of relief knowing they were in good hands, grateful for the Prince's kindness in their time of need.

As they approached the castle, Belle leaned heavily on the Prince's arm, her legs trembling with exhaustion and shock. Despite her efforts to remain composed, the trauma of the night's events weighed heavily upon her.

Inside the castle, servants hurried to assist as the castle physician quickly attended to Belle's needs. The Prince hovered nearby, his concern etched deeply into his features as he watched over her.

Belle was led to a quiet chamber, where she was gently settled onto a soft bed. The physician examined her carefully, his brow furrowing with concern as he assessed her condition.

The diagnosis was clear: Belle was shaken and in shock, her body and mind reeling from the events of the night. The physician recommended rest and gentle care to help her recover.

The Prince remained by Belle's side throughout, his presence a source of comfort and reassurance. He spoke softly to her, offering words of encouragement and support as she struggled to come to terms with what had transpired.

"You're safe now," he whispered, his voice filled with warmth and compassion. "I'll make sure you get the care you need to heal. "Rest, and when you're ready, we'll ensure that justice is served."

With the Prince's words echoing in her ears, Belle allowed herself to relax, knowing that she was in good hands.

As she drifted into a fitful sleep, she clung to the hope that with time and support, she would find the strength to overcome the darkness that had engulfed her.