WHEN Belle finally regained consciousness, she found herself lying on the cold, hard ground of the forest floor, her head throbbing with pain. Blinking against the dim fading light filtering through the trees, she struggled to push herself up, her body aching all over. As she attempted to gather her bearings, a figure loomed over her, and Belle's heart sank as she recognized Gaston standing nearby, a twisted smile on his lips.
"Well, well, the Sleeping Beauty finally wakes," Gaston sneered, his voice filled with a dangerous edge that sent a shiver down her spine. "I was beginning to think you'd sleep through the entire day."
Belle's mind raced with panic as she tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through her ankle, causing her to gasp and fall back onto the ground. Gaston's triumphant smirk widened as he observed her struggle.
"Having a little trouble, Belle, are we?" he taunted, his brows raised in amusement.
Belle gritted her teeth, refusing to show any weakness in front of him.
"What do you want, Gaston?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger.
Gaston's expression darkened, his colorless grey eyes gleaming with malice.
"What do I want?" he repeated, his voice now low and dangerous. "I want what's mine, Belle, what should have always been mine. I want you to finally admit that you belong to me."
Belle's stomach churned with revulsion at his words.
"I'll never belong to you, Gaston, never," she spat, her voice filled with defiance. "You're nothing but a cruel, cowardly brute who'd rather hide here in the woods than face the consequences of your actions. Do you truly think I would be yours after you set fire to Papa's home? After you nearly killed me?"
Gaston's smirk faltered, replaced by a look of fury. With a swift motion, he reached down and grabbed Belle by the arm, hauling her roughly to her feet.
"I would not say such things if I were you. You'll regret those words, Belle," he growled, his grip like a vice around her wrist. "You think you're so clever, so brave. But you're nothing but a foolish girl who doesn't know her place."
Belle winced as his fingers dug into her skin, but she refused to let him see her pain. "Let go of me, Gaston," she demanded, her voice laced with anger. "You have no right to touch me."
Gaston's eyes narrowed with rage, his grip tightening even further.
"I have every right," he snarled. "You're mine, and I won't let anyone stand in the way of what's rightfully mine."
Belle struggled against his grasp, but Gaston's hold was unyielding. With a triumphant smirk, he began to drag her deeper into the forest, his intentions clear.
As Belle fought desperately for her freedom, her mind raced with thoughts of escape. She knew she had to find a way out of this nightmare, but with Gaston's grip like iron around her wrist, it seemed impossible.
She prayed for a miracle, for someone—anyone—to come to her rescue before it was too late. Fear gripped Belle as Gaston dragged her deeper into the forest, her heart pounding with dread. With a trembling voice, she asked, "What-what are you going to do, Gaston?"
Gaston's expression turned cold and calculating as he looked down at her.
"You ask far too many questions, Belle," he said, his tone eerily calm. "You'll see soon enough."
Belle's stomach churned with fear as she struggled to keep up with his relentless pace. "Please, Gaston, let me go," she pleaded, desperation creeping into her voice. "The Prince will come looking for me, and when he finds out—"
Gaston cut her off with a derisive laugh. "The Prince?" he scoffed. "Do you think he cares about you that much? No, Belle, you're on your own. And by the time he realizes you're missing, it'll be too late."
Belle's heart sank at his words, a cold shiver running down her spine. She knew Gaston was capable of anything, and the thought of being at his mercy filled her with a bone-deep dread.
But even in the face of her fear, Belle refused to give up hope. She had to believe that somehow, some way, she would find a way out of this nightmare. With each step deeper into the forest, she clung to the hope that help would come, that someone would rescue her from Gaston's clutches before it was too late.
As they ventured further into the depths of the forest, Belle's mind churned with fear and questions. Every step seemed to take her further from safety, deeper into Gaston's twisted grasp. She couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom that now hung heavily in the air.
Belle stole a nervous glance at Gaston, his features twisted with malice as he led her onward. She could see the satisfaction in his eyes, relishing in her fear and helplessness. It sent a chill down her spine, but she refused to let him see her falter.
"Please, Gaston," she pleaded, her voice quivering with fear. "Let me go. You—you know this isn't right, I know you do."
Gaston's gaze hardened as he glanced down at her, his grip on her arm tightening. His lip curled into a sneer as he watched her eyes glitter with unshed tears.
"It's not just about you, Belle," he spat. "It's also about him..."
Belle's heart sank as she realized who Gaston was referring to. "The Prince?" she whispered.
Gaston nodded, a bitter glint in his eye. "Yes, the Prince," he snarled. "He could have helped me when my family fell from grace when we lost everything. But he turned his back on me, just like everyone else."
Belle's eyes widened in shock. She had never known the depth of Gaston's hatred for the Prince, nor the reasons behind it. "But why take it out on me?" she asked, her voice pleading. "I've done nothing to you."
Gaston's expression darkened, his grip on Belle's arm almost painful.
"You're with him, Belle, it's obvious," he growled. "You chose him over me. And now you'll both pay the price."
Belle's heart ached as she realized the extent of Gaston's bitterness and resentment. She had never imagined that their friendship had soured so deeply, that he harbored such intense hatred for the Prince.
But even as fear threatened to overwhelm her, Belle knew she couldn't give up hope. She had to find a way to reason with Gaston, to make him see that revenge wouldn't solve anything.
"Gaston, please," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "This isn't the answer. Let me go, and we can find a way to make things right. It's not too late to change."
But Gaston's expression remained cold and unforgiving. "It's too late for that, Belle," he growled. "I could have helped you, Belle, could have loved you. But you made your choice, and now you'll suffer the consequences."
Belle's heart sank as she realized that reasoning with Gaston would be impossible. But even as despair threatened to consume her, she refused to give up. She had to believe that there was still hope, that somehow, someway, she would find a way to escape his clutches and put an end to this madness.
She had never felt more alone and vulnerable than she did in that moment, trapped in the clutches of a man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.
But even as fear threatened to consume her, Belle clung to a glimmer of hope. She had to believe that someone would come looking for her, that the Prince and his men would realize she was missing and mount a rescue mission. She just had to hold on a little longer. As they continued deeper into the forest, Belle's thoughts raced with possibilities. She scanned the surroundings for any sign of help, any chance of escape. But the dense foliage offered little in the way of refuge, the trees towering overhead like silent sentinels, watching her every move.
Suddenly, a sound broke through the stillness of the forest—a distant shout, followed by the sound of hoofbeats drawing nearer. Belle's heart leaped with hope as she strained to listen, her pulse quickening with anticipation.
Gaston's expression darkened at the sound, his grip on Belle's arm tightening. "Looks like your precious Prince is finally coming to the rescue," he sneered, his voice laced with bitterness.
Belle's heart soared at the prospect of rescue, but she knew she couldn't let Gaston see her relief. She had to stay strong, to keep her wits about her until help arrived.
With bated breath, she watched as the Prince and his men burst through the trees, their faces etched with determination. Relief flooded through Belle as she caught sight of them, her hopes soaring with the promise of salvation. But Gaston's grip on her arm only tightened, his gaze burning with a dangerous fire.
"Not so fast, Belle," he growled, his voice low and menacing. "You're not going anywhere."
Belle's heart pounded in her chest as she braced herself for whatever Gaston had planned next. But as the Prince and his men closed in, she knew that no matter what happened, she wasn't alone.
She had allies, she had hope, and she wouldn't let Gaston win.
The Prince and his men charged through the forest, their swords drawn and faces determined. Gaston's grip on Belle tightened as he assessed the situation, his eyes flickering between Belle and the approaching group.
"Let her go, Gaston!" the Prince commanded, his voice echoing through the trees.
Gaston's lips curled into a snarl, his grip on Belle's arm like a vice.
"No. She's mine," he spat, his voice filled with venom. "And I won't let anyone take her from me."
But the Prince and his men were undeterred. They closed in, their swords gleaming in the dim light of the forest.
"Release her, or face the consequences," one of the men warned, his voice steely.
Gaston's gaze darted between Belle and the advancing group, his expression torn between rage and desperation. For a moment, it seemed as though he might fight back, might refuse to surrender.
But then, with a final, furious growl, he released Belle's arm and took a step back.
Belle stumbled forward, her ankle protesting the sudden movement, but she managed to stay on her feet. She cast a grateful glance at the Prince and his men, her heart overflowing with relief.
But before she could speak, Gaston lunged forward, his rage consuming him. With a wild cry, he charged at the Prince, his fists raised in a futile attempt to strike. The Prince was ready. With a swift motion, he parried Gaston's attack, disarming him with ease. Gaston stumbled backward, his face contorted with fury and defeat.
"Enough, Gaston," the Prince said firmly, his voice commanding. "It's over."
Gaston glared at him, his chest heaving with exertion.
"It will never be over," he growled, his voice filled with bitterness. "Not until I have what's rightfully mine."
But the Prince remained unmoved. "You've already lost, Gaston," he said, his tone resolute. "And you'll answer for your crimes." With that, the Prince signaled to his men, who quickly moved to restrain Gaston.
Belle was taken aback as Gaston swiftly lunged forward, deftly dodging the guards who attempted to encircle him. She stood frozen in shock and horror as Gaston drew a hunting knife from his belt with surprising speed. Before anyone could react, he aimed his blade and stabbed the Prince in the side, leaving Belle to watch in disbelief.
Belle's scream pierced the air as Gaston withdrew his blade and the Prince staggered backward, a look of shock and agony crossing his face as he clutched at the wound.
Time seemed to slow as the horrifying reality of what had just happened sank in.
"No!" Belle cried out, her voice filled with disbelief and horror. She rushed forward, instinctively reaching out to support him, but her movements felt sluggish as if she were wading through water.
Gaston's laughter echoed through the clearing, cold and triumphant.
"You see, Belle?" he sneered, his eyes glinting with malice. "I told you I would have what's rightfully mine."
Belle's heart hammered in her chest as she stared at Gaston, her mind reeling with shock and fear. How could she have been so blind? But there was no time for regrets. With the Prince wounded and vulnerable, they were both in grave danger. Belle glanced around desperately, her eyes searching for any sign of help.
To her relief, she saw the guards rallying, their weapons drawn as they closed in on Gaston. But he was quick, darting between them with surprising agility, his movements fueled by a deadly determination.
Belle's breath caught in her throat as she watched Gaston evade their attempts to capture him. He was like a predator, swift and relentless, his eyes fixed on his prey—the wounded Prince.
With a surge of adrenaline, Belle rushed to the Prince's side, ignoring the protests of her aching body. She knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she tried to assess the extent of his injuries.
The Prince's face was pale, his breathing labored as he clutched at the wound in his side. Belle's heart ached at the sight of him in pain, her mind racing with panic.
"We need to get you help," she said urgently, her voice trembling with fear.
But the Prince shook his head, his gaze locked on hers.
"No, Belle," he insisted, his voice strained. "You need to go. Get to safety."
Belle's eyes widened with alarm. "But I can't leave you here," she protested, her voice thick with emotion.
The Prince managed a weak smile, his fingers brushing against her cheek.
"You must," he said softly. "I won't let Gaston harm you further. Please, Belle. Go."
Belle hesitated, torn between her desire to stay by the Prince's side and her instinct to flee from the danger that loomed ever closer. But she knew he was right. She had to get help, to warn the others before it was too late.
With a final, agonized glance at the Prince, Belle forced herself to her feet. Ignoring the pain that shot through her own body, she turned and fled into the forest, her heart pounding with fear and determination. As she ran, she prayed for help—for anyone who could stop Gaston and save the Prince. She didn't know what lay ahead, but she refused to give up hope. She would fight for the Prince, for their chance at a future together, no matter the cost.
Belle ran blindly through the dense forest, her heart racing with every step. Her mind was a whirlwind of fear and desperation as she tried to focus on the task at hand—to find help, to save the Prince.
Behind her, she thought she heard the commotion of the guards shouting at one another, the clash of metal as the Prince's men tackled Gaston. The sounds of struggle and chaos filled the air, but Belle dared not look back. She couldn't bear to see what was happening, couldn't risk slowing down, not when the Prince's life was on the line.
The forest seemed to close in around her, the trees looming like silent sentinels as she pushed herself to keep moving. Every breath was a struggle, every step agony as her injured ankle protested against the strain. But Belle refused to give up. She couldn't afford to fail the Prince now, not after everything they had been through.
As she ran, Belle's thoughts raced with worry for the Prince. She prayed that his men would be able to subdue Gaston, that they would be able to get him the medical attention he desperately needed. But even as hope flickered in her chest, a nagging fear gnawed at her—the fear that she had left him behind, alone and vulnerable to Gaston's cruelty.
But she couldn't go back. Not yet. She had to trust in the Prince's men, in their ability to handle the situation. She had to keep moving forward, to find help and return before it was too late.
Suddenly, a voice called out from ahead, breaking through Belle's frantic thoughts.
"Belle! Over here!"
Belle's heart leaped with relief as she recognized the familiar voice. She followed the sound, pushing herself to go faster, until she burst through the trees and stumbled into the clearing where Lumière and Cogsworth were waiting, their expressions filled with concern.
"Belle, ma cherie, what has happened?" Lumière exclaimed, rushing to her side.
Belle could barely speak, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to catch it.
"Gaston," she managed to choke out. "He—he stabbed the Prince."
Lumière and Cogsworth exchanged horrified glances, their features contorted with shock and dismay. "Mon Dieu," Cogsworth muttered. "We must go to him at once."
But Belle shook her head, her voice urgent. "No, we need to get help first," she insisted. "The guards, the other servants—we have to warn them."
Lumière and Cogsworth nodded in agreement, understanding the gravity of the situation. With determination, they set off through the forest, Belle leading the way with renewed urgency.
As they ran, Belle couldn't shake the image of the Prince's wounded form from her mind, the memory of his pained expression haunting her every step. She prayed that they would reach help in time, that they would be able to save him from Gaston's treachery. But as they raced through the forest, Belle knew that time was running out. They had to move quickly, for the Prince's life hung in the balance, and she would not rest until he was safe once more.
As they hurried through the forest, Belle's heart pounded with a mixture of fear and determination. Her mind raced with thoughts of the Prince, his safety paramount above all else. But as they emerged from the trees into a clearing, her attention was drawn to a sight that filled her with both relief and fury.
A few of the Prince's guards were leading Gaston away, his hands bound and his head bowed in defeat. Belle's eyes narrowed as she watched them, her fists clenched at her sides. Gaston's expression as he met her gaze was blank and expressionless, devoid of the usual arrogance and defiance.
Belle felt a surge of anger well within her at the sight of the man who had haunted her footsteps for too long. Gaston had nearly killed her and burned her father's home, and now, he had gravely injured the man she loved.
"He'll pay for what he's done," Cogsworth muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness.
Belle nodded, her jaw set in determination. "Yes," she agreed, her voice low and steely. "He will."
But even as they watched Gaston being led away, Belle knew that their task was far from over. They still had to find help for the Prince, to ensure that he received the medical attention he so desperately needed.
Hurrying towards the forest clearing where Belle had left the Prince, Belle's heart pounded with a mixture of fear and urgency. Lumière and Cogsworth followed closely behind, their expressions reflecting the gravity of the situation. Emerging from the trees, Belle's breath caught in her throat at the sight before her.
The rest of the Prince's guards were already there, carefully carrying the injured Prince towards them. His tunic and coat were stained with blood, and Belle's horror deepened at the sight.
She rushed forward, her steps faltering as she saw the Prince's pale face, contorted in pain.
"No," she whispered, her voice trembling with shock and grief.
The guards gently laid the Prince on the ground, his eyes fluttering open as Belle knelt beside him.
"Belle," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm sorry. I should have protected you."
Belle shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. "It's not your fault," she assured him, her voice choked with emotion. "We'll get you help. You're going to be alright." But even as she spoke the words, Belle's heart clenched with fear. The Prince's injuries looked severe, and she knew they needed to act fast.
With the help of the guards, they carefully lifted the Prince onto a makeshift stretcher, preparing to carry him back to the castle. Belle walked alongside them, her hand clasped tightly in his, willing him to hold on.
As they approached the castle gates, the urgency of the situation was palpable. The guards rushed ahead, alerting the servants and summoning the castle physician.
Belle stayed by the Prince's side, her eyes never leaving his face as they hurried through the courtyard and into the castle infirmary. The physician and his assistants were already there, waiting to attend to the Prince's wounds.
With gentle hands, they placed him on a nearby bed, quickly assessing his injuries and preparing to administer treatment. Belle watched anxiously as they worked, her heart heavy with worry. She couldn't bear the thought of losing the Prince—not now, not after everything they had been through together.
But as the physician began his examination, Belle knew that they were in good hands. She vowed to stay by the Prince's side, to support him through his recovery, no matter what lay ahead.
As the physician turned to Belle with a grave expression, her heart sank with dread. She clutched the Prince's hand tighter, unwilling to leave his side, but the physician's tone brooked no argument.
"Mademoiselle, I understand you are worried for him, but you must leave," he said firmly, his voice tinged with urgency.
Belle's eyes widened with panic, her grip on the Prince's hand faltering. "But I need to stay with him," she pleaded, her voice trembling with emotion. "I can't leave him alone."
The physician shook his head, his expression sympathetic but resolute. "You don't need to be here to see what comes next," he insisted, gently but firmly guiding Belle towards the door.
Belle's protests died on her lips as she realized the gravity of the situation. With a heavy heart, she allowed herself to be led from the room, her thoughts consumed by worry for the Prince.
Outside the infirmary, Lumière and Cogsworth waited anxiously, their faces etched with concern as Belle emerged.
"What happened?" Lumière asked, his voice filled with apprehension.
Belle shook her head, her voice choked with tears.
"I don't know," she admitted, her heart aching with uncertainty. "But they wouldn't let me stay."
Cogsworth placed a comforting hand on Belle's shoulder, his expression somber.
"We'll wait here for news," he said gently. "And pray for the Prince's recovery."
Belle nodded, her eyes brimming with tears as she leaned against Lumière for support. Together, they waited in agonizing silence, their thoughts consumed by fear and hope for the man they loved.
Belle braced her back against the cold stone wall of the corridor, seeking its support as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her. She slumped to the floor, her legs unable to hold her weight any longer. Every muscle in her body ached, her mind reeling from the events of the day. Though she vowed to remain awake, to be ready for any news about the Prince, the weight of her fear and worry proved too much to bear. Despite her best efforts, she found herself slipping into darkness, the weariness of her body and the turmoil of her thoughts pulling her under.
As she drifted into sleep, her last conscious thought was of the Prince—his strength, his kindness, his unwavering courage. Her fear for him was overwhelming, overshadowing everything else in her mind. She prayed fervently for his recovery, willing him to hold on, to fight through the darkness that threatened to consume him.
In the depths of her dreams, Belle clung to the hope that she would wake to find the Prince safe and sound, his smile lighting up the room as he assured her that everything would be alright.
But even in sleep, her heart ached with the uncertainty of what the coming hours would bring and the fear that she might never see him again.