Hidden Heart (Beauty and the Beast AU)

With Such Woe

Once she woke—as much as one could wake in such a place—Susato followed the path the Beast had charted for her and visited the storage room. There she uncovered all manner of things. A box of children's toys, coated in dust. Practise swords. The baby clothes she touched with reverence, and gently rubbed away the grey that fuzzed her fingertips, thick as frosting. Old sewing supplies, still good to use. Needlepoints—some finished, some unfinished. A harp with severed strings. Handkerchiefs with lettering she could not read in the dark, and could not decipher with touch. Then she uncovered the painting supplies. Unopened cans. A dusty easel. A panoply of brushes and palettes. Someone must have been trying to learn, back when this place was presumably a home. Although why someone would situate their home on a moorland such as this one made no sense to Susato. How did they even build this place, she wondered, and shuddered at the memory of the mire's jaws attempting to snap shut over her. The sharp sting that heralded her rescue and burned all the way to her elbow.

Susato retrieved her haul, making deliveries to everyone who would benefit from the supplies unearthed from the catacombic room, and then she set to wandering like a needle upon a blank record, searching for sound as it was forced towards the centre.

The West Wing held the same feeling the storage room had. Opening each door the rest of the way was like pushing aside lids in a mausoleum. Glimpsing into some life that had been abandoned mid-expression. Signs of life like in a painting or a dream, now inaccessible, the inhabitants gone.

Her greatest discovery was perhaps what she thought was a parlour or drawing room, based on the books she had read. She inched open the sliding doors, from a consideration of speech to a full argument, and stepped inside. Here too, dust reigned. Couches and settees, instruments. A chess set with pieces that had not been reset, but where instead stuck in a forever-march to battle. It looked like the black had been winning.

Susato glanced towards the back wall. A set of glass doors overlooked mist. Perhaps a garden had once dwelled there. She thought that would have been so very charming. If one could even force a garden to grow out of heath and chasm-deep muck.

The piano drew her and she went to it. Lifted the cover. Susato frowned and touched the scarred ivory lightly. Scratches marred the keys. Tiny punctures. The Beast's sad eyes flashed through her mind. Susato drew her hand back, an unbidden urge to cry scratching at her.

"Miss Susato? Are you sure you should be wandering around like this, dear?"

Evie.

Susato steeled herself and turned towards Evie with a polite smile. "Oh yes. It's quite fascinating isn't it? This manor has so many rooms!"

Evie smiled, but it looked uncertain. "I'm grateful you brought me those sewing supplies earlier, but don't you think you've taken enough risks for the day? Or maybe you're a woman who appreciates danger."

"Oh, no, nothing like that. I really don't feel in danger at all."

"So you are forming some kind of a relationship with Mr. Beast then. How curious!"

"I'm not so sure about that. He's very hard to read...but I think he wants a friend just as much as everyone else does."

"And you think you can be that for him? You want to do that, do you?" Evie pressed.

Susato looked away.

"Goodness! Is that a piano? I do love to play," Evie said. Her face lit up as she hurried to the instrument. She reached out hesitantly, then pressed some of the keys. "A little out of tune, but not terribly so."

"You should play something, Mrs. Vigil!" Susato enthused.

"Is it truly safe to do so, I do wonder."

"Well...he did give me permission to go into any room so long as the door wasn't closed all the way. Besides! This room is not actually part of the West Wing. It's right in the middle. So we have every right to be here!"