Beauty

"I never realized how precious the rose was until it began to fade."

-Beast

Snow drifted past the window, falling like frozen stars. The flakes settled in a white blanket that cloaked the castle grounds. Belle pressed her hand against the glass, watching the darkening skies. Despite the storm, the frosty courtyard looked warmer than the West Wing.

Belle shivered. She could still see vestiges of how the West Wing used to be: gray marble floors, an oil painting of a handsome prince, and vases filled with lavender and lilies. The flowers were dead now, their scent overshadowed by the moldering curtains. Only one flower remained, protected under a glass case.

The girls in Belle's books would say the rose looked ethereal, using words like velvety green and ruby red to describe the leaves and petals. But Belle couldn't get past the glass case. It protected the rose, yet it also smothered the flower behind a wall of glass. It's strange how beauty and possession were so closely linked.

She scanned the rest of the dusty room. Why did the Beast want to keep the West Wing hidden? Perhaps it served as his private retreat? Belle eyed the ragged curtains. She didn't see the appeal.

Belle peered out the window again. She could just make out the village lights along the horizon. Beyond them, the world awaited. It seemed absurd that the Beast wanted to stay in this decrepit castle his entire life. Absurd, and boring. What did he even do here? Arrange flowers? Sulk in his forbidden West Wing? Smash furniture whenever it looked at him the wrong way?

Belle would never be happy with that kind of life. She'd grown up reading stories of epic quests and grand adventures. She longed to explore other kingdoms, meet open-minded people, and write a story of her own.

But that dream was gone, smothered as thoroughly as that beautiful rose under its glass case. 

Belle brushed her hands across her dress, drifting closer to the flower. The rose presented an enigma, and Belle had always liked puzzles. Besides, the Beast didn't strike Belle as the superficial type. There must be a reason he kept it in the forbidden wing. Perhaps the flower was a gift from a former lover? Maybe the Beast was saving it for their return so he could declare his undying—

There was a crash.

Too late, Belle realized she'd knocked over one of the flower vases. Blue glass littered the floor, sprinkled among bits of broken furniture. The wind died down as though the world was holding its breath.

Then, a snarl echoed through the castle.

Quick footsteps thudded down the hall. The door to the West Wing flew open, framing the Beast's twisted horns and ragged cloak. His teeth flashed as he took in the scene.

"Why did you come here?" he growled.

Belle flinched, stepping away from the broken glass. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any harm."