Reddest Rose

Chapter Eight

When she finally came back into the castle hours later - for some reason it took most of the morning to muck out Phillipe's mostly clean stable - all was quiet. It was easy to move through the passageways without someone at her side. Not having the chance to properly explore previously almost set an itch in her legs. She understood where to go without having eyes on her now, and quietly crept up towards the highest point of of the castle. It had once been her prison, certainly, but not for too long. The air grew colder as she went higher, and twice her shoes slipped on the slick steps. Abandoned by its Master and prisoners alike, this area of the castle had already grown icy. Even the latches of the cells were frozen shut. Belle didn't stay long - if Adam were here, this wasn't where Beast was keeping him.

She then began to sweep her way downward, creeping quietly through abandoned bedrooms and sitting rooms. She found a velvet chaise lounge infested with a nest of baby mice, and several portraits that had been torn to ribbons. In one room she found a fireplace, its hearth filled with charred, ruined books and felt her heart seize. It was impossible to make out the titles, and she blackened her fingers struggling to decipher the spines. Eventually her growling stomach pulled her away from her search and toward the kitchen, where someone had laid a filling lunch for her. She tucked some of the bread into the pockets of her dress and ventured back into the heart of the castle.

It was bigger than she'd thought, and by the time the sun was creeping low in the windows and the sky was hues of orange and purple, she had only barely scraped through the Northern most area of the castle before returning to her room smudged with soot, her nails chipped and broken, and a tangle in her hair from getting caught beneath a bed chasing what she'd thought was a dog, and turned out to be little more than a skittish, gold tasseled, foot stool. With a sigh she slipped out of her shoes and stumbled towards the tub. It was - as always - filled with hot, fragrant water and she had just slipped off her dress when a voice came from the direction of the fireplace.

"What are you doing?"

Belle gasped and fumbled for her clothes, whirling with a frown to see Adam sitting cross legged in front of the fire. He stared into the flames with a frown, his handsome face marred with despair. Had she fallen asleep standing up? She looked around the room, hoping almost for some of the dream like fogginess that usually accompanied her nighttime visitor.

"Adam!" She hissed, surprised at how loud her own voice was. "What are you doing here?" No. Something was wrong. He couldn't actually be here! He was just a figment of her imagination! He wasn't real! With his back to her she stooped down and fought to pull her clothes back on.

"You're hunting through the castle for something. What are you looking for?"

"Nothing! I'm just understanding more about where I am. I'm in a castle, of course I want to learn more about it!" The dirty dress felt stiff, but now clothed she made her way towards him.

"Belle, it's dangerous," He turned and held out his hand, drawing her in closer. "You could find things you shouldn't - your hands!" He looked over her filthy fingers and the frown grew more pronounced. "What were you doing that you would get so filthy? Where were you? Were you in the West Wing?"

Belle sharply pulled her hands away and covered them with her skirt. "There were books in the fireplace in one of the rooms. I was in the North wing, and I...They were the first books I've seen here. They were burned. I couldn't read them, but I tried." Her eyes stung, but she kept the tears at bay. "What...what's in the West Wing?"

"Nothing you should worry about. You did all this to yourself looking for books?" His voice had softened and the shadow of a smile was creeping up in its place."Oh Belle, that isn't..." He pulled her in close, and she gasped at the firmness of his chest and the strength in his embrace. What exactly was going on? Where was the fogginess, or the crushing pull of sleep that came with him?