Caffeine and Magix

Inspired by THIS POST about gay Disney Princesses. 

When the old beggar comes to the door, Addy knows better than to let her in. She doesn’t look at the rose or the woman too long; she shuts the door.

Some will call her arrogant or selfish, but what is she to do? No guards, parents in the capital (not, here, not here), and the knowledge that she is the damsel in all those fairy tales weighs heavily on her mind. Oh, little princess, far from home and alone, so alone.

The Enchantress (for they do not call her witch) makes sure that she stays that way.

Alone except for her wilting rose.

(She did not want it, would not take it, so she was bound to it. Such is the way of Princesses.)

———————————-

Addy used to have frightful bursts of temper. Her face would turn red, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, mouth screwed into an upside down kidney bean. Anything could set her off; a too tight corset, a walk ended too quickly, another toy sword taken away. She’d wail and scream, kick her feet and punch the air, tear and rend anything within arm’s reach.

The first time she has a fit in her new form, it’s after Mrs. Potts reads the King and Queen’s decision on her…condition. She’s to stay here, on the outskirts of their kingdom, until a Prince comes to release her from her spell. Alone until a different sort of bond is forced on her, until she is made to change from princess to beast to bride.

Addy know why they refuse to save her. It’s because she’s always been too big, too strong, too ill-tempered, too–

In her rage, Addy upends the tea tray, forgetting, forgetting, forgetting.

She is reminded when fine china falls to the hard ground, when it rattles, when it shatters, when it screams.

“No!” Addy falls to her knees next to her dishes– no, her friends and frantically rights them, apologies tumbling from her lips, eyes brimming with tears.

“Temper,” Mrs. Potts murmurs, more out of reflex than anything, looking obviously terrified. She hops from her side to her base, better able to control her new body than any other castle resident. Her lid is sitting askew and her eyes are wide (so wide) as they dart from one cup to another. “Daniel? Daniel!”

Addy cuts herself on broken porcelain and flinches. She–she’d killed him, she’d been so thoughtless, how could she? “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”

“I’m okay,” a little voice says. “I’m okay, Mom!”

 Addy sobs as she locates him under the silver platter, on his side, trapped. She throws the platter too hard, lodging it in the wall, and takes Daniel in her paws.  

“It’s okay, Princess Addy,” Daniel chirps at her. He’s a little older than her, just a few years, and he’s always trying to be strong. His eyes are wide (too wide), but he offers her a tremulous smile. “I’m okay.”

“Thank goodness,” Mrs. Potts says and her china clinks as she hops forward. 

Addy’s eyes lock on the horrible, huge chip in his rim. 

I did that.

She’s across the room before being aware of setting Daniel down, of standing, of leaping away.

“Princess,” Mrs. Potts says from her low, low position on the floor. “What–”

“Don’t call me that,” Addy grits out. Her huge body leans heavily against the door, making it groan, as she desperately tries to wrap her paw around the handle. She can’t stop looking at the chip, the proof of harm, the proof that something much worse can happen so easily. “Don’t call me– I’m not–I’m not the Princess. I’m the Beast.”

The door crashes open and she disappears.

————————————————

It’s weeks before the servants realize that she’s never going to answer to her name again. She no longer sleeps in her princess bed or attempts to wear her princess clothes. She wears pants scavenged from the servants’ quarters, tunics from her father’s closet, ties her mane back with twine instead of ornaments.

“Addy!” they call. “Princess Addy!”

The Beast doesn’t even know who that is.

——————————–

She is raiding the kitchen (like an animal, a starving animal) when she sees Daniel again.

“Chef Bouche made your favorites,” Daniel says. She spins to see him sitting on the topmost shelf, his bottom perched perilously over the edge. “Did you know that you’re the only one who needs to eat?”

The Beast doesn’t have favorites. She shouldn’t eat. Monsters should just starve. A low growl starts up in the back of her throat as she edges towards the door.

“If you leave,” Daniel says, tiny voice brave, “I’ll throw myself off the shelf.”

That stops her, that sends chills racing down her spine, that cuts off her growl. “You can’t.” She gets flashes of broken glass, the feeling as it cuts into her skin, the devastation in Mrs. Potts’ voice. “You won’t.”

“I can and I will, Princess Addy.”

The sound of her name makes her flinch, a hurt, half-roar rumbling up her throat. “Don’t call me that!” 

“I’m not going to call you Beast,” Daniel says. He frowns down at her. “You’re not a beast.”

“I am,” the Beast says. Her paws curl in and her claws cut the pads before she remembers. “Until this curse ends, I am.” And I’m beginning to think it’ll never end.

Daniel is silent for a long moment. Finally, he says, “Fine, then I’m Chip.”

The Beast blinks. “What?”

“I’m Chip,” Daniel says and nods with his whole body, tipping precariously forward. She jerks forward, heart in her throat, but he steadies himself easily enough. “If you’re going to call yourself what was done to you, so will I. I got chipped, so I’m Chip.”

“But–what?” she asks. She shakes her mane. “No!”

“You don’t get to tell me what I’m called,” Daniel tells her. “You’re not a princess, right?”

“No, but–”

“Well,” Daniel–no, Chip says, “until you are, my name is Chip. Now, let’s go find my mom. She knows where Chef put the food.”

The Beast isn’t able to argue with that.

——————————————————–

It’s a few years later when she realizes that Chip and the others have stopped aging. It’s hard to tell in their bodies (no age lines, no height to measure, no change at all), but she can tell by how they act. They’re in stasis, trapped at the point they were cursed. She’s sure of it.

When she turns sixteen, she asks Chip how old he is.

“Thirteen,” Chip says immediately. He frowns. “I…think?”

She agrees with him, but her heart sinks. He’d been thirteen when she was cursed.

She secrets herself away in her tower (all cursed Princesses must have a tower) and stares at the rose. It’s still blooming, still full, but she thinks a petal might be loose. She’s too scared to check, too scared to touch, too scared to even look too long.

When that last petal falls what will happen to Chip? Mrs. Potts? Lumiere? Cogsworth? Will they remain here even after she dies, unchanging? Lost?

Alone?

—————————————————

The Beast lurks near the closest village, a small little thing with a hundred or so people. She watches those her age, those she thinks could love her, those she thinks could break the curse.

One boy often goes into the woods to gather plants for his family. She thinks he might be attractive by the way the village regards him though she does not find him more than passingly beautiful.

She thinks it must be because of her form, because of the horns that spiral from her head, because of the claws weighing on her fingertips.

I will love him, she decides, when I am human.

“Hello,” she says from the shadows of a tree. The boy jumps and she hastens to say, “I mean you no harm! I have seen you in the woods before and thought today I might ask your name?”

“Philip,” the boy says. He scans the trees for her and frowns. “Where are you?” Suspicion enters his eyes. “Are you a spirit? A goblin?”

“No,” she says. “I’m just…ugly.” Close enough. “Will you talk with me for a while?”

Philip appears to think about this. “I guess. It’ll help pass the time. What’s your name?”

Addy, she starts to say, but the word gets caught in her throat. “I don’t have one.”

——————————————-

Philip and the Beast become fast friends. He teaches her about the different plants in the woods and she showers him with praise. She’s never been taught, never thought to ask, and everything he shares with her seems nearly magical in its newness.

It’ll be okay, she thinks, hope in her eyes as she watches him from the shadows. He knows so much about the woods and its strange things. Maybe he won’t be scared. Maybe he’ll understand.

And when I am human, I will love him.

“Philip,” she says. “There is a reason why I haven’t shown you my face.”

Philip looks up from the berry bush in front of him. “Oh?”

She takes a deep breath. This is it. “It’s because I’m cursed.”

And she steps out of the shadows.

————————————————–

There is no one in the castle with the dexterity to pull the arrows from her flesh, to soothe the burns through her fur, to sew the lacerations swords left behind. She does it herself in her tower, pained roars shaking the forest that protects her from them.

Monster, Philip had said. He’d screamed. He’d run. Monster.

She tears apart her tower, curses her parents, rips the tapestry of her family. She is a beast, a monster and no one can love her. She throws a torn curtain over the rose, sick of its glowing and its falling petals and everything.

When I am human, I will love him.

She roars her anguish because she is a fool. She can’t get anyone to love her, just as she can’t love anyone. When she turned that old woman away (that witch) she doomed them all.

————————————————————————–

"I’m sorry,” she tells the servants. “I’m sorry.”

They don’t ask for what. They don’t need too.

She doesn’t go near the village again.

———————————————————

They have a year, just one, when she finds Maurice in her castle. He’s old, cold, and shivering, but he looks like them.

“So,” she growls from the shadows, “you’ve come to laugh at the beast.”

He screams when she steps into the light, just like she expected.

—————————————————–

“You have to let him go,” Mrs. Potts tells her. Her lid clatters and steam seeps anxiously from her spout. “He’s not a danger to us, he got lost–”

“He’ll tell the others,” the Beast says. She eats the chicken Mrs. Potts brought with her paws. She hasn’t used silverware in years. “They’ll come and they’ll burn all of us. All of you. Do you want that?”

“Well, no,” Mrs. Potts says flustered. She looks to Lumiere for help.

“Of course not,” Lumiere says, metal clanging as he hops forward. He was once a princess’ adviser. Now he herds the beast. “But you can not treat a man this way, my dear. It is simply–” He breaks off, flames extinguishing.

“Beastly?” she fills in. She growls and throws the bones into her mouth, teeth easily grinding them up. They all flinch at the sound, the display, everything. She jerks up and stalks out of the room. “I know.”

————————————————-

The only reason that the Beast agrees to keep Belle instead of her father is because she doesn’t want to be responsible for another death. Maurice is ailing, coughing, dying and it’s easier to keep Belle. Belle whose skin is smooth and unblemished, whose cheeks are rosy, whose hair is like silk, whose eyes had held more anger than fear–

The Beast sulks in her tower and, for no real reason, pulls the curtain from the rose.  Its petals are half gone, another three drooping dangerously, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what Cogsworth or Mrs. Potts or Lumiere think. 

It doesn’t even matter that Belle rejected her dinner invitation, that she yelled, that she refused to so much look at the Beast. It wouldn’t matter if she did.

 No one can love a beast after all.

Another petal falls.

—————————————————

The Beast is hungry. That’s why she leaves her tower. Not to see if Belle has eaten, not to see if she’s still locked in her room, not to see if she’s okay. The Beast wouldn’t care even if Belle wasn’t okay. Beasts don’t care about hungry mortals.

“Oh dear,” she hears Cogsworth fret. “Where did she go?”

The Beast eases down the corridor, ear flicking so she can better hear them. So they did feed Belle, the must have if they’re near the kitchens. But they lost her? How could they? She must be heading back to her town by now! She could be telling–

“We need to find her!” Lumiere says. “But where–”

Together they gasp. “The tower!”

The Beast sees red. No.

She leans onto all fours (like an animal) and takes off down the corridor, claws scraping against the stone, clothes billowing from her speed. Cogsworth and Lumiere shout in dismay as she goes racing past, too small, too slow to stop her. 

They don’t know what they risk by even trying.

She bursts into the tower room just as Belle reaches for the glass.

"I told you never to come here!”

“I didn’t mean–I–”

“GET OUT!”

——————————————————–

“Miss!” Lumiere gasps, picking himself up off the stairs. “She went outside–the snow–”

“The wolves!” Cogsworth gasps. The hands on his face spin anxiously. “Don’t you hear them? The wolves!”

“I don’t care,” the Beast hisses.

Lumiere leaps up, higher than the Beast thought he could, and lands on her shoulder. He grabs her head between his candles, tiny face furious. “You do. You must! Now go!”

Too taken aback to argue, she does.

————————————————————

“Hold still,” Belle says gently, wringing most of the hot water from the towel in her hands.

The Beast doesn’t know why she’s sitting in the arm chair in front of the fire instead of licking her wounds in private. She’s used to tending to her own cuts and bruises, used to curling up alone with the pain–

“Hold still,” Belle chides when the Beast instinctively moves her arm out of reach. “This will only take a second!”

When the cloth makes contact with the claw marks on her arm, the Beast roars. “That hurts!”

She realizes what she’s done a second later. She’d roared like she did in the tower. Belle is probably scared, Belle will probably run, and then she’ll go back to her village and tell–

“Hold still,” Belle growls right back, “and it won’t hurt as much!”

Behind her, Lumiere, Cogsworth and the others gasp, eyes wide.

“Well,” Beast says, too shocked to mind her tongue, “if you hadn’t run away, then this wouldn’t have happened!” There, now she won’t–

“If you hadn’t frightened me, I wouldn’t have run away!” Belle shoots back.  She squares her shoulders, chin up.

“Well, you, you–” the Beast stutters. She can’t let Belle have the last word. She can’t. “Well you shouldn’t have been in the tower!”

Belle’s eyes narrow. “Well you should learn to control your temper!”

And the Beast…really can’t argue with that. Her mind flashes to Chip, to the claw marks in the walls, to Belle surrounded by a hungry pack of wolves.

She settles back into her chair with a huff and submits.

“Hold still,” Belle reminds, seeming to calm down herself. She brings up the cloth. “This might sting a little.”

The Beast only manages to quiet her roar of pain a little, head turning away to keep from scaring Belle again. It does hurt, not nearly as much as the arrows, but plenty. She tries to focus on how small Belle’s hands are, how gentle she’s being as she dabs at the blood caught in her fur.

“By the way,” Belle says softly, “thank you for saving my life.”

The pain flees, leaving Beast light-headed. Thank you? She’s thanking me? Beast can’t remember the last time she was thanked. “You’re…welcome.”

Belle tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and goes to rinse out the cloth.

———————————————-

Beast has never felt this way before. She finds herself watching Belle as she explores the castle and grounds. Every time Belle smiles, something turns over in her chest, something changes inside and she feels…less beastly. More something else.

When Belle smiles at her? Beast ducks down behind the balcony as Belle does just that, heart thundering in her chest. She presses a paw to it and tries to remember how to breathe. Ridiculous.

“I want to do something for her,” Beast says impulsively. She looks down at her paws. She’d do anything to make Belle smile at her again. “Something special.”

“Well,” Cogsworth says, shooting a light glare at Lumiere, “you can do what lured me in. Chocolates, candies, promises you don’t intend to keep–”

“Or something that matches her interests,” Lumiere interrupts hastily, putting one of his candle arms around Cogsworth. “Haha. How about–”

“I can do that,” Beast says. Her heart flips when she peeks over the railing to see Belle petting her horse. “I can do that.”

————————————————

Belle loves the library. Beast didn’t know a human could smile so wide or emit such light. Belle races from shelf to shelf, touching the spines, murmuring titles and authors like old friends.

“I don’t even know where to start,” she says with a laugh. Her fingers trace over the open face of the book in her arms. She closes it with a snap and turns to Beast. “I know! What’s your favorite, I’ll start with that!”

Beast struggles to keep her smile on her face, glad that her fur covers the sudden blush on her face. “Oh, um, I don’t– I don’t have a favorite.”

“I suppose I don’t have a favorite either,” Belle says, still smiling. “What was the last one you read then?”

“None of them,” Beast admits in a rush. She looks at her feet, sure that she’s red to the tips of her ears under her fur. “I–I can’t read. I never learned.” She can’t bring herself to look at Belle, can’t bear to see the pity on her sweet face.

A gentle hand touches Beast’s arm and she looks up to see that Belle doesn’t look pitying. She looks…kind.

“Do you want me to teach you?” Belle asks. She doesn’t sound judgmental or expectant; it’s a simple question. “We could read this together if you like.” She holds up the book in her hand. On it is a single, red rose.

Beast feels like her heart might burst. “I–I’d like that.”

Belle smiles up at her, brown eyes bright. “I’d like that too.”

————————————

It’s different after the library. Beast and Belle are nearly inseparable, racing around the castle like they’re children, searching for treasures Beast has long since forgotten existed.

Beast learns to read, slowly but surely, and Belle learns how to climb trees. Sometimes Beast will carry them to the top of the tallest pine in the forest and Belle will read a new fairytale out loud. Beast likes the fairy tales Belle picks out. The princesses are always fighters in them, travelers, and adventurers.

Beast thinks that, one day, she might like to be like the princesses in Belle’s stories. Free and brave and without towers.

On the way back to the castle, Belle slips her dainty hand into Beast’s paw.

———————————————————

Maybe, Beast thinks, when I’m human, she’ll love me.

It’s a painful hope.

————————————————————-

Beast is going to tell Belle about the curse. She is. She knows that Belle isn’t like Philip (how could she be? She’s much better than him), but she’s still scared.

“Belle, there’s something I–” Beast clears her throat as Belle looks at her quizzically. She takes a deep breath. “Are you…happy here? With me?”

Belle is beautiful in the yellow gown she’s wearing, hair pinned up and  fancy just because. That’s life here at the castle since Belle came– just because. Beast didn’t think she could be this happy.

“Of course,” Belle says with such sincerity that Beast is proven wrong– she didn’t think she could be this happy.  Belle strokes over the back of Beast’s paws. “It’s just–”

Beast’s heart plummets. “It’s just…what?”

“I miss my father,” Belle says. She runs a comforting hand over Beast’s arm. “I wish I could see that he was okay.”

Beast smiles, knowing that the sight of her teeth doesn’t scare Belle, excited. She can do this for Belle, at least! “There is a way.”

Belle’s tentatively hopeful look makes Beast feel warm.

She shows Belle the mirror.

————————————————-

“You let her go?” Cogsworth asks, hands wringing. “Why?”

“Because I love her.”

——————————————

Beast knows that Belle isn’t coming back. She knows that she’ll realize what a mistake it was to be happy here, with a beast, instead of at home. Maybe she’ll find someone else to love there, a human, and she’ll forget all about Beast.

She knows that the curse will not be broken now, that she’s doomed them all. She’s thankful that the other castle residents don’t seem to blame her, that they still look at her with kindness (with pity) and that they respect her need to be alone.

Just like she’ll be for the rest of her life.

But how could Beast have made Belle stay? And risk Belle unhappy? She couldn’t. Belle deserves so much more than her.

She curls up in her tower (for all princesses need towers when there’s no Belle to retell the story) and watches the petals fall.

—————————————————————

“Princess Addy!” Lumiere hops into her room, his panic making him forget her real name. “They’re coming! Men with pitchforks, I don’t know how they found us–”

She thinks she should be furious. Scared. But all she feels is grief. She knew this would happen, somehow. Belle would never tell, not for this, but the truth always comes out. She covers her ears with her hands, tired of fighting, of being frightening, of existing. “I’m sorry.”

Lumiere’s flame surges higher, casting even longer shadows on the walls of her torn up tower. “Don’t worry, your highness. We won’t let them hurt you again.”

He leaves the room dark and cold behind him.

——————————————————

Beast watches the men flee through the front gates, screaming about sentient furniture and stoves and knives. She feels…she’s glad that her friends are safe, that they defended themselves. They’ll have to do that when she’s gone, when she–

She can’t even think about the future. The future alone, as a beast, without the joy that Belle showed her.

When the door creaks open behind her, she barely finds the strength to turn her head, to take in the unknown man, to see the bow in his hands.

She roars when the arrow pierces her back.

“So you’re the beast,” the man says. He leaps forward and she doesn’t block his kick. She falls through her broken window, rolls down the roof, barely stops when she hits a ledge.

She struggles to get up, to get the pressure off the arrow in her back. The man falls from the sky, huge boots smacking into the roof in front of her. He kicks her again, throwing her further along the ledge and laughs.

“What?” he asks, stalking forwards. “Too kind and gentle to fight back?”

Beast hears the mockery in his words and a puzzle is solved. Belle must have told this man about her, thinking that nice words would keep him from hurting her.

Belle is more trusting than Beast. It’s part of what Beast loves about her. Even if it means her downfall now.

She looks over the edge of her castle, barely feeling the rain soaking through her fur, and doesn’t even think about fighting back. She closes her eyes, hearing the man search for a weapon, find one in the stone her castle is made of, and head towards her. This is better than being alone, than being in a tower, than living without–

“Gaston!” a very familiar voice shouts. “No!”

Beast’s eyes fly open and collide with Belle’s, Belle who is far below, on horseback, Belle who came back.

Belle came back.

Beast jerks upright, back screaming, just in time. The stone club the man–Gaston– found smashes where her head had been. Beast knows about Gaston, knows what he wants; Belle.

She won’t let him take her.

She roars her fury and goes after him, seeing the villagers and Philip and the Enchantress in this man. So sure of what she is, so sure of what they deserve, and so wrong. She might be a beast, she might be less than them, but none of them deserve Belle.

She lunges after Gaston when he falls, ducks the swing of his stone club, and knocks it from his hand. She’s always been big, and strong, even before being the Beast, and she can fight. 

“Why would she want you,” Gaston screams at her, “when she could have me?”

Beast sees red. She grabs Gaston by the throat, her paw so much larger than anything he could have imagines. She feels her claws slide into his skin, feels his windpipe flex against her palm.

“Please!” Gaston says, fear for his life overpowering the hatred. “Please, don’t kill me!” His feet kick over the ledge, over the distance to the ground.

It would be so easy to drop him. All she had to do was let go. Then he (she and they and he, all those that told her she was a beast) would be gone, out of Belle’s life. Out of Beast’s.

But who was she to decide this man’s fate? Would she be better than the witch (enchantress) who did this to her? Would killing him be deciding his worth?

She’s not like them. She’s not.

She throws Gaston back onto the roof, away from her, watches him skid to a stop with disgust. He’s a worm, a nobody, someone who’s arrogant and greedy. And she? She’s a princess.

“Beast!”

Beast looks up to see Belle half-hanging over the railing to the tower’s balcony. Her hair is dripping and in disarray, evidence of her hurry to reach Beast. To come back.

She came back.

Beast grabs hold of the roof and climbs, eyes locked on Belle. In a moment, it’s like she’s climbing a tree, like she’s meeting Belle at the top, like it’s another lazy afternoon just because. She thinks Belle looks like an angel.

“Belle,” Beast breathes when she reaches the balcony. She hooks one arm over the railing and uses the other to trace the sweet curve of Belle’s face. “You came back.”

Belle sounds near tears when she says, “Of course, I did! I said I would! Oh, Beast…” She grabs Beast’s paw in both of hers, holds it to her face.

"Belle,” Beast says again, looking into Belle’s eyes. She feels a small smile bloom as Belle looks back, as she sees something in Belle’s eyes she knows is in her own. “My name is–” She gasps, breath snatched from her lung.

The knife in her side twists and Beast roars. She rears back, arms instinctively letting go of the railing. The sudden move dislodges Gaston, causes him to shout, makes him fall.

Neither Beast nor Belle notice.

“Beast!” Belle screams, hands gripping any part of her she can reach. “No–!”

I’ll pull her down, Beast realizes through the pain. I can’t fall, I’ll pull her down with me. She summons her strength, as much as she can through the horrible ripping feeling in her side and back, and grabs onto the railing. With Belle’s help, she pulls herself up and falls onto the floor of the balcony.

Beast feels Belle’s hands run over her, searching for some way to help. She feels very far away, as if she’s looking through water, and she can’t believe that Belle is here. Here.

“Belle,” Beast says again. She wants to run her hands over Belle’s hair, wants to do something, but her body is very heavy. “You came back.” Did she already say that?

“Of course,” Belle says again. She sounds like she’s crying. “I couldn’t let them– I wouldn’t have– oh, this is all my fault!”

Beast doesn’t think this is anyone’s fault. She’s known for years that it would end like this. Well, not quite like this. She could never have imagined Belle. “M-maybe it’s better this way.” Belle can have a life after she dies. A life where she falls in love with someone who isn’t cursed. Someone human.

Beast desperately wishes it could have been her.

“No!” Belle visibly reigns herself in. “You–you’ll be okay. We’re together now and you can’t–you’ll be okay.”

Beast’s vision is fading. She knows that she won’t be okay, that this is the end, that this is the last time she’ll see Belle. She reaches up with one, trembling paw to cup Belle’s face. “A-at least I…I got to see you. One last time.”

“No,” Belle whispers as Beast feels the last of her strength leave her. “No!” 

“I love you!”

Beast might have imagined that last part.

And then there’s the light.

——————————————

Beast sits up slowly, blinking down at the stone. There’s a ringing in her ears, the words of an old spell below the high-pitched tone. She’s surprisingly pain free, surprisingly able to make her way slowly to her feet. 

Wait. Feet? Not claws?

Her hands fly to her chest. She finds breasts there, under her torn shirt. Her stomach is strong and soft, there’s no fur–

Her hands. She marvels at her hands, the smooth flesh that covers them. They look strong, her forearms thicker than she remembers Belle’s being–

Belle.

She turns so fast that her head spins, tawny hair flying out behind her. She finds Belle standing in the sunlight, jaw dropped, eyes wide (but are they too wide?).

She’s still much taller than Belle, a full foot she’d guess, but they’re a lot closer, a lot closer in a lot of ways and she– why is Belle looking at her like that?

“Belle,” she says and her hand flies to her throat. Is that her voice? It’s much higher than she’s ever heard it, deeper than Belle’s, grainy and rough.  “I-it’s me.”

Please. Without thought she reaches out a hand, brows pinched together. Please.

Belle takes a slow step forward, tear tracks still fresh on her face. Her hands shake as she draws them up, one nearly reaching out and stopping. Finally one, shaking hand presses itself into hers.

It’s so small, Beast marvels. Bigger than it used to feel, but–but small. She focuses on not pulling Belle into her arms, letting Belle realize for herself that she’s real.

Belle reaches out to touch her hair, the tawny strands falling through her fingers. Wonder slowly blooms on her face, wonder and joy. “It is you!”

Beast grins, sure that her face is about to split, a fierce joy in her heart. “It is.”

Belle throws herself into her arms and she catches the smaller woman easily. Belle’s hands curl into the back of her shirt. “Beast!”

“No,” she says, drawing back but not letting go of Belle. She laughs. “My name is Addy.”

“Addy,” Belle echoes. She beams up at her, seemingly ecstatic to be in Addy’s arms. “Addy.”

“Belle,” Addy agrees and leans down to kiss her.