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He did not expect to see her crying. Despite the obvious and unusual circumstances, Belle had generally been rather upbeat and pleasant in her time here at this decrepit, godforsaken castle. The Beast had even found himself laughing — laughing — with her in the recent weeks, which was, by all accounts, something he hadn’t done in an embarrassingly long time. So, standing in the doorway of the library, the last thing that the Beast expected to find was that very same jovial companion, now curled up on the sofa in front of the fire with tears streaming down her cheeks as she turned the pages of the (apparently rather sad) novel in her lap.
He stood frozen, entirely unsure of what to do. It was the age-old debate: when a woman is crying, do you comfort her, or give her space? The Beast, in truth, had very little experience when it came to tending to the feelings of others. Heaven knew he couldn’t even handle his own feelings, let alone the people he was supposed to care about. That being said, however, something twisted in the Beast’s stomach as he looked upon Belle. Seeing her misty eyes and rosy cheeks, hearing her quiet sniffles and sighs, it was almost as if it pained him to see her this way. Almost as if he were experiencing her feelings right along with her.
Nervously, he started wringing his claws, looking back and forth between the safety of the corridor behind him — excusing himself from any kind of emotional connection — and Belle, looking so dreadfully alone; looking in need of a friend. The Beast wouldn’t dare to assume that she saw him as something so familiar as a friend. But he was quite certain that they were no longer strangers, and certainly no longer adversaries, save for the intrigue of a good literary debate.
Against everything in his mind telling him to avoid the dreaded reality of feelings, the Beast, surprisingly, found an answer in his heart. Oh so hesitantly, the master of the castle chose to enter into the library that was no longer his. He tried to keep his paw steps as quiet as possible, but claws on marble can only be so silent.
Belle looked up at him with a start, quickly sniffling and wiping her cheek with the back of her hand as she spoke. “Oh! Hi…”
The Beast walked all the way to the arm of the sofa, standing before her with a calm, perhaps even a tad sympathetic, expression across his brow. He looked at the book in her lap, finding it too difficult to meet her eyes just then.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was just walking by and I heard…” His words trailed off, only making the situation all the more uncomfortable.
Belle blinked a few times, her eyes softer than they were before. A small smile then tugged at her lips as she sat up a bit more. “You heard what, me blubbering over Shakespeare?”
The Beast suddenly met her eyes, surprised to hear a jesting tone in her voice. They briefly smiled at each other, hearts lighter.
“Well, I don’t know if I’d qualify it as blubbering, but… You appeared to be sad. Which play are you reading?”
“Oh,” Belle sighed and closed the book in her lap while keeping her other hand as a bookmark. “King Lear. I hadn’t read this one yet.”
“Oh, God. King Lear is a tragedy.”
“You don’t say!” she chuckled, eyes still watery.
“I wish you had told me, I could have warned you and perhaps saved your tears.”
Belle shook her head. “It’s not the first time I’ve been suddenly taken by heartbreaking words. My father’s been finding me like this for years.”
The Beast nodded, and they fell into silence. He started fiddling with the golden frame of the sofa when Belle spoke up again.
“Why don’t you sit?”
He met her eyes again, her wonderfully kind eyes, and answered by gingerly stepping around the sofa and seating himself beside her — with respectable space between them, of course.
Belle turned a bit to look up at him. “Do you like King Lear? I mean, despite its tragedy, I have enjoyed it.”
The Beast nodded, folding his paws in his lap. “Yes, I do like it. I remember the feeling of being struck with that sadness the first time I read it. I was in school…”
Sparks practically burst out of Belle’s curious mind at his words. “Did you read a lot in school?”
“It was all I ever did. It often got me into trouble.”
“In trouble for reading??” Belle asked in shock. She was oh-so familiar with being ridiculed for her choice to read, but she was a young woman from a close-minded village. She couldn’t imagine how a boy in school could still be in the wrong for such an act.
“Professors are rather strict,” the Beast answered simply.
Memories of the village headmaster flashed through Belle’s mind. Even excluding his personal treatment of her, she had observed over the years just how cruel he could be to his young pupils.
She pressed her lips together in a sympathetic gaze. “I’m sorry. I don’t believe young minds should be restricted. Too often it seems that educators would prefer to punish creativity, even individual differences, rather than guide one toward expanding their mind… Celebrating those differences, even.”
The Beast looked at her with raised eyebrows, pondering her words. “Hm. Well said. And I must say I agree. Have you attended school?”
“No, I always wished to, but… the school in the village isn’t the most welcoming. I’ve seen and heard enough from the headmaster to get a fairly good idea of his views, though. I can only imagine what your experience must have been like as a student.”
He looked down at his lap, shaking his head. “I’m sure in many ways it was better than the school in your village. Or worse, perhaps, I cannot say. But… you’re right. Discipline often takes over the role of guidance.” The Beast felt nerves prick at his palms. They were getting dangerously close to emotional vulnerability — which was, of course, terrifying. So, he changed the subject.
“I find it hard to believe you’ve had no education whatsoever, though. You speak so eloquently, even far better than some of the more educated men I have met in my life.”
Belle felt her face get hot as butterflies filled her stomach. She swallowed to gather herself before answering. “Well, my father took it upon himself to teach me everything he could. He, too, was frustrated that the headmaster disallowed me to attend. And he didn’t have much education himself, but… he encouraged me to read everything. I sort of fell in love with it, I think.”
It was the Beast’s turn to feel butterflies flutter about in his stomach. He found himself feeling so refreshed by her words. It was as though he had spent so much of his life wading around in a thick smog, but suddenly he had been pulled above it to find a clear, sunny day.
“It is a precious thing… to love literature. I feel it has saved me many times in my life.”
Belle felt her eyes well up again. “I feel the exact same way.”
The Beast turned to her, and their eyes met. At that moment, the world melted away. It was as though their hearts had fallen in sync, beating as one, as if they had always been one, and had just now finally found each other. That feeling washed over them again; one particular feeling that they were both almost certain as to what that feeling was, but neither of them were prepared for how strongly it felt, how overwhelming such a feeling could be. It was frightening and exciting all at once. It was a very beautiful feeling.
Belle let a small smile tug at her lips before she sheepishly turned back to her book. She stared at the pages, unable to process any of the words, yet still finding comfort just to have them there before her.
“I’ve still got a bit more to read here,” she said.
At once, the Beast was pulled out of his trance. He blinked and swallowed and tried desperately to remember where he was (and, more tragically, what he was).
“Of course. I’ll leave you,” he replied, only beginning the first motion toward rising from his seat before he felt the sudden warmth of Belle’s hand on his arm. He quickly looked at her again.
“I was actually… going to ask if you’d like to stay and perhaps read aloud. I fear I’ll keep crying if I continue to read it alone, and I’ll make no progress at all.”
He was speechless for what felt like an eternity. His mind could barely account for the euphoric sensations he felt from her touch, let alone her direct and sincere request for his presence. Soon enough, (he hoped), the Beast was nodding and mumbling some sort of “yes, of course,” as coherently as he could.
Belle gently passed the book over to him. His paw and her hand brushed just briefly enough to cause fireworks in their hearts. The Beast took the book in his lap, handling it as carefully as he could. (He had ruined a few books in the early days of the curse, still unsure how to manage his claws. But Belle’s gentleness had been deeply inspiring for him, and the books were quite thankful for it).
He could hardly breathe as Belle moved herself closer, leaning over as she pointed to the last line she had read. He nodded, gathering himself and taking a deep breath before beginning.
Quite softly, the story carried on. The pair slowly grew more comfortable as the Beast read line after line, both of them falling back against the sofa, with the merest hint of their shoulders touching. The afternoon pressed forth as two unlikely friends allowed themselves to be whisked away into the vast beauty of fiction, with hearts alight, and souls ever so gently entangling as one.