“I’ve gone mad,” she breathed. Delusions? Hallucinations?
But the food smelled so good. So…real. How could food that appeared out of thin air be real? Perhaps she was like a person lost in the desert who thinks they see a waterfall, only to find out they are licking a sand dune.
Her hunger got the better of her, and she picked up the bread, holding it close to her face to examine it. It didn’t disappear when she touched it, so that was promising.
A tiny bite, as a scientific experiment of sorts, couldn’t hurt. Right?
Belle nibbled the bread, waiting for her mind to snap out of it and to discover she was gnawing on the edge of her shoe. That didn’t happen, and the bread was extremely tasty, so she moved in for the chicken.
Amazing!
“Thank you for the food,” she said to the empty cell.
No response. Fairies? Could it really be fairies helping her, like Papa had told the Constable?
“I’d love some wine, if you’re in the giving mood, fairies,” she added. Not that she actually thought it would happen. It was merely an experiment.
An open bottle of red wine and a glass settled onto the stone floor. What on earth?
Belle didn’t usually drink, but tonight she wanted to escape her cold reality and fall asleep. Perhaps she would wake to find the roses, the food, and the wine were all part of an elaborate dream.
In the meantime, she intended to get drunk.
Belle kneeled on the hard floor and poured herself a glass of wine, carefully taking the glass back onto the hay with her. Was she being granted wishes?
She took a deep sip, relishing the taste. Why had she been such a teetotaler all these years? Wine was delicious. Especially magic wine gifted from fairies.
“If I am being granted wishes, I wish to be home with my Papa.”
Nothing. Nothing happened at all.
“I wish for a saw so that I may cut those bars loose,” she tried.
Yes! A sharp, scary-looking metal saw appeared at the floor below the window, clattering against the stone.
What would happen if she escaped? The Constable thought her father was crazy; if she said there was indeed a beast, would they want to send her to the Institution for Lunatics as well?
If no one came to slay the Beast, he would no doubt find them and eat them both. Still, she had to try. With an unladylike gulp, Belle finished her glass of wine for courage.
Now she only had to avoid sawing off one of her fingers. She picked up the saw, surprised by how heavy it was. It was a difficult angle, standing on the hay with the saw, but she may as well start somewhere.
“I wish for these bars to be gone,” she said. Nothing happened.
The sound of the saw screeching against the metal bars rattled her nerves, and she wasn’t making much headway, even after giving it a really good try for about a half an hour. The one bar she was working on wasn’t even cut through yet, and she still had five more to go.
It was too much. Her arms ached, and the hay she stood on began to look more inviting as a place to sleep.
At least the saw could be a weapon, for when the Beast returned. She could threaten him with it and demand to be set free.
If he set her free, she would have broken her word, though. And he’d go after her Papa again. That was the whole reason she was there in the first place.
Sudden movement outside the window caught her eye. She glimpsed something outside—a wolf? No. The Beast. He prowled along the edges of the forest, and though her vision was limited by the small window, one thing she could see clearly—the moonlight glinting off of his bloody fangs.
It appeared the Beast had been out hunting.
Please, God, let this all be a dream. Please, please, God.
But it wasn’t a dream. She was awake, and more terrified of her predicament than even before.
Belle exhaled shakily, and put the saw down, nudging it under the hay a bit with her foot to hide it from view. She poured another glass of wine and sipped from the glass, cradling the roses in her arm, breathing in their comforting scent.
I wish to wake up at home with Papa…
The wine finally hit her, and she was asleep when the Beast returned.
2: The Beast’s Captive
Henry Castelle was sweaty and streaked with dirt from the woods by the time he raced to the Constable.
“You must help me!”
The Constable took his boots off his desk and frowned. “Let me guess. This is about a beast.”
“Yes!” Henry gasped. “The Beast has taken Belle prisoner. He could be eating her alive as we speak, we have to save her!”
The Constable nodded. “Let’s calm down now, Mr. Castelle. Please sit, I’ll be right back. We’ll get you the help you need.”
Henry slumped into the chair in relief. Finally, they were listening.
But the Constable returned from the back office with his wife Mrs. Sharone. The lady who ran the Institution for Lunatics. Henry grabbed the side of the chair as she approached.