Evermore [The Beast/The Prince x Reader]

chapter eight

When they went by her bedroom door, they sighed.

"She's been in there an awful long while," Plumette pointed out, her plastic wings brushing her feathers nervously.

"I know, darling," Lumiere said, circling an arm around her. "But she will be fine. She's a strong, tough girl."

"I never knew that her heart was so broken," she said.

Mrs. Potts sighed. "We shouldn't be surprised. We knew she cared for him dearly, and we knew that he wouldn't love anyone."

"But he broke her heart," Plumette cried.

"Let's keep our voices down, now," Mrs. Potts warned. "There is no need to wake her. Let her rest, poor thing."

"Is it my fault she's sad, Mama?" Chip wondered.

"Oh, no, Chip," she assured him. "You were merely curious. But it'd be best to leave her on her own for the rest of the day. Until dinner's on the table, at least."

Cogsworth and Lumiere sighed. "It is nearing four o'clock. We'd better go work on convincing the master to get out of bed and eat," Lumiere said sadly.

The objects looked miserably at each other before going their separate ways. Time seemed to drag on throughout the days, which was bittersweet.

                           ...

Inside of her bedroom, ___ was beginning to wake up. She opened her eyes. Her dream shattered around her in imaginary gold fragments. She pushed herself off of the mattress and became aware of her enchanted imprisonment once more.

She sighed. Madame de Gardrobe was still snoring in the corner. She pulled her hair down and ran her fingers through it. She was beginning to grow bored in her room. There was really nothing in there she could call her own.

There was a tray off to the side of her vanity. On it, a gold brush with soft bristles. She had a closet full of dusty gowns she didn't dare touch. She assumed they belonged to one of the staff. Certainly not the late Queen. The Prince's father had rid all signs of his dead wife long ago.

She could ask Madame de Gardrobe to make her a few new gowns. She would ask Plumette to dust up the closets and corners. Maybe Mrs. Potts and Chip would prefer to stay in her room with her. She would build a small, soft home for them somewhere.

She could request a pot of flowers to be brought in. Maybe a sketchbook or two, a few bowls of paints and a couple of brushes. She wasn't much of am artist, but she could start out.

To keep herself busy, she worked on making her bed. As she pulled the comforter up and started to fluff the pillows, Madame de Gardrobe woke with a start.

"Oh!" she said.

___ looked up and smiled. "Good afternoon, Madame. Did you sleep well?"

"Quite," she said, yawning loudly. "And you, mademoiselle?"

She nodded. "Just fine, thank you."

"Perhaps I should call up your room service," she suggested, "if you'd like some tea, or perhaps a snack."

"I'm good, thank you," she said.

She finished fluffing the pillows and turned towards the window. As she looked out across the yard, she saw the rose bushes. They looked healthy enough from the recent rainstorm. There was no use in tending them right now.

She looked up. Her eyes traced over the forest, to the rolling hills, and finally, the tips of the mountains. They hid from her a world she missed dearly. A world she wished she could return to.

"What are you thinking about, mademoiselle?"

"How far do you think we can go out there?" she asked.

"I don't know," she said. "We are confined here."

"I know," she said. "But we're allowed to go outside. How outside can we go?"

"Oh... I cannot answer that, love. Perhaps far enough to see a village, perhaps not. The snow was placed to keep us frozen inside, and frozen in time. Maybe going out there isn't such a good idea."

"You're probably right," she sighed. "I miss going to parties. Exploring different palaces. I've been here for two days, and I fear I'm already losing my mind."

"We wish you could leave," she said sadly, making ___ turn around. "But we cannot. You deserve your freedom."

"So do you," she said.

There was a knock at her door. "Excuse me, mademoiselle," Lumiere said, voice muffled.

She opened the door. "Bonjour."

"Ah, good evening," he said. He bowed. "I have come to tell you that dinner will be served in one hour."

"May I ask what's on the menu?" she said.

He smiled. "Er... anything you'd like! The master will not he dining."

She furrowed her eyebrows. "He won't be?"

"No," he said. "He is not feeling well, it seems."

She nodded, but she knew better than that. She wondered just how miserable he felt. For a second, she regretted not visiting him. He must feel guilty...

"So, uh, what would you like for dinner, dear?"

She smiled again. "Cheese souffle," she requested, "and a basket of rolls."

"Ah, your wish is my command," he said, bowing again.

She laughed at her friend. "Thank you, Lumiere."

"Of course, of course!" he replied.

She shut the door. As it closed, she sighed and glanced at Madame de Gardrobe. The wardrobe seemed to understand the reasoning for her distress before ___ herself knew.

"You worry about him," she said simply. "Don't worry, we all do. Especially now."

"I don't want him to hurt himself just because of what he's become," she said, "and what he's done..." she trailed off. "Maybe I should visit him. Do you think he'd like that?"

"No telling," she said, "but that doesn't mean it isn't worth a shot."

"He is human, after all," she mumbled, shrugging her shoulders. "At least... on the inside. He's as broken as all of us - perhaps a little more than all of us."

She sat on the end of the bed and hugged her arms close to her chest. Her eyes closed as she began to daydream of her third encounter with the Prince, right after he had broken her heart.