Only Skin Deep

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Over the next few nights the cracks began to show. Fine layers of dust settled over neglected surfaces, previously polished wood dulled and the silver that stood behind glass doors no longer gleamed. The Master did not comment on this gradual state of decline. He would often find Belle curled up in the corner of a room, duster or broom abandoned at her feet, staring into the looking glass with glazed eyes. Every time she would jump and excuse herself, snatching up whatever she had been cleaning to continue. The Master came to regret his decision to gift her with the magic mirror.

On one evening, the Master came across Belle hunched over by a half cleaned window in the drawing room, moonlight falling over body wracked with sobs.

“Belle?” The Master stepped further into the room and knelt in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my brother, it’s Maurice!” Belle choked, her knuckles white as they gripped the looking glass. “He’s fallen ill, he’s terribly ill, I don’t know if… I don’t know…” Belle’s voice dissolved into tears. She shook her head in frustration, sending her dark curls flying. The Master cast his shadowy gaze to the floor, his hands trembling and his heart aching. Without looking up he reached over and gently prised the mirror from Belle’s hands, before taking them in his.

“You must go. You must go to your brother.”

Belle’s sobs paused, and she stared up at the Master hardly daring to believe what she was hearing. “I can… I can visit my family?” Her eyes widened. “You would trust me to come back?”

“Oh, once you leave here, I doubt I’ll ever lay eyes on you again,” the Master smiled sadly into his lap. “But you are to leave anyway.”

Belle’s grip on the Master’s hand tightened. “Are you telling me I’m… free?”

“You are free.”

Belle clutched the Master’s hands and brought them up to press them to her lips, her kiss expressing what she could not find the words to. The ache for her family, the ache that had intensified since being given the looking glass, dimmed a little as the longing to be freed became a reality. She sprang to her feet, lingering for a second, before turning and hurrying through the door into the hall.

“Wait, Belle!”

Belle turned to see the Master emerging from the drawing room. He hesitated for a heartbeat, before waving his arm and summoning a scarlet fur-lined cloak from the far side of the hall. He stepped forward and held it out to Belle.

“This is my enchanted cloak. It will protect you from…” He trailed off, realising with a sickening jolt that the only thing around that might hurt her was himself. “… it will protect you,” he finished lamely.

Belle nodded and took hold of the soft garment, running her hands over the smooth material. She swung it over her shoulders and looked up at the man who had been her captor these long months, stepping towards him. “Thank you, Master,” she said, feeling her heart swell at the thought of her family, her freedom...

“You are no longer in my servitude,” the Master said simply. His face twisted as if he was trying to remember something long forgotten. “You may call me by my name… my name… Alexander.”

Belle smiled through her tears, and lifted her hand to his face. “Thank you… Alexander,” she whispered slowly, as if seeing how the name tasted on her tongue.  She pulled her hand away and turned to push open the door. A sharp wind whipped around her and blew back into the hall. She tugged once more on the cloak, stepped over the threshold, and was gone.

Alexander inhaled deeply, closing his eyes against the empty hall, the empty mansion. He sank to his knees and cursed his wretched body, wishing that it still had the ability to weep.

*

Out in the forests surrounding the mansion on the hill, Belle began to regret her haste in leaving before sunrise. The wind whipping through the trees was strong, causing the trunks to sway and groan. The cloak’s magic kept away the chill and Belle was repeatedly thankful for it, but she wished bitterly that she had asked for a magic compass. Or a non-magic compass. Or at the very least some kind of map.

Belle stumbled on through the forest, the wind battering her against her ears and deafening her to the sounds of the night. Just as she the panic had begun to build up inside and threaten to overwhelm her, she fell out from the trees and onto a path. A path that seemed wonderfully, miraculously familiar…

She took off at a run, half laughing with relief and excitement. The cloak streamed out behind her and combined with her speed gave her the appearance of flying. She crested a small hill and skidded to a halt, beaming down at the warm glowing lights of the village. Her village. Her home.

Belle all but skipped down the path that took her down into the village. It was late and the dark streets were empty, allowing her to move quickly and make a beeline for one small building in particular. She reached the door to the cottage and was delighted to see a flickering light through the window; somebody was still up.

Belle took a deep breath, and slowly pushed open the door.