Time turner ⚜️prince Adam ⚜️

Stay

A/n: the picture is Florence. I don't know the photographer unfortunately, all rights to them

He grimaces stumbling quickly back into the shadow as I stare as the floor frightened. I can't bring myself to even move. The beast that Maurice rambles about is real. The beast belle spun tales about is real.

I don't try and leave through the door, there is no point in running into the snow and killing myself just out of fear. If belle wove such tales about him being gentle than he must be kind, he has never struck out at me or he's been harsh but with reason. Why should I be scared.

"I- wow. I wasn't expecting you to be real. Ma always told me I had an over active imagination and that my friends were cruel for telling such tales that I got lost in for hours. When I was told about a beast living in a castle I went into detail of a horrible creature, but you are not what I imagined when I saw your castle." I speak softly reaching into the shadows and gently pulling him back into the light. He looks to my hand on his arm and up to my face in shock.

"Do not hide from the light in your own castle." He looks awe struck for a moment before anger and sadness passes over his features and he pulls his hand from mine. He turns and stalks away, back into the shadows. I grab a candelabra running after him. "Wait! Did I say something wrong?" I question, a guilty feeling twists my gut.

Passing through the only doorway in the direction he came from I run into a dining room, large the ceilings high. Snow light flickers through the high windows. A second door leads off the dining room. I step through and am struck by the smell of burning food and burning wood.

The beast mutters angrily attempting to cook something eatable. "Would you like some help?" I murmur from the doorframe. He turns assessing me and then whatever he has been trying to cook and nods. I set down the candlestick and roll up my sleeves.

"What were you trying to make?" I glance into the pot in the stove, it's murky substance bubbles and smokes. "I was trying to make soup." He grumbles. I grin. "Well lucky for you, soup isn't easy so I don't blame you for burning it. Soup is a very delicate food." I lie he seems to stand a little taller as if my lie boosted his ego a bit.

I toss the pot into the sink and grab a clean one off the counter. Lowering the heat I grab a cup of water and begin making an old recipe for potato soup. When I'm done I spoon it into two bowls and balance them easily on my arms, grabbing salt and pepper, cups full of tea and walk into the dining room. There is a seat at each head of the table. I gently set down the salt and pepper and then a bowl in front of him. He watches me with great interest as I walk to the other end of the table and set my dishes down. He continues to watch me settle into my seat and straighten the cutlery.

We sit in awkward silence, he watched my every move and then looks to his dish. I nervously wring my hands in my dress. Finally I pick up my spoon, willing my hand not to shake I sip soup off my spoon. It burns my throat but I don't make a move to show the pain. I glance up just in time to watch him bury his face into the bowl. I giggle in surprise. My hand slaps over my lips as he looks up shyly. I purse my lips, heat flooding my cheeks as I hang my head.

I try to hide my embarrassment taking spoonfuls of soup without looking up. His gaze heats my face more. When I finish he is still eating, attempting to act civil, guilt washes over me. I made him feel like he was something worth laughing about.

When he's done I rise walk across the long room, my feet echo loudly in my ears as I pick up his bowl and walk into the kitchen without looking at him. I wash everything in the sink, dirty old pots and cups and other kitchen objects. The beast stands in the doorway watching, his heavy footsteps startled me when he first stopped to watch me. When I'm done I dry my hands, my sleeves dripping with water stick to my skin. "I'm sorry I laughed. I don't know why I did." I tell him wringing my hands through the front of my skirt. He grumbles something lowly and walks off without a word. I don't chase him.

The entry is cold, snow whispers against the glass as I sit in the armchair again, the same chair I sat in when I first stumbled into the castle. The fire roars in front of me. My Demons laugh in my face as I watch the dancing flame, they taunt, tease and play tricks with the flame throwing it into my face to watch me scream and hide from them.

I Bury my head into my knees, my legs pressing into the armrest as I huddle in fear. I fall asleep like that, in a ball in the chair by the cold window of the dark entry. The beast never comes down to see why I scream but he will never know I'm screaming for help because he will never hear me. I scream silently for someone to save me from myself but it will only kill me faster.