The Castle’s Dark Mistress
@xevermcrex
The Beast was dead, and with him died all of Belle’s friends in the castle, completely transformed into the objects they inhabited. New servants, or perhaps the spirits of those who died, took their place. Somehow, the night her Beast died, the magic of the rose had become twisted, perverted, and it corrupted Belle with it. No longer was she the sweet young woman known for her slight oddness in the village. Now she was the one enchanted. She had become a Beast in all but form, and she had only the wolves for company. She bore the scars of fighting with the pack for dominance in the years since her Beast’s death and displayed them proudly. Perhaps she would find love again and break the curse, but it didn’t matter to her whether the curse would be broken or not. She’d grown used to the wolves’ company, and indeed, they have been her only company since that stormy night. Not even her father had visited. Who knew? Perhaps he had forgotten her. Or perhaps he had died without her there to take care of him.
Belle reclined in her throne-like armchair, reclining so one leg rested upon the chair arm. She held a seemingly dead rose in one hand, not caring about the thorns pricking her fingers through her gloves. A wolf pup bounded up to the throne and butted its furry head against the fingers of her free hand, which was hanging carelessly over the steps leading to the dais. She scratched behind the pup’s ears, looking toward the giant double doors that led out to the entrance hall as they opened with an ominous creak. The wolf pack that lived in the forest surrounding the castle entered, escorting a single figure. A rather handsome figure, at that. “Well, well, what have we here?” Belle sneered, raising her chin just slightly to give an air of being higher status than her wolves’ captive. “Have my pack brought me a guest? Some poor, lost soul who stumbled into my territory? Bring him closer,” she said, beckoning to the wolves in an almost careless manner.
