While it is true that Belle makes a habit of wanting a better look at her mind, it's also true that she usually does something else about it - with paper, typically - rather than just indulging sustained wanting.

The sustained wanting isn't particularly special.

To start.

And then she gets inklings of something, like the images that appear behind one's eyelids if one presses on them, but more - familiar.

And then it's harder to feel the chair under her.

And then she can't hear the Beast's breathing, or birdsong outside, or anything but her own heartbeat in her ears and her own breath through her throat.

And finally, as she wants her way forward through all this -

another place fades in, just as slowly as the real place faded out.

She floats, in the center of a sphere of rose-vines, if roses grew on prickly vines. The prickles all face out and the flowers all face in. And the roses are every color, and every petal is patterned intricately.

"Whoa," she says, but the instant she speaks the rosevine sphere is gone and the world is back, with no slow fade-out or fade-in, and she finds her eyes open without meaning to open them.