mon père

[beheld_beauty]

Belle probably wouldn't have gone into the forest looking for her father if it weren't for the fact that, were he home, she'd never be allowed.

She understands his concerns. Really she does. If it weren't for the fact that he's the local lawman, she wouldn't even be allowed out into town on her own. She's beautiful (as no one can shut up about for thirty seconds at a stretch; is it any wonder she prefers books?) and while he can protect her in their tiny town, the Witchwood is another matter. People get lost there - sometimes the Wood spits out men and women and children from other villages entirely, near theirs instead, and they have to be given maps and sent the long way around to get home - and anything could happen and he has no jurisdiction over crimes committed there.

But the woods are beautiful, and she's going to bring a blank book to draw a map in, and her father has been missing for four days and even if Belle's only concern were her safety she'd need to find him. Because orphaned seventeen-year-old girls tend to find it in their own best interest to get married, and if she wanted to get married, it would not be to anyone in the village.

He chased in a highwayman (whose crime was not committed in the forest, so all is in its proper order).

The highwayman came out.

Charlie did not.

Charlie, apparently, has gotten lost.

And Belle is going to go in and get him.

---

Her map is wrong.

No - no, she was very careful. She knows people get lost here; she knows the woods are twisty, suspects the landmarks must include duplicates. She brought bits of ribbon to mark her way. She's been changing colors as she gets deeper into the forest, and she's been traveling for almost a day now, and that ribbon right there was tied in the first hour. She's not that turned around; it's broad daylight and she's been tracking the sun. Not even magic, if magic existed, would be able to move the sun.

That leaves her, and the tree. She has been picked up and put back where she started or she has been followed by this tree. Or the ribbon, perhaps, if it's magically untied itself and made exactly the same knot around a different branch. ...No, there is the bit of blood from where she tripped and scraped her hand against the bark of that tree, and blood and ribbon both following her is more of a stretch than her having been transported or the tree having walked on its very roots to heel like a dog.

Damnation.

Well. Most people who wander into the Witchwood are eventually heard from again. But it's getting dark, and she trips more than enough in daylight; she underestimated the treachery of the ground deep in among the trees.

She goes on. She keeps making her map - it's still possible it will be useful for something, and she has precious little else to do while she walks alone through the dimming woods - keeping an eye out for a place to sleep.

She finds one.

Comments

[deslandes]

The lanterns going up the stairs are still burning. The doors shut themselves behind her again.

[beheld_beauty]

She tries the door. (Just to make sure it still works.)

[deslandes]

It's terribly cooperative.

[beheld_beauty]

Good.

She lets them close again, and lets the lights lead her up the stairs.

[deslandes]

A continuous line of helpful lanterns leads her directly to a bedroom, as clean and luxurious as the rest of the castle, with warm rugs on the floor and an enormous canopied bed.

[beheld_beauty]

Well, that's nice of it.

She goes in, and closes the door behind her, and waits five seconds, and then attempts to open it.

[deslandes]

It works just fine.

[beheld_beauty]

She closes it again.

And she sighs and flops into the bed for the night.

[deslandes]

In the morning, the door opens, and in sidles a tray laden with delicious breakfast. She may or may not catch it in the act of setting itself up by her bedside.

[beheld_beauty]

She does catch it. She attempts to interrupt the self-pouring teapot.

[deslandes]

The teapot rights itself in mid-pour and settles back onto the tray.

[beheld_beauty]

She also attempts to catch the knife that's buttering her toast. How does this work?

[deslandes]

The knife stills when she grabs hold of it.

[beheld_beauty]

And if she lets go, midair...?

[deslandes]

It puts itself down neatly on the tray.

[beheld_beauty]

And now her toast is half-buttered. Hmm. She wonders how smart it is. Fairy tales never agree on what magic would do if it existed. She gets to check. "It's okay, go on," she says.

[deslandes]

The knife resumes buttering her toast.

The teapot tips questioningly toward the partly filled cup, not far enough to pour any more tea into it.

[beheld_beauty]

"You too," she says, delighted in spite of herself, "it's okay."

[deslandes]

The teapot lifts itself up and pours and settles back down, all without spilling a drop.

The knife completes its task and puts itself down again, buttery side up so as not to get anything on the tray.

[beheld_beauty]

"Thank you," Belle says, and she tucks in. Mmm. "Are there any people here or just a lonely magic castle that wants somebody to look after?"

[deslandes]

No answer from the cutlery.

[beheld_beauty]

She looks around expectantly at the rest of her room. If the lights know where she is and the dishes understand speech, maybe the rug will tilt its pile into the shape of words, she doesn't know.

[deslandes]

Nothing.

[beheld_beauty]

Okay then.

She gets up to check out the rest of the castle.

She brings her map-book. Perhaps the building is more amenable to mapping than the surrounding forest.

She's worried about Charlie, but she doesn't seem to have any way to make progress at finding him, and it's possible that someone who can help her lives here.

[deslandes]

The interior of the castle is reassuringly consistent. Also, very pretty.

When not leading her around, the lanterns kindle themselves wherever she looks and douse themselves when she leaves a room.