The Blood Waltz: The True Death of Belle

After the Beast transformed back into a man, the castle fell quiet. The servants returned to human form, the chandeliers dripped wax like tears, and for the first time in years, music returned.

But not for long.

Belle began to hear it — a low hum under the floorboards, pulsing with rhythm. It sounded like breathing.

At night, she swore she could feel the castle sigh.

She found the source deep in the catacombs: the shattered remains of the Beast’s mirror. Its surface was blackened, cracked, but something still moved behind it — like a heartbeat pressing against glass.

Each time she looked, she saw herself not as she was, but as she had been — wild, hungry, unafraid.

The king grew cold toward her. The maids whispered. And one night, when the ballroom was empty, she danced alone. The floorboards thumped in time.

The next morning, the king was found frozen mid-dance, eyes open, smiling faintly.

Belle was gone.

The mirror, once blackened, gleamed again. When the light hit just right, you could see her reflection curtsying inside — eternally mid-waltz.