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"I hadn't heard a voice not my own in a century and a half when you came," he says. "I haven't touched another person in just as long." With a twist of a smile on his surprisingly expressive face, "Wrestling rosebushes just isn't the same."

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Belle looks up.

She tilts her head.

She reaches out and settles one hand on top of his paw, well away from the claws, and goes back to reading, turning the pages with her other hand.
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His fur is very soft and fluffy.

He slumps in his chair and purrs.
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Ooh, soft. Her thumb makes short absent stroking motions with the grain of the fur.

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The Beast purrs some more.

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She reads on, one handed.

"Better?" she asks after a few minutes.
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"Much," he sighs. "Thank you."

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"It's nothing," she says.

She leaves her hand where it is, until she gives up on finding a message spell and requires both hands to gesture appropriate levels of frustration. "Do enchanters never want to communicate with anyone who isn't in the room with them?" she exclaims.
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"Maybe not," shrugs the Beast.

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"Well. At least I know Charlie got out of the woods okay."

She resumes her more general studies.

After a silence, she starts singing to herself softly.
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"Do you miss him?" he wonders.
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"Charlie?" she asks, stopping and looking up. "I - mm, not exactly. I love him and I want him to be happy and he's clearly not and if I were there he would be, so in the sense that I want to go back to him, I do, but if he'd died when I was six along with my mother, or if for some reason he didn't care about me, I'd be all right without him. I wouldn't choose those situations, but I'd get along fine. Having people around has never seemed terribly important to me. I might change my tune if I were alone for a hundred years, but on an ordinary day it's like - having dessert. A perfectly nice thing I'd like to do routinely that I could adjust to think nothing of if it became impossible."

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He nods thoughtfully.

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"I do need things to do to be happy. If I'd been cursed like you my complaint wouldn't be that I was by myself, it'd be that I couldn't read the books."

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The Beast laughs.

"All this time," he admits, "I've wanted to learn to cook—" He spreads his hands. That is clearly not happening.
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"I'd teach you, but," she nods.

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"I watch the kitchen sometimes."

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"I did that too. Trying to figure out where the produce and meat came from. Never figured it out, they always seem to be there already from someplace I wasn't watching."

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"A few years ago a deer wandered into the garden," he recalls. "I killed it. Venison for dinner. But the rest of the time, it has to get the meat from somewhere else. Maybe the forest feeds it somehow."

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"It gave me roast duck once. I haven't seen or heard any wild ducks in the area. Are the fruits and vegetables discernably seasonal? The garden doesn't have a proper vegetable plot - it's got herbs, but not ones that look tended."

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The Beast snorts. "Magic," he concludes.

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"Magic. She went to an awful lot of discomfort and trouble just to punish you," Belle says, shaking her head.

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"Yes she did."

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"I really hate to be so mistrustful, but I can't make sense of her motives at all and it's bothering me - are you sure that in a hundred years you haven't forgotten some other detail?"

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"I don't know," he says, "but I don't think so. I was running - I ran into an old woman, knocked her down - she looked so angry, lying in the dust - I laughed - she got up and started shouting. I don't remember everything she said. Some of it made me think she knew my father... and of course," he gestures around them, "there's the fact that she knew to take me home."

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