Beauty gasped for air as she ran along the dark forest path. The soldiers' shouts could be heard as they chased her, cursing the forest and its grabbing branches.

Suddenly she tripped, falling painfully as her ankle twisted under the root that held it fast. Rough hands grabbed her just as she began to push herself up; screaming, she twisted to loosen herself. But it was to no use; she was caught.

An angry soldier lifted her up and began to drag her by one arm towards the castle. She fought them every step, cursing them and drawing blood when she managed to scratch bare flesh with her nails. They ignored her, their steps mechanical and efficient as they tore up the forest path. The hold of the one was iron like, cold and sure. If they did not bleed, she would have wondered if they were truly men.

Then they were there; the castle walls with their cyclopean stones rising sharply above them, a barren place in the dark, overgrown forest. The rusty gates remained in the half open position she had left them in when she had left.

He left them open for me, just like he said . . . she thought, aghast. If only she had known what was waiting at home, if only she had known that she would be bringing his death.

The soldiers entered the castle foreyard, and they arranged themselves in formation with the one holding her in the middle, behind one row yet still where the Beast could see her.

The castle door opened.

The soldiers dropped to one knee, aiming their muskets.

The Beast stared at her, his breath misting in the cold air, his eyes confused. Her heart stopped, and her lips moved, soundless.

She heard the muskets being cocked. She saw the fear, the lust for honour in the soldiers' eyes.

Twisting her arm, she broke free. She ran towards the Beast, forgetting her ankle, knowing they were both doomed, and hoping to show him one last thing.

Five muskets shot; the front row had fired. She fell in the snow, halfway between the Beast and the soldiers.

Then he was there. He held her.

She had forgotten how tender his paws could be.

"Beast. . . I'm . . . sorry. I . . ." and her lips formed the last two words, so important and yet soundless. But he knew.

He had seen it when she ran to him, her eyes full of despair and defiance.

The Beast roared and the forest shook.

He held her in his arms, tears flattening the thick fur on his face.

But then the fur was gone; the Beast was gone. All that remained was a young man, dead, blood seeping from the five musket wounds in his chest.

The second row had fired.