"I'm leaving," she said, jutting her chin out boldly. There was a fierce intensity in her eyes, a desperation that reminded him of a wild animal. Funny, that she could seem that way, when he was the one who really was.

"I'm leaving," she repeated, after he had said nothing for a long moment. "You can't keep me here."

He looked at her. Her hair was mussed and flying about her shoulders; she looked breathless and out of sorts, but determined. He turned back to the blazing orange fire in the hearth. "I don't want to keep you here," he replied quietly. His voice sounded harsh and guttural in his own ears. But then, it always did.

He didn't look back at her but could feel her perplexity in her sharp breaths of air, before she took a few more steps into the room, coming to stand beside him. "But—you told me I couldn't leave!" she cried out, practically shouting at him.

He shrugged tiredly, still not turning to look at her. "I did," he agreed. "But I won't keep you against your will any longer. If you want to go..." he drew a long, fateful breath, "then go."

When he was finished speaking, he stared into the fire, as he'd been staring for some time now. He watched the flames leaping and dancing in shades of gold and red mixing together. He didn't dare to breathe but listened, straining to hear any movement of her.

All he heard was her breath, in and out, in and out, wordless. Then, finally, "I'm...leaving," she said once more. Her voice was lacking in intensity this time, but trembling with some unknown emotion. "But I'm not going home. I wasn't happy there. And I'm not happy here. I just...I want to go somewhere else."

He processed this information slowly and silently, beginning to feel cold and senseless. If she went somewhere else, she'd never come back. He'd never see her again. It wasn't that he needed her. Just that he couldn't live without her. Just that his heart stopped whenever she was around, and she was the only one who had ever really seen him as he was—or as he wanted to be: a man, and not a monster. Maybe it was that he needed her.

He looked at her jawline, still jutting out in defiance against the world, against him. Maybe she didn't really see him at all, if she wanted to leave him. For a moment, he straightened in his chair, felt his throat tighten in an unleashed growl, fully prepared to take back his words and forbid her from ever leaving.

Then he saw her hands, her small hands held in tight fists at her sides. He knew he could crush those hands without a thought. She tried so hard to be brave, but she was so fragile. Somehow, all he wanted to do was take her hands in his own, uncurl her fingers and hold them in his own. He looked down at his giant paw-like hands and the claws protruding from them and knew that would never do. But still, he couldn't stop her. He wouldn't stop her.

"Where will you go?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," she replied, turning toward him again. "Somewhere...different. Somewhere far away. Somewhere where I won't see anyone I know."

He had the feeling she was about to go on, but he jumped from his seat before she could utter another word. He saw her jump backward at his sudden movement, and he made an effort to look civilized. He held out his hand, as a gentleman would to a lady. "Beauty, will you...will you watch one last sunset with me? It's that time."

She looked at him, and he saw her lip trembling, her eyes fighting back tears, and he thought that maybe, just maybe, he still had a chance.

"Please, Beauty," he repeated, with his heart in his voice.

With some hesitation, she gave a slow nod, placing her hand gently in the crook of his elbow. They started together to the door. They quickly made their way through the marble halls and walls hung with tapestries until they reached the terrace, looking out over all the grounds.

The sky was a dazzling array of colors. Gold stretched out from the sun, gradually fading into rosier tones. The pale lavender clouds stretched sweeping fingers to the darkening sky, turning it a deep violet and a richer blue, where a few sparkling white stars could be seen peeping out from the heavens.

He looked at the sky, then slowly turned his gaze to the brown eyes he knew so well, also staring out at the brilliant display. "It's beautiful, isn't it, Beauty?"

She turned wide tear-filled eyes to him, pressing her teeth into her bottom lip. "You see, that's just the problem!" she cried in a near sob. "All my life, everyone's always called me Beauty, and I don't know why! I'm not beautiful, and I'm—I'm so tired of it! I don't want to be called Beauty; I don't want to be called something I'm not."

He observed her pale skin, her small, gently curved figure, her soft brown eyes, and the way her hair fell in gentle curls around her face. He wanted to beg to differ, to tell her she was extraordinarily beautiful, but remembering his resolve, he remained silent.

"And—I'm tired of sunsets! We watch the sunset every night, and I'm sick of it. I want to...I want to see a sunrise," she came to this last statement quietly, her face lighting up somewhat, as if it was something strange and wonderful she'd just thought of.

He watched her expression, her broken-hearted rapture, and he wanted to tell her that he was up early in the mornings, that he could wake her early and watch a thousand sunrises at her side, but he didn't. Perhaps she wouldn't believe him. He was of shadows and darkness anyhow, and he had promised himself he would not hinder her going. This was what she wanted, and he would see to it that she got it, somehow.

Finally, she turned her head back to him, a small, wobbly smile curving her lips. "So I'm leaving, and I'm going to change my name and...watch sunrises every day. Maybe I'll go to the coast, somewhere where the weather's warm. Imagine being warm all the time!" She smiled, then laughed abruptly and spun around where she was, her skirt flying out around her.

When she was finished she turned back to him. "I think...I'll leave tomorrow morning, so I suppose I ought to go pack my things."

He nodded with a soft grunt. He wished there was something he could do, something he could say to make her stay with him. But she didn't want to and holding her against her will wouldn't make her love him. If she stayed, it would have to be of her own accord.

She looked at him for a long, steady moment, before finally turning to make her way to the door. She went slowly it seemed, each footstep resonating against the floor, and it seemed with each footstep she was farther and farther away from him, farther from ever coming back.

"Beauty, wait!" he shouted out just before she reached the door, with a sudden urgency in his voice he barely recognized.

She turned around slowly. "Yes?" she asked, softly. He saw a soft blush rising up her neck and to her cheeks. She looked at him, then dropped her dark lashes down over her eyes, turning them slowly toward the floor.

They both knew this moment, the moment each night when he asked her the same question just before she left. Beauty, will you marry me? It was on the tip of his tongue, it was burning in his blood, throbbing in his heart. He felt like if he spoke, the world would shatter; if he didn't, it might do the same. He knew, without a doubt, that he loved her, and she was the only one who could make him a man again and not a beast. But somehow, her talk of sunrises and warmth and changing her name stopped him.

"Belle," he said finally, "good luck."

She looked up at him abruptly, drawing in a sharp breath, confusion clear in her eyes, in the way her dark brows slanted over them, the way her mouth was twisted up oddly. She watched him silently, until her face smoothed into it's normal lines. She was still astonished, he could see. Her eyes blinked rapidly, and she pursed her lips together, but she didn't comment on the unasked question.

Finally, she spoke in a soft and trembling whisper, "Thank you." Then she turned and was gone.

Inspired by Augustana's Boston. Excellent song. You should listen to it. Most inspiring. Thank you all for reading, and please drop me a review. :D