over bare feet, preparing to make the long trip down to the kitchen and storerooms.
But when she threw open the door a statue was standing there.
For some reason, Belle didn’t scream. She did jump back. It was too early in the morning, her head was too sticky and murky with sleep, and it was too cold for her to think about much else except for how cold she was.
This time the leaves were slightly more “arranged” to copy human features…or possibly inhuman ones. Belle was reminded of the haunting Green Man images she had seen in books about ancient British churches: broad leaves flanking the face like a mane, smaller ones making a flat nose and unseeing eyes. The ivy near its “feet” was covered with delicate white tracery of frost. Like the other one—it had come from outside.
“What the…? What on earth is that?”
Any thought Belle had that she was dreaming was immediately banished by the banal, confused words of the wardrobe.
Belle spun around and put a finger to her lips. Now was not the time to interrupt.
“Were you sent by my mother…?” she began as she turned back.
But the statue had changed in that moment: an arm was now raised, and a finger pointed to something behind Belle.
She turned to look. There was nothing really there.
“The window…?” she started to ask, turning back.
But the statue was gone.
“That,” the wardrobe said, “was spooky.”
Belle ignored her, too wrapped up in what was going on to care about being rude, and went over to the window.
Thin strands of pale webbing had somehow reached it, crossing lightly back and forth in front of the pane. In dismay Belle pressed her face against the glass and tried to see how much more of the castle had been covered.
A surprising amount. Thick ropes had breached the top of the perimeter walls and thin, sickly-looking runners were shooting out from them, spreading out over the open ground, as if looking for the next vertical edifice to attack.
Belle shuddered and had to fight down a surge of panic. Eventually the webs would blanket the entire castle, enshrouding it and everyone within.
Then she noticed that the view of the grounds seemed strangely foggier than the weather should have allowed. It took her a moment to realize that there was a thin film of ice caught between two of the white strands. It was rippled and crazed, and what it showed was not a blurry version of the landscape beyond, but something else entirely:
Her house, at night. A dark rider approaching it—no, two riders, on the same horse. Galloping at breakneck speed, pulling up at the very last minute with a silent buck and protest from the horse.
Belle drew back, terrified by this strange vision. Nothing about the situation seemed right.
The lead rider jumped down, then turned to help the second rider off. This was a tall, graceful boy who flowed off the horse like water—Belle could see this in the splash of yellow light from the now-open doorway.
“No! Don’t go out!” Belle couldn’t stop herself from whispering. But her mother was in the doorway now, speaking to the rider, appearing nervous. Then Maurice was coming forward, clasping the first rider’s hand…
And then the vision restarted.
“No,” Belle said, frustrated. “What is this? What is happening? Is he a relative? Is one of them a relative? Is that an uncle? What is happening? Why are you showing me this? Is he the one who betrayed you? Did you move out here to get away from all of the death and violence, and he tracked you down?”
“No idea, dear,” the wardrobe said with a yawn. “But if you figure it out, let me know. I’m going to get a few more winks of sleep…good luck….”
Belle stayed and watched the vision, again and again and again, for hours, all thoughts of going to get the logs forgotten. Eventually, when the inside of her mouth tasted like death and she couldn’t feel her legs, she went back into bed, curled up like a mouse.
When Belle woke up the second time, the sun was high and sparkling yellow.
“Morning, Miss,” the wardrobe said brightly. “You figure out what that statue was?”
“Um, no,” Belle said. She struggled for words. “I feel like…I feel like this entire castle is full of…my mother. I don’t know if she’s alive or dead but it’s like everything here has been…filled with her, somehow. Her memories. Her…soul, almost. She’s definitely trying to tell me something.”
“I wish she’d find a less