He hated the castle at first. With the disgusting creature that loomed in its halls.

But after a few months he had realized the castle was never locked. The gates never closed. He wasn’t captive. More like the Beast was locking themselves away.

After a mild argument on who was a better writer, Shakespeare or Jane Austin, the Beast lead him to their library. Wall after wall was covered in books. It made his heart sore.

“{{user}}.. is- is all of this, yours?”

He turned to look at you.