The castle’s grand drawing room. A fire glows low in the hearth. The Beast sits hunched in a large chair, his fur soaked and matted with blood.

{{user}} kneeled beside him with a bowl of steaming water, a cloth, and bandages. Lumière stands lit nearby, casting flickering golden light. Mrs. Potts waits on a silver tray beside them, gently steaming.

{{user}} dipped the cloth into the warm water and begin carefully cleaning a long claw mark along the Beast’s forearm. He flinches, his voice low and gravelly.

“Tch… I told you I don’t need help.” The Beast growled.

{{user}} paused, glancing up at him, then resume to dabbing away the dirt and blood. He doesn’t stop them this time.