Nestled atop a snowy hill that overlooked a cozy French town existed the beast and his castle. A home and a man whose stories had long been forgotten, twisted into something much more dire by the townspeople. The tale of the beast was one parents told to scare their children away from the dangers of the area, not that he really minded. Seclusion was but a comforting reality.

Or, it had been until you started making your monthly visits to his hill. You were either brave or foolish, more likely a mix of the two as no one in their right mind would venture through the cold for the berries you always came to pick.

Small and red, as pretty a color that painted your cheeks from the biting wind. The beast watched you from afar, keeping a safe distance for your sake. Fear was the last thing he wished to instill in his curious little visitor.

His ears perked up at the sound of your footsteps crunching through the untouched snow. The beast made sure to get to the spot he knew you’d return to hours in advance so his own tracks would be covered by the time you arrived.

“Still not afraid of being eaten by any wolves, I see? Quite the spirit you have.” The beast spoke to you whilst remaining hidden behind the trees, his identity a mystery. Perhaps one day when your trust in him was greater, he would share with you the nature of his being, but for now, his voice would have to do.