Day 3 Morning

[Belle]

Somehow, Belle had hoped that the giant would be the last real threat they would have to contend with. She knew, even then, that it was naive dream. Perhaps that was why she had never entertained it consciously.

Still, they had ate. Played. Camped. Swam. For a wonderful day, things had gone alright - alright enough, at least, to pretend.

But reality had brought them forcibly back to earth by the edge of a chainsaw. Her head was ringing harder than ever, a bell-like hum swelling in her left ear as she tilted her head and rubbed her jaw. For an elf, the guy who clocked her sure could punch.

Mickey and Blues were arguing in the aftermath, their angry tones dimly penetrating the fog in her brain. The mouse wanted to leave, to chase after them, to 'get' them - whatever 'getting' was. She saw something she didn't recognize in the anthromorph's eyes, something they never showed on his cartoons - something that made Belle deeply uneasy. No; she knew what 'getting' was.

It had been nice to pretend, but even Mickey Mouse wasn't immune to it. No matter how nice he was, he was still a Prime. The sanctity of life simply wasn't as important to them. How could it be, if they were convinced they were immortal? If you knew a tomorrow would always come, it was all too easy to hurt.

Her eyes fell to the pink crowbar clutched tightly in her hand, the curved end speckled with the elf's blood.

Was she so different?

Shouting and scuffling. Mickey's foot whipped out with surprising dexterity, sweeping Blues' legs out from under him and sending the armored boy to the grass.

“Thanks Belle. This isn’t the Abyss." The mouse's words rung in Belle's ears as she lifted the crowbar above her head.

"We’re not monsters.”

She swung. The mouse's tiny form crumpled, slumping to the ground like a Disneyland puppet with its strings cut. The night was abruptly quiet, filled only with the sound of the occasional mournful, lonely cricket.

Belle let out a trembling breath, a quaking shiver that spread from her lungs throughout her entire body. "You jackass," she whispered, disgusted more at herself than anyone else.

Kneeling by the mouse's side, she pressed her hand to his head. It didn't feel like she'd broken anything, but she wasn't a doctor.

Blues rose to his feet. Perhaps he saw the expression on her face. "You had to do it," he said.

"Did I?" Belle demanded, scowling.

"He would've died." The boy didn't seem terribly comfortable at giving pep talks. A cascade of unfamiliar emotions played across his lips as his shadowed gaze lowered to Disney's crown prince. "You saved him."

Making sure the mouse was still breathing, Belle stood. The excuses were sour in her mouth. Saved? Not even close. The truth - the real truth - was a picture she was only just starting to understand.

Turning to face the robot-turned boy, she fixed him with a hard stare. In her breast, the flame had caught. She felt its surge, spreading through every vein in her body, the evidence - as Yuki put it - that she was still whole. Determination. "What happened to him?" she asked. "To you?"

Blues folded arm over blaster, holding her gaze. "Dante's Abyss," he said at last. "If you want to know more, you'll have to ask him."