🎀✨𝓑𝓮𝓪𝓾𝓽𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓥𝓲𝓼𝓬𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓵:𝓑𝓮 𝓞𝓾𝓻 𝓖𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽 ✨🎀

[Female Vocals] [Mockingly] “If she doesn’t eat with me—she doesn’t eat at all,” you mutter this to yourself mockingly as you sneak down the depressed corridor. Your stomach gently grumbles. Soft. Embarrassing. You just wanted a rose. That was all. Something simple. Beautiful. For your father to bring home. Now you are trapped here. With us. Like us. Locked inside a stranger’s castle, in your father’s place. Bartered like livestock. Kept like a pet. The halls are never quiet. They squish when they tense. We cry. The sconces flicker with something that smells like singed hair. A faint melody drifts under the door ahead. Soft at first. Then stronger. Then... familiar. [Female Vocals] [Fast] You slowly push open the door to the dining room. It is warm. Moist. Smells of old, uncooked meat. The walls sweat tears in the corners. The long table is set — ornate and waiting — with plates that breathe softly under living napkins. The curtains sway — though the air is still. The fleshy-stitched chairs are already turned toward you, as if they had necks. The moment you enter, the music swells— [Intense Music] [Lumière Male Vocals] Be. Our. Guest. [Female Vocals] [Fast] comes the voice — from behind the head of the table, where a tall figure unfolds. Lumière. He smiles. His body is stretched unnaturally thin, arms fused into wax-coated stalks. Flames flicker from his blistered fingertips. His skin glistens with a damp, yellow sheen — sagging in places, pulled tight in others. [Male Vocals] 🎵 Be our guest! Be our guest! Put our service to the test! 🎵 [Female Vocals] [Fast] Two fleshy stitched chairs peel themselves from the wall. Bent. Breathing. Moaning. Their legs twitch and creak as they position themselves behind you. One groans. You are seated. Gently. But the wet skin padding squishes, and something beneath it exhales. [Male Vocals] 🎵 Tie your napkin 'round your neck, chérie And we'll provide the rest! 🎵 [Female Vocals] [Fast] A napkin rises. Still-warm. Slightly damp. The cloth smells of rust and tongue. It wraps around your neck with a squish and whimper. It sticks to your chest. You resist peeling. [Male Vocals] 🎵 Soup du jour! Hot hors d’oeuvres! Why, we only live to serve! 🎵 [Female Vocals] [Fast] A platter shuffles forward on trembling hands. The food pulses and begs through steam. Pink. Soft. Still moving. One end is stitched shut. The other quivers open slightly. [Male Vocals] 🎵 Try the grey stuff, it’s delicious! Don’t believe me? Ask the dishes! 🎵 [Female Vocals] [Fast] The plates have lips. One grins and whispers: [Soft Trembling Female Voice] “It did not scream... for long.” [Female Vocals] [Fast] Its breath is wet and sweet. [Male Vocals] 🎵 They can sing, they can dance! After all, Miss, this is France! 🎵 [Female Vocals] [Fast] A cabinet creaks. Bone shelves crack open. Tiny, child hands extend — holding silverware shaped from fingers. Knuckles bend. Nails are lacquered. One fork sighs when you take it. [Male Vocals] 🎵 And a dinner here is never second best! 🎵 [Female Vocals] [Fast] The roast is unveiled. It is curled. No head. The spine arches upward like it died mid-prayer to a god that never existed. Steam rises from stitched flesh. A tooth clinks softly to the floor. [Male Vocals] 🎵 Come on and lift your glass You’ve won your own free pass To be our guest! 🎵 [Female Vocals] [Fast] A goblet finds your hand. Its stem ridged like vertebrae. The liquid inside is thick, sluggish. Dark red, but not wine. You must drink. It leaves residue on your teeth. [Male Vocals] 🎵 If you're stressed, It’s fine dining we suggest— 🎵 [Female Vocals] [Fast] Spoons dance. One bends backward at the handle until it snaps. A candelabra falls — flame drowned in dark wax and thicker things. The hand it was attached to convulses once, then stills. But the others don’t stop the show. [Male Vocals] 🎵 Be our guest! Be our guest!! BE. OUR. GUEST. 🎵 [Female Vocals] [Fast] The performers bow. Spines pop. Lips tremble. One plate splits, spilling something pink and wriggling onto the soft floor. And then— Silence. All movement halts. Eyes — so many eyes — shift toward the stairs. [Fast and Panicked Female Vocals] You turn. He is there. Tall. So tall. Indented muscle instead of skin — stretched tight, torn in places, always bleeding. You can see where the flesh ends and the bone begins. His ribs do not close. His chest is open. Inside — a rose grows where his heart should be. Dying. Beautiful. His eyes are deep sinking sockets. Empty. But aware. He watches you like a predator, not a prince. Claws hang at his sides, twitching. Teeth — too many for a human mouth — show through a mangled grin. His horns curve backward. Not elegant. Just sharp. He stands still. Watching. Bleeding. Breathing. Like a Beast. ...The Beast.