"No one," the witch murmured to the waking girl with a dose of thought as she observed them. Her tone was not hostile, but it wasn't exactly kind. Somehow, the last thing she'd expected to see was the Beast up here.. and yet she'd taken these stairs with such a determination, what else could she have been wanting to find?
There was nothing to be seen of the invader, she was a dark cloak and frail shoulders. Her face was shrouded beneath the fall of her hood when she skirted the edge of the couch soundlessly. Her feet might not have even dragged the floor.
The witch didn't have an interest in the Beast, so why was there a surge of hurt -- of anger -- in the pit of her stomach?
If a young, beautiful woman chose to lay alongside the Beast.. that was no worry of the witch's. She'd spit on them with good luck and twirl away with laughter. If the opportunity came where the Beast could break his curse, she could not deny him. The witch was cruel, but just, and never unreasonable.