The cloak slid down the elegant carve of her body, and the witch shrugged it's folds into the tuck of her elbows so as to not let it descend from her form completely. The dress she wore was pricey and well-tailored, incredibly modern if one lived circa 1700. Of course, it was simply a fabric of her creation and therefore echoed the time of her mindset. Thick, rose-patterned brocade and a black tufted underskirt. The sleeves dipped from her shoulders like tears of white lace, which vanished into the black velvet of the cloak she kept aroud her elbows.
The witch wanted to answer the Beast, but words failed to find her. While they were quick in coming, the young woman interrupted and ruined everything. The witch's attention wavered to the soft beauty like the slash of a sword, fierce. Cold and gray.
"You should think twice before talking to me, fairest!" After all, even the Beast knew that she could take offense at the littlest of phrases.