She knew things were going to get bad well before they did. She did not know if it was intuition, knowledge of the witch, a whispering from the flowers on the balcony. Somehow, she just knew.
When the witch's cloak fanned, she moved even closer to the Beast at her side. The flying books and rattle of thunder made her hold onto the Beast's fur and duck her head for safety against his softness as the books battered them. Even with that, she didn't scream. Above her mounting fear, the scent of roses could be smelled in the room, and thorny vines were starting to creep from the corners of the living room, unthinking things brought on by her fear that creeped toward the witch.