The buttered tart sat nearly forgotten on the counter. No one touched it because of the cracks in the crust. They had started as small, spidery veins but had slowly grown into deep ruts. Tart oozed out in spurts. Crumbs sprinkled around the dessert: falling petals from the Enchanted Rose. Like the Beast, she sat and watched the aging pastry, just waiting for the last piece to fall.