The large almost fox or hare like ears on top of Vadim's head sensed movement in the manor long before the footsteps reached the west wing. Was she coming? Did Belle disobey and wander this direction with purpose? Pacing, he made a thumping, scraping rhythm within his room, not caring if the sound carried. Belle couldn't be coming here. She wouldn't here him. It was night! Just sleep! He resisted the urge to bellow that down the hall, but just carried on with his pacing. He wondered if they might truly survive a month without her figuring out his secret. Would she not once get worried and knock on the door or find a key to this door lost somewhere among the relics of this rundown home. He couldn't really say, but he did hope. He hoped that Belle would never have to see him like this. Because then, how could she ever feel happy again. He was the beast and nothing more than that.