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This poem is an adaptation of ‘Beauty and the Beast’. Hadn’t set out to base it on something, but here it is. How does it read?

Beast and the Fading Beast
In the grand old house
under the glitteringly lit ceiling of century old
steered someone, no, something,
like the rising of an old ghost
rising from delicately carved throne
at the head of a grand but empty hall.
The figure strolled, tall
the cape gliding across the floor,
soundless, but for the wind hitting the walls outside.
Along the long abandoned hallway of old
with its river of flowing velvets,
and richness of vintage brass wall lamps
the figure passed without rejoice.
Somewhere in the vastness,
music soared like an orchestra
higher and higher and he halted
breathing in the painful tune, unable to move, nor return.
He watched, the beauty that was, appear before him
and she laughed, extending a hand.
‘Won’t you dance once more?’
He heeded, though he bled inside,
for he knew what came after, after it all.
Yet he danced, with his lady of chance,
till in his arms she aged and withered into air again,
gone, wrenching his heart once more.
The Beast, lonely once again.