The Fallen Rose
Chapter One
The light was soft, spilling into the room and awaking the one occupant. Although of a modest size, the room was filled with all the luxury and grandeur anyone could ever want. The colours were red, with gold intermingling, so appropriate given the home's owner. One eye opened, peering around suspiciously, before bolting upright. This was not home, it felt so wrong. Getting out of bed, hands blindly reaching for the nearest door handle. Where am I? She thought, feeling panic coursing through her. Where am I? The last thing she could remember was being taken to hospital after a fall, head bleeding. There was no memory of ever making the fall, simply waking with confusion to strangers, faces she had never seen before. Yet now, after heavy sedation, she was taken to a strange house. Nothing about the room was familiar, not even the hairbrush with long brown hairs, obviously her own.
Like a frightened doe, her instinct was for flight, pulling the door open to reveal a modest ensuite. This was wrong, so very wrong. Nothing about this made any sense, her head racing and hands moving to fist in her hair. Muttering, Belle went to the window, looking outside. Have to get out, have to get home. But where was home? Nothing about anything made any sense anymore. The window refused to budge, no matter how many times she attempted to open it. Someone was trying to keep her in here, or something. The sound of footsteps halted her attempts to leave, door opening to reveal a man, cane in one hand, a tray carefully balanced in the other. At the sight of her up and awake, the sides of his mouth turned up in a smile, seemingly delighted to see her.
Yet her expression remained puzzled, staying on the other side of the room, far away from the man. "You… You're Mister Gold", Belle said, realising that she had seen him before. She knew him. Yet everything seemed so long ago, or far away. Like a dream, one that she grasped at desperately, not wanting to forget. Some of her memories seemed to have slipped away, like sand through her fingers, leaving large empty spaces where she could not remember a thing. It seemed like one moment she was being freed from the psychiatric ward by a strange man, brought to protection, and next her eyes opened to confused expressions, strangers she never knew, or hardly knew.
Yet the man's eyes seemed to light up at her recognition, setting the tray down on the bed. It was probably wishful thinking that she would remember who he really was, remember what they were. But with every ounce of his being, Rumpelstiltskin was determined to help her remember. Remember every moment they spent together, each more precious than anything anyone could ever offer. Belle was his everything. The way her eyes followed him, never once seeing the ugliness that was his appearance. No, her eyes saw past all of that, and right into his very core. The centre of his being that he kept so tightly wrapped up in hatred and guilt that he himself forgot it existed. Yet now her eyes seemed to see none of that. They were different, flitting nervously about as if seeking a way out. How desperately Rumpelstiltskin wanted to take her in his arms, run his hand through her hair like he had before, telling her that this would be alright.
But would it be alright? Could it be? For all he knew, the Belle he loved was long gone. The woman standing before him was a lost bird. Although she had Belle's face, she lacked her strength. Her courage. Rumpelstiltskin feared with a single breath she would blow away, never to be seen again. "Yes, that's right Belle", he replied finally, giving a kindly smile. "I brought you some breakfast. Unfortunately, I have never been much of a cook myself". That had always been your speciality, he bit back from saying. A soft smile graced her face, his hands wanting to reach out to stroke her cheek, and tuck a wild strand of hair that had found its way onto her face behind her ear. Even now, Belle was the most beautiful person he had ever laid his eyes on. Even with her wild hair, weary face and dishevelled clothes, Belle still looked as beautiful as any princess. As beautiful as when his eyes first took in her complete loveliness all those years ago.
Yet she did not recognise him.
She did not love him.
His attempt to revive her with true love's kiss had failed, leaving Rumpelstiltskin despairing. Did that mean that what they felt was not true love? Or perhaps whatever magic that kept them bound to the town of Storybrooke was more powerful than true love's kiss could counter? His mind had gone over ways to bring back her memories night after night since the accident, trying to recall ways to return a memory. Yet there was no fairy dust left in the entirety of the town, taken by his own hands in an attempt to keep Cora away. Why had he done that? He would have preferred to deal with Cora a hundred times than to see Belle's eyes the way they were. No longer filled with undying love, but questioning. Questioning who he was, especially after the fiasco where he had attempted true love's kiss. This was not his Belle. This was a different woman, one who had suffered twenty-eight years locked away from the world in a psychiatric ward, which had twisted her mind over time. It had broken her, a mere shadow to the Belle she was before.
Realising he had been standing for some time, eyes taking Belle in her entirety, Rumpelstiltskin gave a weak smile and a small nod, leaving the room so she may eat. Shutting the door, he rested his forehead against the solid wood, letting out a sigh. Oh Belle, what have they done to you? There was more than one person he held responsible for this. Regina, for locking her away. Hook, for giving the final push across the town line.
But above all else, there was the strongest feeling of guilt, knowing that he carried the most blame for this. It was he who pushed and encouraged Regina, and took the life of Hook's love. But at the time, he had no care for what it cost. All he wanted was his son, Baelfire. With Belle in his life again, she became a weakness, one that was now causing the most suffering. The most pain. The Dark One was weak now, vulnerable. And yet, he did not care. All he wanted was Belle and Bae.