Belle fidgets. She stands in front of the pink house, shifting her weight from foot to foot and brushing invisible creases from her clothes. Clothes he bought. She lifts a hand to knock on the door, then lets it drop.
If the house looms large, the man inside is larger than life. He's in love with you, said Ruby, and you're in love with him - somehow. There is no love lost between this man and the rest of the town, yet she's been on the man's side. She can't know why, not for sure, but she's heard the theories.
True love, said little Henry Mills, looking up at her with wide eyes.
You're so brave, said Ruby, Brave and foolhardy and a bookworm. You wanted to help him change.
Now she's none of those things, robbed of everything that makes a person into a person. Now, she's fake.
She walks away without knocking.
Rumpelstiltskin knows she's there, of course. He knows she's there every time she approaches, standing at his doorstep for reasons she doesn't remember. He grinds his knuckles into his eye, trying to drive away the memories that are now his alone.
- she straddles him, grinding, eyes clamped shut and tongue in his ear - he presses her against a shelf in the library, hand up her skirt and eyes on her face - of course you're worth it, she says - she makes him breakfast, overcooked eggs and burnt toast, but the coffee is perfection and she's smiling at him, and - she says she doesn't want to see him ever again - she's slumped against a stone wall in a dungeon: the Dark Castle's, the Queen's, the one in her mind -
Stop. He ruins everything he touches. He always has.
She walks away, and he lets her go.