Skin Deep
Chapter 1
By ZionAngel
... ...
Once again, Mr. Gold eyes the oil painting, its gilded frame propped against the filing cabinets in his back office. It has collected a fine layer of dust in the time it has been here, hidden away here instead of in the front shop. He sighs in frustration and looks away.
He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want t go there, or see her. Just the thought of it is enough to fill him with dread, and the sting of old wounds time has not truly been able to heal. But he has made every conceivable effort to avoid this, to find some other way around it. He knows he'll have to do it eventually – he may as well get it over with, and on a relatively good day, like today. So, before he can change his mind, he fishes his keys off the hook by the office door, locks up the shop behind him, and starts walking.
With a cane and a bad leg, the walk to the Storybrooke Library takes about twelve minutes. With one step, he tries to think of some way to avoid this, and with the next, he reminds himself that there is none, and that he must bite the bullet and get it over with. Still, when he places a hand on the door of the old brick building, he needs a deep breath to steady himself.
She's just a woman, he tells himself. Just another stranger he's never met.
A bell above the door rings as he enters. Inside, there are children reading picture books on the floor, a few teenagers with research books at the tables in back. And even though he knew it would happen, he startles when she emerges from a row of shelves to the right, tucking a lock of brunette hair behind her ear as she greets him. As much as he thought he had prepared, he is struck by the beauty in her sweet smile.
"Hi," she says as she approaches. "You're Mr. Gold, right?"
"Yes," he responds after a moment.
"I'm Anna, I'm the librarian." She offers her hand to him. So sweet, polite, so openly friendly.
Kind. Always so kind.
He takes her hand and shakes it. "Nice to meet you."
"Can I help you find something in particular?"
He has to make a conscious effort to behave normally. "Yes, I've recently acquired a painting, but I'm having some difficulty finding out much about it, even online. I'm hoping you have some books that can shed some light on it." Try as he might to ignore the urge, the longer he looks at her, the more he wants to get out of there as quickly as possible.
"Sure, I think I can help with that." She turns, and he follows, but before they can make it three steps, the door opens with a jingle, and Henry Mills comes rushing in, his backpack bouncing behind him. She greets him and ruffles his hair, and Mr. Gold curses his luck. "What's up?"
"You know that book you gave to Miss Blanchard to give to me? Well… I kinda lost it."
"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry to hear that." Mr. Gold can't help but watch her out of the corner of his eye, drawn in by the caring and affection she shows the boy. "You know that book was a gift, you don't have to worry about giving it back."
"No, that's not it. I was actually wondering if you had another copy. I promise I won't lose this one, I wouldn't even have to take it out of the library."
"No, I'm sorry, Henry," she says, rubbing his shoulder. "That book was one of a kind. There are no other copies." At this, Henry looks sad, even worried. She kneels down in front of him. "But hey, that was my very favorite book. I've probably read the whole thing at least ten times. So if you ever want to know about one of the stories, you just come ask me and I can tell you all about it. Okay?"
The boy seems content with that, so he thanks her, says goodbye to them both, and leaves as quickly as he came.
She stands, and straightens her shirt as she leads him off again. "Do you know about that book? Henry's fairytale book."
"I think I may have heard of it in passing," he says, sounding uninterested.
Her soft laugh reminds him of the bells on the door. "He thinks we're all fairytale characters from it, and we don't remember because we're cursed. It's adorable."
"You don't say." All he wants – desperately needs – is to get out of there as soon as he can, with as little interaction as possible. He doesn't want to be reminded of another life, especially when he's worked so hard to forget the parts that involve her.
She turns back to him with a smile. "He thinks I'm Belle, of course."
With that, he stops short, his legs refusing to carry him further, lungs refusing to breathe, just from hearing her say the name.
"From Beauty and the Beast," she clarifies. She continues forward again. "Because I run the library, and I'm always reading." She starts up the stairs, and he manages to catch up before she notices. His mind is in something of a daze, and at this point he is simply praying that she will drop the subject entirely.
"And of course it doesn't hurt that the whole town thinks I'm weird." She leads him between shelves full of books. "But it's not your standard fairytales. That's why I liked it so much. Actually, Rumplestiltskin is the beast in this version." She glances back at him again, smiling with the simple joy of retelling a good story. "It has a miserable ending, though. It always makes me so sad."
Deep down inside, he feels he feels old wounds of sorrow and loss, of anger, opening again, and a hand slowly squeezing his heart.
"Well, I've always found that story to be rather unrealistic," he says, his words biting. "It certainly would be an unhappy ending if you tried to love someone so monstrous."
"No!" She stops abruptly, looking stricken. "That's not it at all! Rumplestiltskin wasn't a monster." She looks down, her eyes dark. "Everyone thought he was, but he wasn't. Not really… not deep down."
Now Mr. Gold is more stunned and confused than anything, to hear her so vehemently defend the character. He doesn't understand what she means, can't quite seem to wrap his head around her words. But then, before he can even try to make sense of any of it, she stops in front of a shelf, the words 'Art History' pressed into the spines of the books there.
As she asks him about his painting, he recites the answers robotically, without thinking. He watches as she selects books from the shelf, flips through them silently, and puts them back. Before long she has put two old, leather-bound books in his hands. And then he finds they are both at the front door again. She holds it open for him. As he leaves, she smiles at him again, so purely, with such genuine kindness, and she waves goodbye. He smiles weakly in return, completely disarmed by her.
As he walks slowly back to his shop, his mind still reels in confusion, replaying her words over and over, until they seem to lose all meaning.
... ...
Standing as far from the dance floor as she can manage, avoiding the eyes of every young man who comes near, she does her level best to blend into the shadowy corner. She feels uncomfortable, bare in her mother's strapless yellow gown. Most of all, she feels out of place.
It is difficult enough, most days, to go into town and interact with just a handful of the people who think she is odd and strange at best, who think she cannot hear them whisper behind her back about how unfortunate it is that such beauty was wasted on a girl who always has her head stuck in a book. Even then, she only has to deal with a few people at a time, and they will mostly let her do what she came for and be on her way. But here, at this awful ball, she is surrounded by every last adult in the town, each dressed in their finest clothes and jewels, however humble they may be. Here there is no pretext, no business to be done, only small talk and social niceties and a few dozen eligible young bachelors stalking the young women of the town onto the dance floor. And the few – Gaston the worst of them – who have tried to catch her eye and drag her onto the dance floor, are the most unsavory of them all, the ones so hell-bent on claiming the most beautiful woman as their prize that they don't care if she's the strange bookworm. It takes every transparent and pathetic excuse she can come up with to keep them at bay tonight.
The hand on her back makes her jump. But her father's laugh echoes beside her ear. "It's only me, Belle."
"Papa, you scared me," she laughs in return. She presses in closer to him, turning away from the crowds, hoping no one will come to her while he is there. Even as a grown woman she feels like a little girl, shy and hiding away in her father's coat for protection.
"We really must get you out and socializing one of these days, Belle."
"We really must find some people who don't see me as either an oddity or a potential trophy wife, Papa."
He smiles and kisses her forehead. "Yes, I suppose we must." From behind his back he produces a book, leather-bound with the title embossed in silver leaf. She sighs gratefully, and embraces him before taking the book and hurrying towards the stairs.
The balconies overlooking the ballroom are deserted, save for one or two young couples stealing a moment to themselves. She has no trouble finding a secluded corner, lit by candelabras and moonlight from an open window, and she quickly loses herself within the pages of the book.
She reads late into the night as the revelers dance below her. And so, when she hears the faintest sound of a scream, she believes she must have begun to doze, or else one of the townspeople has had one too many glasses of wine. Even as she stands to stretch her legs, and hears the echo again, she pays it little mind. It is not until the third time, when a shrill cry of terror rings out from the woods beyond the open window, that she becomes afraid.
She searches the dark treeline and hills beyond for some sign of what is wrong, and as she squints, she can see firelight flickering through the trees, approaching the town. Another scream rips through the forest, this time followed by the most terrifying, guttural growl she has ever heard. The ballroom below is suddenly much quieter, revelers listening for the cries as well. Suddenly, the firelight emerges from the trees, torches carried by three men. They all wear broken suits of armor, half the pieces broken or missing completely, the metal dulled by a thick layer of blood. Belle gasps at the sight, and as the men race for the open doors of the banquet hall, two massive creatures come lumbering out of the woods behind them. Belle's eyes widen, and before she even realizes what she is doing, she runs to the edge of the balcony, overlooking the dance floor below, and screams at the top of her lungs.
"Ogres!"
As the word leaves her lips, the soldiers come barreling in, and moments later, a crash and a shower of wood and stone as the ogres break through the door frames. The hall fills with screams and cries of utter terror. One of the soldiers falls to the floor, and the first ogre smashes his head with one massive fist, killing him instantly. Another soldier drops his torch and pulls out his sword, slashing at the nearest ogre. Through the chaos, she sees Gaston and several other men who came to the ball with swords join the fight. Belle races across the balcony to the stairs, and hurries down as quickly as she can, nearly tripping over her skirt. By the time she makes it to the bottom, the screams and shouts have died down. She pushes her way through the still frantic crowd, and finds a pool of blood spreading across the dance floor. In the center lie the two ogres, dead, one with a sword through the back of his neck and the other with a large dagger sticking out from his temple. One soldier is dead, another lies clutching a wound at his side and does not look like he will survive more than a few minutes. The third is cradling a clearly broken arm. Four of her fellow townsmen bear sliced and bloodied clothes, but all are standing with their own strength and seem all right.
In the commotion still running through the room, she hears her father, calling out her name. She follows the voice and when he finds her, he sweeps her up in a crushing hug. "I'm fine, Papa, I'm fine."
When he is assured of her well-being, he joins the other town elders in questioning the soldiers. The badly wounded one manages to tell them little before he bleeds to death. The other, as several people help him pull off his armor and tend to his arm, tells them that he and his fellow soldiers were caught in a battle on the front lines of the ogre wars, and that they were somehow separated from the battle, and have been running for their lives since before sundown.
"That's impossible!" one man shouts. "The nearest battles of the ogre wars are hundreds of miles away!"
"Current circumstances would suggest otherwise." The voice that speaks is shrill and coarse, sick and delighted. Belle turns, along with everyone else, to the source of the voice at the far end of the room. Standing in the center of a crowd, far from any doors, like he simply appeared on the spot, is a small, thin, sickly looking man with a wicked smile on his face.
Gaston, standing nearby, brandishes his sword as the crowd steps away from the stranger. "Where the hell did you come from?"
"Now is that any way to treat a guest?" he asks, lips turning up in a mocking grin.
Gaston will have none of it. "Tell me who you are, imp, or so help me –"
Without warning and as if it possessed free will of its own, the sword flies from Gaston's hand and hovers in the air above his head. Gasps sound throughout the room, but Belle only stares, watching carefully as the stranger narrows his eyes at Gaston in a glare.
"I suggest you put that away," he says quietly, "before you hurt yourself." As quickly as it rose, the sword flies back to Gaston, the broad side of it hitting him across the midsection and throwing him to the floor. After that, the sword clatters to the floor, inanimate once again.
Belle takes a deep breath, but does not cower like many others in the room. She has seen true magic very few times in her life, but she has read enough to know not to fear the magic itself. Only the magician, if anything, should be feared. She watches the stranger closely.
Her father steps forward, shoulders square and head held high. "Who are you? And why are you here?"
The stranger smiles, showing yellowed teeth. "I," he says, bowing with a flourish, "am Rumpelstiltskin."
Gasps and whispers fill the room. The name has floated in rumors from far and wide for many, many years now.
He stands straight again, and steps towards her father. "And I am here to help you with your… pest problem. This soldier speaks true, the ogre wars have been raging through the lands for many months now. And, unfortunately for all of you folk, they've been raging in this direction. The nearest battle is not more than ten miles from this very building, and the rest are sure to catch up soon."
Belle moves through the crowd, so she can better hear Rumpelstiltskin speak over the frightened voices
filling the room.
"And how do you propose to help us with that?"
He smiles wickedly again, and gestures with dirty hands and blackened nails. "With magic, of course!" He clasps his hands behind his back and skips closer to her father and the other town elders. "I can cast a spell upon this entire town, and everyone within it, that will ensure that neither the ogres, nor the armies fighting them, will ever find your village. No matter how close the battles get, even if they try to seek you out, they will never be able to find you."
"… You're sure?"
He stops, turns back to her father, and smiles. "I guarantee it."
"Then do it!" another elder shouts, and many voices chorus in relieved agreement.
"Ah ah ah!" he chides, waving a finger. "Not so fast! I can do this for you, but it will cost you."
"Of course, anything!" Her father looks to the crowd, waving at them. "Everyone pass up your jewels, all of them, quickly –"
"No, no," he says, stopping them. "I have no interest in your little trinkets. My price is something much more valuable."
The room falls silent. They have heard stories, of a man who trades in infants, as his price and his commodity. Few ever believed the tales, but now, Belle knows, each and every one fears it.
She looks to her father. He takes a deep breath, and looks him square in the eye. "Name it."
Rumpelstiltskin smiles, and sweeps his eyes across the room. "I see many very beautiful young women in this town. My price, for protecting this village, is that one of you must come and live with me as my companion."
Screams and outraged cries echo through the room, louder even than the screams when the ogres burst through the door.
"Come, now! Come, now!" Rumpelstiltskin shouts, his voice carrying over the noise. The crowd quiets, but not completely. "It's a perfectly reasonable arrangement. And of course, as soon as the war is over, and your town no longer needs to be concealed, she will be free to return."
"The war has been going on for decades!" one woman shouts. "It could last for another century! The woman you take may never be free!"
"A risk you will have to take." Debate rages through the room, shouts of anger and counter-offers. When it shows no sign of quieting, Rumpelstiltskin loses patience. "Silence!" The room falls quiet. "You have heard my price, and it is not negotiable. Either pay the price and protect your town, or take your chances without me. Now," he says, eyeing several young women in turn. "I am not picky as to which one of you ladies comes with me, anyone fairly young and pretty will do. So… do we have a volunteer?"
The noise that filled the room moments ago is now matched by utter silence. Not a single gasp, nor whisper, not even the shuffling of feet can be heard. The only sound is the click of his boots as he begins to circle the edge of the crowd, expectantly. The silence stretches out, feeling like hours, days, as the women in the room glance nervously at each other. But none speak up.
"Really?" he eventually asks. "No one? Not a one of you is willing to save your village?"
"I'll go."
Belle almost does not recognize the words as her own, does not know they are coming until they escape her lips. But once spoken, she does not regret them, and she does not try to take them back.
All at once, each and every one of them turns to find the voice, and they stare, still silent, as Rumpelstiltskin clasps his hands in delight and walks towards her. "My, my, my." He examines her, and although she has never felt more bare and exposed in all of her life, she holds her head up high, and looks him square in the eye. "I don't think I could have found a more beautiful woman in this room if I had chosen for myself. Tell me your name."
"Belle."
"Belle. Beauty. How very fitting." He smiles, lecherous and greedy, and a shiver runs down her spine. "Well then. Let's go draw up the contract, shall we?"
She takes a deep breath to steel herself, and follows him out of the ballroom and into one of the smaller outlying chambers.
She follows him to a nearby table, where he produces a parchment and quill with a small puff of magic. As he smoothes the paper out on the table, she hears several sets of heavy footsteps rushing into the room behind them. Her father is first, and he grabs her by the shoulders, his grip tighter than she has ever felt.
"Belle, you don't have to do this –"
"It's all right, Papa –"
Three other elders are next into the room, and Gaston is the last.
"We'll find another way!" he insists, shaking her without meaning to. "We'll fight the ogres off, we'll fortify our defenses –"
"It won't work, Papa," she insists, holding his arms gently. "We can't protect ourselves from this war. We just can't. This way I know that you and everyone else will be safe. And I'll be safe, too, Papa. I just won't be here."
Tears fall from her father's eyes, but he can say nothing in protest. She smiles sadly, and wipes them from his cheeks. "This is my choice, Papa. I know what I'm doing. I'm okay with this."
"Belle, you can't do this!" Gaston shouts. "You're being ridiculous! I won't allow you to do this!"
She glares at him over her shoulder. "Since when do my actions require your permission, Gaston?"
"Don't be so stupid! You cannot go with some monstrous imp and –"
"What would you have me do?" she snaps, closing the gap between them and yelling without inhibition. "Would you have me be selfish and stay here, be your little wife, cook your meals every day, and then every night pray that we are not all slaughtered? Should I let us all be ripped to shreds by vicious ogres? Should I let soldiers pillage our town and steal our food for themselves until there is nothing left? Let them force us all into their armies until every able-bodied person in this town lies dead on some far-off battlefield? No! This is my decision and I have made it!"
"I will not have this monster take you!"
"And I will not have you fight my battles for me, Gaston!" And then, as quickly as it came, her anger simply falls away. She sighs and shakes her head slowly. Beside the table, Rumpelstiltskin waits patiently. He holds up the quill in one hand, and the completed contract in the other. "There is no battle to fight. Not for anyone."
And with that, she goes to the table, takes the quill and parchment, and with no hesitation and a steady hand, she signs the contract.
"Excellent," Rumpelstiltskin grins as the contract disappears. "Shall we be on our way, then?"
She nods, but turns back to her father. He pulls her into a hug, his body shaking with sobs as she buries herself in his jacket one last time. "I love you, Papa."
A sob rips from his chest, and he buries his face further in her hair. "I love you, Belle, more than anything."
"I'll be okay, Papa," she whispers. "I promise."
As she pulls away, he kisses her cheek, and gives her one last brave, loving smile. She steps away and goes toward Rumpelstiltskin, holding her head high and proud. He flashes another of those terrifying grins, and puts a hand around her waist, fingers a little too tight. She turns to her father again, smiling bravely as she feels magic creep up and envelop them into darkness.