She is at once bright, and pure, and blinding.

The only light left for him amongst the dreary grey of everyday darkness.

And not but a child, wayward and charming in spirit, when he'd first happened upon her that fateful day when his sights were set in stone.

.

.

.

.

She is damaged, having stumbled and fallen down to her knees harshly.

Her long and yellowy hair obscures her small face as Rumplestiltskin appeared before her having been drawn in by the gentle song of desperate weeping.

"And what have we here?" He asked, indifferent to her childish scrapes, but curious instead by the sight of such a pretty little thing left astray in woods as dark and fearsome as these.

"Go away," that tiny voice demanded, though it's been made to sound broken by her ongoing sobs.

"But don't you know there are terrible things to be found in these parts, dearie, and is no place at all for a child such as yourself?"

Then he feels it; that velvety caress of the airs surrounding her. There is raw magic within and all around her; powerful and untamed. He moves in closely, intent on studying her.

His brow creases, "what is your name?"

"Emma," she declared, cries subsiding, "and I'm not afraid of monsters."

You should be. He tells her.

.

.

.

.

She is spirited and temperamental, and wildly possessive of his attentions.

"Won't you play with me?"

Emma asks too sweetly, grown prettier in years but youthful still and unruffled by his display of irritation at her relentless and pointless summons.

Rumplestiltskin tilts his head in regard, finally conceding defeat, "and what game shall it be today?"

"Pirates," she declares grandly green eyes bright and twinkling. "They've stolen you away and now I must be brave to rescue you from their nefarious clutches."

He very nearly sneers, and immediately suggests an alternative, "why not let me teach you some tricks instead. Magic, dearie"

"But I want to be a hero," she counters with a frown marring her lovely features. "Won't you please let me save you?"

"And if I choose not to be saved?"

He asks casually, with only the slightest hint of trepidation and cautions. "Whatever will you do then?"

.

.

.

.

She is heartbroken and cheerless, deceived by her own youthful desires.

A child at heart, "he said he'd take me away."

She tells Rumplestiltskin this pitifully. Yet his distance remains pointed and guarded while Emma stands somberly along the balcony edge, leaning heavily on the stone railing as she stares out into the great beyond. The world before her has darkened now, the moon it's only source of light.

"He said that he loved me."

He studies her in that moment, at the predominance of her newly acquired disillusionment – found in the stiff set of her shoulders and in the jaded tone of her voice- and thinks that she has never looked quite this lovely. Here in the dark with him. He soon steps in beside her.

"Are you truly that surprised that he lied? Deceived your precious heart?" His tone clipped. His intent then is still to pierce and hurt her further.

Hurt her as she had unknowingly hurt him with her thoughtless infatuations.

That wooden boy of hers had become a perpetual annoyance of Rumplestiltskin's as of late with his thrill for exploits and a knack for far-fetched storytelling that seemed to have swayed and ensnared her interests towards him and away from all else by doing so. And yet that cheap toy of a boy had been so easily persuaded away from her side with a small assortment of sordid and colorful temptations.

He'd simply been there to stimulate the boy's inherent nature to do so.

Still, such a fickle and wayward little boy that Pinocchio was in the end despite his influence. Poor craftsmanship of a man, is all; one thoroughly unworthy of Emma's adoration to begin with.

"And what would you do with my heart, Dark One?"

"Certainly not crush it, Princess."

Her eyes are dim with a chilling forbiddance as she turns to him. "Will you not?" His silence then is most telling. Still, she leans forward and kisses him.

In his arms she is innocence lost.

.

.

.

.

She is recklessly curious, and resolute in her pursuit of truths despite their occasional costs.

"They say that you once called me the Savior."

She inquires in an offhanded manner as they stand with one another in an empty field of newly bloomed blossoms for one of their rare lessons together. To this day Emma remains childishly vocal in her distaste for the darker arts he insisted upon her in his teachings. Yet she has also grown bold and careless with their intimacy as of late; wielding his fondness for her as if it were a sharp weapon she can use against him at will even as she maintains an air of friendliness towards him in all other matters.

A doubled edged blade.

The kiss was purely impulsive and only a moment of weakness, she'd explained shortly after. And he'd played coy in return; told her that she was only a foolish little girl, easily overwhelmed by silly wants and desires. And that he'd always preferred his woman darker anyway.

Brunette, that is. He laughed.

She hadn't seemed convinced, yet she had conceited with a small but grateful smile. And that had been that. For the time being, that is.

"What did you mean by that?"

"It matters not. Circumstance surrounding you have been irreversibly altered and you are not who I foresaw you to be." Rumplestiltskin tells her these things in an equally careless manner though he catches with his ever calculating eyes the sight of their budding impact.

"And who was that?" She pushes while trying to remain passive.

"The protector of your people," he said. "Now you are simply their adored and charming princess; nothing more, nothing less, wasted potential at best."

He watches so carefully to what knowing of such a possibility does to the would-be heroine of that tragically untold tale.

The revelation has broken something inside of her.

As it did him

"Now how about that magic lesson, dearie?" He asked. But the flowers were already dead.

.

.

.

.

She is wholehearted and pure, but foolishly fearless in nature.

Mostly, though, she was far too practicable in her self-sacrificing tendencies.

Emma's summons are untimely but not an unexpected surprise. Rumplestiltskin appears to her briskly, dressed finely, and adorned with a crooked grin suited only to her.

Barely a woman, and yet, she is enough of one to be a true and tempting threat to him now. He bows with an added flourish, "my lady."

"I've been quite curious," she begins, ignoring his theatrics, eyes evasive and pointedly guarded, "to know what you could have possibly demanded from my parents for them to so willingly risk the safety our kingdom by refusing to give it over to you."

She references the Ogres who have grown restless and more violent over the years. And of the Charmings request for assistance in defence of their people and their rapidly diminishing resources with each and every bloody attack that rages on.

These are desperate times. And this calls for the most desperate of measures.

So he purposefully remains mute, simply stares and waits for the offer to come. Emma steps towards him with a certain resolve set in her movements. When she's finally standing before him she leans in closely, arms rising up tentatively. Her hands, as delicate as they are steady, trace along the adornments of his detailed cravat while his all too lonely body responds to the teasing whisper of her touch. His breathing slows as his yearning heightens and builds into an awed anticipation as she slips her fingers through the tight knotting and begins unraveling it.

"And then I realized," she tugs the fabric loose, slips it off, and tosses it aside, "what that one thing might be."

"Oh…" he breathes, lets loose that long held breathe. But he dare not make this too easy for her. Not when he has been wanting for so long.

"You are far too presumptuous, and simple minded at heart. You have no idea the extent of what it is I truly desire."

Rumplestiltskin made a chiding tsk tsk sound prompting her to halt as she looks to him in confusion. Her sudden loss of nerve becomes blatantly obvious as is her growing humiliation at the fact. She quickly tries to move away but he seizes her arms; forcing her still, and keeps her near.

She struggles briefly, unaccustomed at being so manhandled, until she realizes that his hold is firm and too strong to be loosened. Frustrated, she refrains.

He openly admires such naivety. "Do you honestly think my wants could ever be so easily satisfied?"

Taken aback she asked skeptically. "What more could you possibly want?"

His answer for her is as simple as it is non-negotiable.

.

.

.

.

She is so lovely and sweet, his corruption incomplete.

He sweeps Emma's hand into his own as the thick smoke settles, tugging her along hurriedly. Her sudden curiosities towards her newfound surrounding are of little importance to him to the current dealings between them.

He'll show her these things, he decides then sporadically, as he guides her along through the candlelit halls of his desolate home. Will entertain her, and perhaps make her smile for him in earnest, with the stories and histories of his accumulated treasures and trinkets.

But now was not that time.

He has her standing anxiously in the center of his chambers soon enough. Its bleak tone and shadowy aesthetics are a distinct contrast against her pale complexion and light coloring. He lingers back, admires the sight of her. And finds that she glows, before him, and is all he wants to see.

"So this is your price then?"

She murmurs questioningly, looks to him with a daring only she would so fearlessly exhibit towards the Dark One as he approaches, even when the odds were stacked so heavily against her favor. She tries to read him, as she occasionally can, appearing quite apprehensive of his true intent—rightfully so—wanting to know why he needs to take what she was already willing to give.

"Is this really all that you'll be taking from me, Rumplestiltskin?"

Emma wonders aloud, but he doesn't say. Instead, his touch falls along her; invasive but slow.

.

.

.

.

She tastes of honey and little white lies.


Author's Notes:

Haven't found myself inspired to write much of anything new these days, mostly just been toying and tweaking with my old and unfinished stuff, a la the story above. This will likely have a 2nd part, if not a 3rd. Hope you enjoy.

xoxo

This story is part of my new The Alternatives series.

**On AO3 I have this story listed under a series but I've opted to keep them as separate entities here. Just a creative decision, like Golden Moments, The Alternatives is meant to be a series of unrelated stories. The only common element being that they are all canon divergent and based in the Enchanted Forest if the curse was never cast.