So, this story is a little late after Christmas, but here it is! Also! Never really done a back and forth between the real world and the fairy realm so let's give it the good college try shall we? :3
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
~8~8~
(Storybrooke)
"Well she does look quite miserable," Regina commented dryly as she peered through the thin iron rectangle that let her see into the confines of her own personal prison there tucked away under the Storybrooke hospital.
Lights from the wired and caged fixture above flickered and buzzed erratically on the inside of the prison that she looked upon, the harsh yellow glow casting odd skewed shadows once and a while along the white padded walls. Darkness spilled in from the high, barred little lozenge of a window covered with strange frosted glass that prevented any stubby onlooker from prying what lay beneath the confines of the hospital and also afforded, or taunted, the prisoner with a small glow or darkness of the outside world.
Face cast in a sharp frown, the primly dressed nurse in white took a step forward beside Regina. Her compassionless mud colored eyes peered coldly through the small rectangular slit alongside her accomplice to the form laying there.
If not for the steady rise and fall of the prisoner's rag clad torso she could have counted her for dead. The miserable, wretched figure that was Belle curled miserably upon her thin white pad that laid over the concrete slab that made up what cruel semblance of a bed her captors afforded her. Her rich russet hair, lank and filthy from lack of bathing fell in clumped, tattered strands over her face, hiding the beautiful visage beneath in a veil of brown strings. Her body, malnourished from too many scanty meals and not enough space to walk around and put her muscle to use was curled like an insect left upon a windowsill to die. Dressed the gruel colored rags, she hugged them close to her body to ward off the cold that constantly made up her prison.
If she was aware of the two staring at her, she never moved. Not that her acknowledging them would have accomplished anything anyway. Supplication and pleading she had exhausted from her normally assiduous will years and years ago. They would never give her even the remoteness mercy or let her free. Better to ignore their cold eyes that gleamed so evilly when she muttered for mercy and was refused.
Oh better to think of him and the love she felt well in her heart than a moment thinking that she could claw out a spec of mercy from them. Better she dreamed and let her cracked mind wander to the strange gold dust that seemed to form into a man in her dreams every night. Better to let the figure of a man, perhaps he was a man, into her mind before she forgot his face every morn. Better to let the strange giggle drive her to tears than look upon them, upon the reality that was her life. Better to feel the happiness of memories that could only be her insanity than to deal with the sanity of cruel folk.
Satisfied that the "Patient" was no better or worse than any other time in the past years, the cold nurse stepped closer, her eyes narrowing frostily. "She gets like this every Christmas Eve. Don't ask why. I believe there is some trigger in her brain, a past experience that her mental clock keeps track of to mark the day when she becomes like this," she explained emotionlessly as though the person inside was just an animal to watch.
"Every Christmas Eve?" Regina turned sharply to the hard faced nurse, her cruel features dissolved into curiosity and surprise.
The nurse nodded succinctly, her stone face never receiving a change. "This action has been in my report every year. You just never came to investigate. Strange. Why do you come now?"
Why had she come? Regina had asked herself that same thing as she walked down the dark secreted away stairwell and faced the nurse at her usual post. The time should have been spent with Henry, but the child was going around delivering cards and gifts by himself, which, they all knew was a ruse to see his newly in town biological mother.
She had passed the apartment of Mary Margaret as she had been wandering the town, led along by her lonely heart, and saw the outline of three forms from the warm glow of the apartment window. One the sniveling teacher, the other the infuriating Miss Swann, and third her son, munching on homemade Christmas cookies and doing an idiotic little dance to the tune of "Jingle Bell Rock" that wafted out of the apartment like the smell of the cookies.
He would have rather spent time with those two idiots than with her, defying their own Christmas traditions to go gallivanting off with the irresponsible and suspicious bail bondswoman and her arch nemesis. The thought had made her miserable, more so than before, and so perhaps she had sought to find someone more miserable than she, though in a town full of miseries, it was quite a challenge on Christmas Eve to find someone who was not trying to be happy.
The Lucas women would be cordial, Catherine, with her newly restored husband would be right out, and Gold would only snap harsh words at her making her feel worse and him the victor.
So, she had found herself wandering, and interestingly enough in the hospital, her steps leading her down to the secreted area below.
"I don't know," Regina admitted after a long moment of thought, her mouth screwed into a grimace. "Perhaps I just wanted to observe."
The nurse huffed, a sharp sound that whistled like the swing of an axe past her lips. "You're in for quiet the treat then. You just wait," she revealed with a cruel glint and turned back to peer into the room.
And while they espied the figure laying curled fallaciously upon the thin cot, they truly did not see, for the woman's mind was not there at all. No, her mind had wandered as they spoke, their voices growing dull in her mind, away from their cruel words, away from the rags and the cot. No, she found herself in the midst of wonderful remembrance where she wore a blue dress and slept in a cage not made of padded cloth, but of cold black stone that belong to the fortress of the Dark Castle.
~8~8~
(The Dark Castle)
Winter's Veil. Rumpelstiltskin nearly snarled as the name of the abysmal holiday careened through his mind. The time had almost come for the nauseatingly sweet holiday and all the world proclaimed the season to be so. All the realms lay gowned in glistering white veils of snow, everything from there to Camelot layered with alabaster jewels so delicately places upon the outside world as frosting on an immaculate cake.
A certain infectious happiness swirled over the air and entered people's bodies with the stinging cold that burned their lungs with each inhalation. People laughed and smiled and came close in cheer and love. They prepared their village feasts and made gifts for one another out of what they could in their simple, but fair lives. And all-around the joy of festivity seemed to linger over all the people as the banks of frost did the world.
Sickening, he groused inwardly with blistering distaste, absolutely sickening.
A sharp frown came erroneously to his thin gray lips as he sat lowly in his grandiose, high-backed chair. One arm up and leaning on the ornate armrest, his fingers twitching slightly at some inward tune, he pondered the implications of the season. No doubt his slave girl would be giddy as the rest of them, cut off from the world or no. She would probably harangue him to set up decorations or even, heaven forbid, a tree!
Well, he was just going to have to disappoint her, he reckoned sternly. He hadn't celebrated since Bae had been sucked away. The first Winter's Veil without his son had been the most hurtful and he was determined not to live through the emotion that scored directly down his soul again and wrought forth the jagged chasm of hurt in his heart.
Beg or cajole as she might, he would have to put his foot down to his wench. There would be no Winter's Veil. Better she know that on all days, Winter's Veil Eve than before, thinking he might be merciful.
The delicately made grandfather clock tucked away in the corner struck seven, the sound akin to a gavel in the Dark One's ears, sealing the thought that he had long tossed around in his brain. He would have to tell her. No Winter's Veil. No mention. Nothing, or she would be relegated to spending the day in her cell with nothing to eat and floor scrubbing duty all the next day!
Immediately as the seven chimes finished their dour song, a side door creaked open to allow his slave girl. Steadily striding inside, Belle gently held the ornate silver breakfast tray to keep from spilling. Her blue dress swished as she walked, balancing between not letting the skirts trip her and to keep the tea from spilling. She had been quite a clumsy thing at the first, but she was getting better, more adept from her serene gait of a princess to the dexterous movement of a serving girl.
No greeting came from her this morn, but so ready and tense in his declaration, ready to engage in a quarrel with her, the fiend barely took note.
Sitting up, rigid as an arrow, the magical monster eyed the slave girl stonily as she put down the pieces for his morning meal. The tea's milky steam, as always, wafted and curled upwards and around the great hall with the delightfully soothing scent of fresh mint and the simple fare of hash and bacon made his stomach rumble in want of the meal, but he fought the effects of hunger for a while longer.
Tenting his black nailed talons, he tapped them against each other delicately as he cleared his throat. "Today being Winter's Veil Eve, Dearie I thought to make some things very clear. There will be no Winter's Veil. I do not celebrate and since you are mine neither will you. No decoration, no signing, no festivities."
There, he allowed himself to lean back against the red upholstery of the high backed chair, a glimmer of satisfaction gleaming in his voiced midnight orbs. Now that the declaration as out, he could enjoy swatting down her pleas and banter that his judgment was unfair. Now he could bicker with her, fencing with her brilliance against his before the inevitable futility of her argument came to naught.
Even so, his tongue darted eagerly inside his mouth almost too prepared to do battle with her in words. In a way he eagerly waited for times to test her wits against his. She was bright, brighter than anyone he had ever known and that was saying something. Although his will would stand, he would relish to hear her argument against his decision.
Head bowed to focus on preparing his tea, just so, the beauty gave no indication of her emotions. Her face was a cool slate of thought that barred the certain contemplations from her master's sight. "Understood," she replied, her exotic accent even and controlled as she scooped the tea leaves out and poured his brew inside the chipped cup he insisted to use.
"Now don't try to aru-" The fiend paused suddenly at her bland acquiescence. His green-gold brow wrinkled curiously in consternation. "Understood?" he parroted, his voice bereft of his normal titter or growl. "Dearie, I just banned the biggest holiday of the seasons."
Placing his tea before him, Belle looked up to face her slaver. Bravery mingled with sadness marbled her delicate, beauteous features. "And I understand," she replied solemnly, her lips slightly downturned but not disappointed.
No, disappointment wasn't the right word, Rumpel observed, his eyes narrowed slightly as he took in everything about her. Sad and melancholy, that fit her better at the moment? But why? She had been as such before the declaration. Had she had an inkling of suspicion, he pondered, but then how could she, or did she already know him so well?
Voided black eyes narrowed, he observed her critically, still intricately studying her beautiful face and figure for deception of some kind. "You're not up to something, are you, Dearie?" He asked, then held a wiry finger to her, his voice taking on a high pitched quality. "Which would be very unwise for you," he trilled in a sing-song voice of warning.
Unfazed by his dark jest and threat, the beauty prepared his plate. Her face never once crumbled from the current state of morose as she scooped spoonful's of steaming hash and strips of brown, crispy bacon unto the matching plate to the tea cup. "No I'm not," she repaid simply and laid his plate of hot potatoes and bacon before him.
Clasping her hands before her, she took a step back as she usually did and waited in case he was to need something.
Food forgotten for the moment, the fiend turned to her. Consternation crumbled to confusion as he stared at her. His glinting, green-gold visage beetled into misunderstanding. Why was she sad but not disappointed?
"Why not?" he asked plainly, seeing no way to brush around the issue. Before she could answer he reminded her. "And no lies from you either." What could make her not want to fight for the basic right of a holiday? What could make her cave so easily?
Slightly worrying her bottom lip, the beauty sighed dourly. "This is my first Winter's Veil without anyone. My mother… she died earlier this year. My father…. I did not even get to say goodbye to him. Forgive me if I'm not really in the festive mood or in one to combat you about something that does not seem worth celebrating now." Looking down she stifled a shrug. "This will be my first year alone. I guess things worked out for the best then."
The thought of celebrating was a painful one. Normally she was ecstatic about Winter's Veil. Her age had done nothing to stymie the excitement from her heart, but without her mother, her father, people she cared for, not even the thought of Winter's Veil was hard to bear.
A pit formed in Rumpel's gut taking away his will to eat. So that was why she showed no interest.
Cursing himself for a fool, the Dark One ferociously lambasted himself. He should have known. He should have been wiser at discerning her emotions. Of course she would be sad. He had taken her from the life she had known, left her without a friend in the world and actually expected her to want to celebrate a holiday that was about togetherness. All he had done was probably pour salt on an already stinging and bleeding wound, forbidding her from celebrating even if she had the desire too.
Just another thing he had taken from her.
"Well," he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Now that that's settled you can get to work on the third floor windows. I want them squeaky clean."
She bobbed her head in acknowledgement, her bright eyes dim but searching him. "And after that?"
"After," he parroted again, thrown off his game. "After oh….. Read a book or wander around or whatever it is you like to do," he huffed gruffly.
He really hadn't any plans for her for the next few days. In all honesty he had expected just to lock her up, for his Belle was the kind of woman to go do a thing after he had forbidden it and probably would have tried to put of garland or something if she had been in the celebrating mood.
Belle afforded her master a strange look at his sudden uneasiness. Why had he suddenly gotten all flustered and nervous? "Al… alright. Thank you."
With that she glided out, leaving the Dark One to his cold breakfast and his thoughts.
Once she had gone, the fiend slumped in his chair. No longer did he seem the devising Dark One, but a puerile child whose plan had not gone the way he wished. His mouth was a grim, thoughtful frown as he stared across the table. Belle was sad. The three words clamped around his heart. Disappointed, angry, furious, he could handle, but her sad, well, that was another matter.
His heart wrung for her, her explanation a vice twisting his heart. He knew too what it was like to lose someone. The first holidays were hard without them. They were downright miserable.
His first year without Bae was the most miserable. He had woken up on Winter's Veil day thinking it all a dream, thinking that his boy would have been downstairs frying eggs as was their tradition for they could not afford the rich food of others. Yet he had not been and his misery had all been amplified that day.
There was no one to ease his torment that day, but he was the Dark One, could he not ease her misery, could he not…. Cheer her?
"You're going to do something you'll regret," he warned himself aloud and snapped his wiry talons. Already he knew his course was set. He had known the first moment of her revelation his heart would turn to her.
Dark purple mist enveloped him in a cloud of magic and in an instant all that was left was the meal untouched by his hands.
~8~8~
"What will she like, what will she like?" Rumpel muttered to himself as he carefully scanned over the chambers and apartment that had once belong to the royal family of the Marchlands.
Maurice, the old doddered, had not been able to take losing his wife and his daughter. By his decree he had closed down that wing of the battered palace forever and moved out himself to a lower wing, leaving the place perfect for Rumpel to roam without agitation.
Lighting the dead torches in their scones with a flourishing of the hand, the Dark One scoured the rooms, but to no avail. What was it that his Belle would like most? Certainly a trip would have been the easiest thing, but that would have just made her sadder in the end and he was not going to give up his servant girl so quickly. Never if he had his way.
Striding along through the thick layer of dust that had built up, he pondered the question. What exactly would she like? Nothing fancy, that he knew. Jewels were never her thing. She didn't lust for pretty baubles and bibelots. She was a gentle heart with a leaning to the sentimental.
Sentimental, yes, but she already had a token of home, the golden covered book she had bought with her. Another book would just be lazy and nothing quite so special. No, it needed to be something for her, but made by him.
Though he wanted her to feel better of course, he wished, just a little to have that thing, part of him, not just a provider but a person who participated in the thought. Truth be told, and though he would rather lose his magic than admit the emotion, he would go to great lengths to take her from the realms of dudgeon, to see her smile and laugh again.
A huff of exasperation fled from his lips as he caught himself from getting off track. Scowling, he summoned magic to his grasp. "I'll never find anything at this rate before Winter's Veil," he groused and spread out his magic around the abandoned portion of the castle.
If a physical search would bring nothing, a magical one should.
Immediately, at his magic's behest, the musty air began to change in the abandoned quarters. The dust began to stir and swirl in little zephyrs around him. Had he been afraid of ghosts he would have sworn that the dead were coming to reap vengeance upon him, but that was only his magic.
The eerie glow of the torches sputtered in the magical wind as the dust began to form. Little by little the swirling granules took shapes. The resembled silhouettes of people who had lived and played and worked their whole lives in that part of the castle.
While magic could not bring back the past, little moments could be relived, almost like a recording. With enough history of a person or persons in one place their actions could be mimicked in the space to give a brief window back.
As the dust took gray silhouette shapes, the fiend watched curiously at a small dust person with two bigger dust people. One was tall, slight and graceful, the other stout and portly with the bearings of a king.
The third figures, obviously a child, rushed into the arms of the thinner figure who knelt and scooped her up. The dust swirled and disjoined for a moment as the slimmer of the two figure hefted up the small dust child.
"There you are my brave little Belle," a feminine voice, ethereal now with the magic played out. The figure laughed and twirled the silhouette of dust. "Did you have a grand adventure?"
The tiny dust figure nodded. "I was a mermaid just like in the book!" she giggled and laughed happily as her mother spun her.
"Collette, dear, you shouldn't encourage her," the portly man, Maurice, prodded though his words were lax as though one push from his wife could topple his uncertain thoughts on the way their daughter was growing.
"She needs to be encourage Maurice. Our daughter needs to be encouraged to grow up and be brave and courageous and smart and witty." The dust figure turned her head back to the giggling child. "And she's well on her way!" Laughing sweetly, the image began to dissolve as the womanly figure began to twirl the little Belle. A haunting melody of some child's lullaby hummed from there ethereal mouth as she twirled the darling girl.
Rumpel watched curiously, a half sad smile upon his lips as the dust disintegrated the scene. Instead of falling, the dust began to move along the corridor prompting Rumpel to follow like a wave of musing gray.
Along the way small scenes of life in the castle began to play. There were moment of hide and seek behind the now white cloth covered furniture. Moments by fire places that were dull and cold where they say reading books, her mother and her, and little moments as mother and daughter.
The song never once abated and the fiend followed like a man enchanted. His magic hadn't been ordered to do such, but he sensed another presence there. Another who seemed to know his quest and approve.
For long moments he traversed the halls, as though driving himself into a labyrinth. He had no intention of stopping until the dust led him to two large oaken doors. Gray granules swirled in little dust devils upon the floor before falling and slipped under the small crack beneath the doors.
The doors themselves were a sight to behold. Towering nearly to the ceiling, they stood like giants, barring the way. The panels were intricately carved of scenes in stories and the fiend knew immediately where they led – the library.
Slowly, almost reverently pushing the doors open, the Dark One met what would be his gift to his Belle. A picture above the mantle that was on the opposite end of the room, met his gaze. The large painting was of the woman he had seen only in dust. Her hands rested serenely in her lap as she sat, and standing beside her was her loving husband.
The portrait was large and well done, capturing them exactly as if they had stood there before him at that moment.
Walking inside the dark library, his black boots shush-shushing along the thick film of dust, the fiend crept closer. The music, he noted had abated, but he had plans for the tune as well.
"Give her your heart, oh troubled soul, and she will love it with all hers," a ghostly voice related to the right of the Dark One.
Turning slowly, his lean body tense, the fiend gazed upon a figure shimmering in deepest blue. The figure of the woman stood genteel and graceful though she was slightly translucent. There was a warmth about her despite her ghostly form.
Running her delicate fingers just nearly upon the book spines of the library, she stopped and looked up at the Dark One. "That's the 11th Chapter of the Searching Soul. One of my daughter's favorites."
"You…." Rumpel paused and pointed a finger at the ghostly matron. "You led me here?"
Collette nodded serenely. "I know your intentions Rumpelstiltskin. I watch over my daughter now and always and know your heart in this is right." She smiled faintly. "She's right about you, you know."
"What do you mean by that?" The magical monster asked hollowly feeling his heart clench at the words. Head banked slightly to the left he carefully picked how to react to the woman. One did not banter with ghost's everyday after all.
The ghost tossed her head. "You will see, Dark One. As for now, I see now what she sees in you and I…." She smiled faintly. "Just know that my blessing is given in advance… far, far in advance." Before he could demand an answer if he could find the words to speak, she motioned her head to a stationary by the window. "There, you will find the tool needed to put in your gift." Already her body began to fade, but she was serene in the moment. She had no message for her child for Belle already knew everything that could be said betwixt them.
"Remember the 11th chapter," she ended with a laugh that was as sweet as her daughters and in an instant she was gone with the fallen dust.
Solemnly strange from the interaction, the fiend slowly turned to the stationary that the ghostly matron had made known. Padding over, he looked over the carved work and with a little searching came upon the item that would so nicely wrap up his gift to Belle.
~8~8~
A sad sigh brooked past Belle's lips as she slid out of the thick scattering of straw in her cell. Winter's Veil day. A frown found purchase upon her lips at the thought. The knowledge of the day hurt more than it should have. How could only last year she was laughing with her parents, trying to pick out which new book her mother would like and spending the day away from pomp just being with her loved ones?
Stifling down the feeling, the beauty slogged out of her cell and began to trek up to the main portion of the castle. As she reached the kitchen door, a few notes, familiar, but old reached her ears. Hand nearly to the gold latch she paused as if struck. Music? In the castle?
Curious, the notes nagging at her mind, the beauty turned from her work and began to follow the sound. Through knave and corridor the sound began to grow until she came to the…. Ballroom?
Brow furrowed, the beauty cautiously opened the door. Bright, warm gold light filled her vision and in a moment she was caught in rapture.
Bits of garland festooned the balcony above and the chandelier was set to glowing with large tallow candles, the sheen of the dancing flames flickering off the gold. The windows and tall doors were frosted over from the weather outside and the place was clear of dust. The marble floor and columns gleamed as garland was spiraled around the marble posts around the magnificent room.
Off into a corner a medium sized pine tree stood regally. The scent of pine filled the air with the smell of Winters Veil.
Stepping forward, into the grandeur, Belle walked towards the tree where the music hailed. The sound was clear now, but soft, like the chimes to a music box.
As she neared the tree, her eyes found something she through she would never see again. A golden locket in the form of a heart dangled from a gold chain on one of the branches. Her mother's locket. Half dangling open the precious artifact hummed the music she now placed, the same tune her mother sang in her younger days.
Awed, her hands trembling the beauty slowly took the locket from its berth. Tears filled her eyes to see the old item again. Opening it fully, she smiled in tear filled delight at the sight of her mother and father. The old portrait that had hung in their library had been minimized to fit the locket. There her mother smiled back at her, her father's hand on her shoulder, both proud and gentle.
Gently, Belle lifted a digit to touch the fine outline of her mother. Magic flared just a hint through the warm air and instantly as she hovered her hand around, some sort of hazy imagine appeared from the locket.
Slightly blue, the image was of her mother, young and more beautiful than anyone Belle had ever known twirling her around. The image was akin to a music box of a figurine circling around only it was her mother and she.
The tears cam then, hot fat drops of joy from the gift. Cradling it in her hands, she looked up as a tingling sensation of magic tickled across her skin alerting her to the presence of the master.
A wave of love washed over her as she saw the Dark One standing upon the balcony.
Tucked away into a corner upon the second tier he stood watching her. A gray-gold hand curled around the gold railing, he lingered in the shadows of the balcony as though he could melt with shadows if she rebuffed his presence.
His dark eyes searched her from above, his face an intricate work of breathless tension as though he had been waiting all night to see what she had thought of his gift.
Brushing the tears from her azure eyes, the beauty smiled. "Could you come down here and put it on me?" she asked, not inquiring further into his gift. In a way, she already knew.
Stepping from the shadows like a specter, he snapped his fingers, calling the magic to him and in and instant in a wave of amethyst smoke stood down before her. His face was a molding of nervousness. He had been worried how she would react but seeing her happy truly happy, he felt himself ease… just a bit. He never did feel quite like himself with his Belle nearby.
Coughing into the fist he nodded. "I suppose I can… give you a hand," he affirmed and easily slid behind her. Taking the ends of the necklace he clipped the latch and took a step back.
He never got further as the beauty whirled upon him and snatched him up in a hug. Her body pressed tight unto him, her arms wrapped around him with a vice of love. Her head lay on his shoulder as she squeezed him tightly.
Taken aback, he could have no more broken her grip than he could have an ogre when he was a cripple. His face showed shock as he looked down upon her hugging him.
"Thank you, Rum," she whispered happily, squeezing him tight. He had given her more than any other Winter's Veil. He had given her a way to recall, to remember, to look back.
Mind racing on what to do or how to control the surge of emotions that rose in him, the fiend let the hug continue. Winter's Veil did make for special allowance and besides, for the first time in many a long year he felt some of his spirit return.
The feeling of warmth he had always felt with Bae, but a little different began to heat in him. A smile tugged at the sides of his mouth as though her hug was a balm and his gift a tincture for both of their torn hearts.
"You're welcome Belle-of-mine," he finally replied, his voice rather soft. "You're welcome."
(Storybrook)
Outside the door of Belle's 28 year prison, nurse and mayor watched as the prisoner who was said to be insane began to hum. The notes were soft at first, then began to fill the room until the woman found herself laughing and humming as though she were at some grand party of old.
"Same thing every year." The nurse slid the panel closed to the loud humming and laughter. The humming pervaded the metal door and outside, through the sound was mostly muted. "Same tune, same laughing."
Regina scowled as she stepped away from the door. Displeasure marred her face. How could it be that even her prisoner was enjoying the holiday? Without another word the harpy turned and left. Her heels tapped a sharp rhythm on the metal nearly in tandem with the haunting melody that stayed in her mind.
Once outside, the witch gave a sigh. Her breath came out in a plume of snowy vapors as she stood on the walk. That was enough of trying to make herself feel better, failure that it was. By now Henry would be at home anyway and they could pretend to have a semblance of something merry.
Slightly satisfied with that, the mayor turned to head home, only to bump into the one man she had had no intention of meeting – Mr. Gold.
The clatter of items fell on to the side walk as they crashed into one another. A curse huffed in the Scottish brogue of the pawnbroker as he just barely held on to his cane. "Do you mind where you're walking, Dearie? I know we're out front of a hospital, but I've no desire to be put in it," he snapped out though his voice was ever calm and controlled.
"I was distracted," Regina returned, in no way a form of apology. Bending down she helped him pick up his items. A golden bit of necklace hung out of a book that had fallen to the ground.
Picking up the tome, the witch scanned the gold sleeved cover. "The Searching Soul," she read then handed the book back. "I didn't know you had one of those, Gold." Her ruby mouth curved into a taunting jeer.
"I read it every year, Dearie," he retorted unfazed. "Chapter 11 especially is my favorite," he growled out before he took his things and limped down the street into the darkness, a miserable man who could not help but put himself through pain to remember the woman he had so selfishly lost.
~8~8~
A/N- The tune in case you were wondering, I was thinking of from the movie Anastasia. "Once upon a December" the song was called. It's more Russian than anything, but still it's quite nice. Anyway, thanks for reading!