He couldn't shake the memory of the one deal he'd failed to make from his mind. It'd never happened before and it disconcerted him, made him doubt himself. Spinning was of little help, as was gleefully annoying the kings and queens of the Enchanted Forest, out-plotting them with ease. He was an old creature and so change and novelty did not sit well with him. He was used to knowing exactly what to expect from people, to predicting their every choice with frightful ease. The little chit had stumped him.

After some time moping and feeling the littlest bit awkward and itchy in his own skin the Dark One turned his attention to the Land Without Magic, usually so dreary a sight he seldom saw the need to answer any summonings coming from it. He'd decided that the best way to get over the botched deal that hadn't come to pass was to visit the girl, Belle, again, and ascertain that, behind the intelligence and the aplomb, there was fear in her heart. Such fear would return his confidence, he was sure of it.

He began a subtle, cunning plan designed to unsettle and disturb her as much as she had unsettled and disturbed him. He stole books from her place of work, re-arranged the furniture of her apartment, made he food spoil in her ice-box and pantry and left blood on her floor. When it all seemed to fail to have any sort of effect in her- he spent hours studying her face through mirrors to try and see if he was succeeding in his endeavour- he doubled his efforts. He turned the shadows around her into sentient tricksters that whispered in silent corridors and lurked menacingly about her and when it wasn't enough he snuck books from the Enchanted Forest into her library, leaving them open in places where they told of his horrible deeds and monstrous persona. He wanted her to understand she was being hunted by evil incarnate.

A surprising side-effect was how much he got to know her during that time. Though mortals bored him, especially those from the land with no magic, little Belle was an exception. She was bookish almost to the point of distraction and fond of shoes that looked like torturing devices by themselves but were so pretty on her feet he didn't like to stare at her legs when she wore them. She had a small circle of friends but he noticed she rarely spoke about herself with them. He learned little of her by spying on those conversations, usually through his detached shadow, but took a liking to watching her at the library or when she was tucked away in the apartment above it.

She was kind, and gentle, and good, and none of those characteristics explained her obnoxious lack of fear. It grated at him, eating him inside, making old inadequacies flare to life. Finally, deciding to nip the problem in the bud, he appeared to her one rainy evening in the darkness of her library, while she was alone, shelving books almost in the dark. He came out of nowhere, with the sort of nonchalance that wasn't natural at all and delighted in the way she jumped in her spot, one hand going to her chest.

"You startled me."

He hadn't expected her to talk, not really. The way he had envisioned it she was supposed to back away from him, slowly at first, and then simply turn around and flee his presence. He checked himself over, noticing that he was indeed wearing one of his most frightening outfits, all animal hide, half-ripped stitches and reptilian skin to compliment his own scaly complexion. He looked like the stuff human nightmares where made of, yet the little chit in front of him refused to cower. She did look at him warily, but her mistrust was nowhere near enough. He needed more, needed screams that would make her pretty voice hoarse, needed her lovely skin to break into goosebumps and her slender frame to shake with outright terror.

What he ended up having was a most puzzling conversation in which she asked him what he was doing at the library- and didn't seem to like his reply that he "was in the neighbour, hunting children to later skin for their pelts"- and then proceeded to pepper him with questions, mostly issues she had with his book. She was quite keen to point out plot holes and inconsistencies in the use of magic, and though a part of him was rather impressed- and taking notes- another part was incensed that the girl could string two words together while in his presence.

That one visit yielded nothing but disappointment but he realized visiting a second time was completely out of the question. And he held onto that belief for a few weeks before breaking down and straying from the path once more after heeding another mortal's call. This time he didn't even get to startle her, which further soured his mood. She was as wary of him as ever, but also just as curious, and though she kept her distance she was very keen on talking to him. She cleverly avoided telling him about herself most of the time, and soon their discussions were fierce battles that he enjoyed more than he cared to admit. Every single small detail he could trick from her lips was a treasure he carefully hoarded... all the better to have her fear him with.

He had almost convinced himself that he was fighting a losing battle when he spotted it... a glimmer of fear in her eyes. A small flicker, there and gone in a heartbeat, that didn't look quite like what he was used to but he could've recognized anywhere.

Fear.

It appeared in her eyes when he'd get a bit close, invade her personal space. Her whole body would tense for a split second, raw panic in her eyes, and then it'd be gone and she would discretely take a few steps back, regain the comfort of distance. He ought to be happy, having finally gotten what he had come to her for, but he only felt angry. Angry and disappointed. But it was stupid. This is what he had wanted all along, wasn't it?

Clearly, he mused, it wasn't enough. To merely catch a glimpse of her distress left him unsatisfied, wanting. What he needed was to see her sweet fear in all its glory. It'd return him to his rightful state and rid him of all the insecurities and strange things he'd been feeling as of late. With purpose he picked up a handful of golden plums from a tree on his own orchard, carefully arranging them in a basket before sending them with a wisp of magic to Storybrooke Library's circulation desk. The fruits were impossible to resist- he had made them so, after all- and one bite would send his pretty little foe into a heavy sleep where her deepest, darkest feelings would come unravelled. He'd introduce himself into the dream and watch in amusement as the little chit's fear unfurled like some magnificent beast, and tore her apart.

It took hours till his victim literally took the bait, and if it hadn't been for his magic he might have missed the moment Belle's teeth sunk into the juicy flesh of the fruit he'd left for her. He had the good sense to plop himself down on a nearby duvet before closing his eyes and seeking out the spellbound dream, sinking into it with surprising ease. When he opened his eyes he was in a room he didn't much recognize. It was circular, like a tower room, and moonlight filtered inside from the arched windows. There was a fire burning in the impressive fireplace next to a winding set of stairs going down and every inch of the walls was covered with books. There was a loveseat that looked as it doubled as a bed, taking into account the gold and burgundy cushions on one side and the small, circular nightstand beside it.

There was another circular table, bigger and taller, a few feet away from the loveseat and it was there that he found little Belle, dressed in a cream-coloured, ruffled dress, cinched at the waist and barely skimming her mid-thigh in her seating position on top of the table. The dress had a ruffled hemline that teased of what was just beyond, creamy, supple skin and delicious warmth. She was holding a book, red lips pursed in concentration as she read. She shifted suddenly, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs, and he almost choked when he spotted her shoes: lush red pumps, with sky-high heels and delicate bows on the back.

He didn't understand it. It hardly looked like the appropriate setting for her inner fears to come to light. Though the room was mostly dark- he didn't understand how she could read at all- it was cosy and she seemed perfectly at ease in it, surrounded by books as she liked to be. He made a strange sort of disappointed sound, almost jumping in surprise when he heard Belle close her book rather loudly, her eyes focusing on him. Slowly, a lovely smile spread across her face, making him take a few steps back even though he was almost as far away from her as possible given the size of the room.

"You're here."

She said it like it was her fondest wish come true, her voice acquiring a hazy, dreamy quality that seeped into his bones and made them feel liquid. She hoped off the table, coming towards him with long, purposeful strides. He quickly moved away from his spot, making sure to never turn his back on her as he deftly avoided her. Belle, far from being puzzled, seemed amused. She tilted her head to the side slightly, as if trying to figure him out.

"What are you doing?"

He disliked how his voice sounded defensive and the tiniest bit wavering. She took a few more steps towards him, trying to hide a smile when he once more waltzed just out of her reach, looking a bit like a spooked horse. This wasn't going how he had envisioned it. At all. Far from looking scared she seemed even more confident than usual, the flicker of panic in her eyes completely gone. This was the exact opposite of what was supposed to happen!

"I just want to get to know you. I think you're lonely, you know? That's why you visit me so often."

It was on the tip of his tongue to deny it, vehemently, but the words struck home, slowly making him realize that she wasn't as far off as he'd like her to be. He made a sort of "eep" sound instead, which made him blush under his scales. He needed to get back on track, needed to draw out the fear he knew was in her, her most secret feeling.

"Perhaps..." He made himself lean towards her, trying not to notice how she smelt of vanilla and spices. "Or perhaps you want to learn the monster's weaknesses."

He willed it to work, to unsettle her, to hit the mark the way her own words had but she simply shook her head, looking at him fondly.

"You're not a monster."

He startled visibly when she raised a hand and ran it down his hair, her thumb ghosting over his cheek. It added to his confusion, and made him jittery. He side-stepped her again, needing the distance between them like he needed air. He tried to piece it all together, wondering where he'd gotten it all horribly wrong. The fruit had worked, the dream was indeed magically induced, and he'd gained access to it without a problem. Her deepest, darkest feelings were supposed to be unravelling all around them and yet all he saw was a darkened library, with a roaring fire and a hazy sort of atmosphere, and his pretty little foe, dressed to drive men into madness and looking at him in a way that made him both terrified and eager.

Before he knew it she was once more far too close to him, taking one of his hands between both of hers. Her skin was softer than anything he'd ever touched before, and warm.

"Actually... You're not who I thought you were at all. And I'm glad."

Her smile was still hazy, dreamy, and there was a darkness in her eyes, her enlarged pupils almost hiding her blue irises. She bit her lip and looped her arms around his neck, resting her head on one of his shoulders, the tip of her nose brushing against his neck.

"And you feel so good..."

"What?"

He was rooted to the spot, incapable of moving even if his immortal life depended on it. He tried not to breathe through his nose, acutely aware that the heady scent of her went to his head and made him feel funny. The spirit of the dream was wrapping itself around him, all lust and disinhibition. Belle was completely under its mercy, pressing her body against his and trailing her fingers across the bared expanse of his throat and clavicles. He kept wondering where the magic had gone so wrong, which was becoming more and more difficult as Belle lavished him with attention, his touch-starved body practically singing in contentment as she caressed and petted him.

"I've been wanting to do this since forever."

He almost didn't catch her words and had she not spoken almost directly next to his ear he probably wouldn't have. They sparked something inside his brain, the part that wasn't muddled past the point of working. Almost painstakingly slowly the spark became a flame, giving birth to an almost terrifying realization:

The magic hadn't gotten it wrong. He had. He had seen the flicker of fear in her eyes and had been quick to assume it was directed at him. But the dream, unapologetically sensual, told another story altogether. Belle's deepest, darkest self didn't feel fear towards him but lust. And that made her back away from him whenever he got close, that sparked the fear in her eyes when she looked at him sometimes. Fear of herself.

"It can't b-"

He felt her tongue rasping against his neck, effectively robbing him of the ability of speech, and his nervous hands anchored themselves on the mortal's waist, as if unable to resist the siren call any longer. He wished he could blame the dream for the way his body responded to her proximity, impatient and eager like he was some young puck with no worldly experience. But though he was certainly not a stranger to the needs of his body, or the way to seek satisfaction, he had never had someone so innocent in his arms before, deliciously willing. Someone too pure to even fear him, as she should, as it'd be best she did.

But she didn't, and there was only so much he could take without responding. Splaying his hands across her back he committed her softness to memory, wishing the stiff material of his vest wasn't keeping him from feeling her breasts press against his chest.

"Mmmh, Rumple..."

Her voice was a throaty sigh, lost somewhere along the skin of his throat as she pressed hot, wet kisses there, barely scraping her teeth against his sensitive scales. One of her hands sunk into his hairs, her nails scratching against his scalp, sending shivers down his spine. It was an assault on the senses, overwhelming in its intensity and sheer terror had him pushing her away and retreating to the furthest corner of the room.

"Don't... don't play with beasties, dearie, didn't your parent ever teach you that?"

He sounded a bit too manic to seem convincing, but it was the best he could do. His skin still tingled in the places that her body had touched, his leather pants beginning to feel painfully tight around his groin.

"Don't be afraid. It's going to be alright."

She approached him slowly, as if he was some sort of wounded animal ready to flee at the slightest provocation. He wanted to run away and haul her close at the same time, and if he could stop smelling her on him for just five seconds he was sure he'd be able to clear all the confusion from his head and make up his damn mind.

"No, it's not. You stay away, dearie. It's for the best. You... you don't really want this, you can't want this, not possibly..."

A part of him the part steeped in magic and knowledge, rebelled against the thought. The fruit never lied, MAGIC never lied. Another side of him, who saw himself for the scaly, ugly imp he was, with a dark heart and an even darker soul, refused to accept anything the dream was showing him. It wasn't real, it couldn't be real.

"Aren't you tired? Of denying it? I know I am."

Her tone was low, soothing, and when she once more wrapped her arms around his neck he didn't fight her, fidgeting a bit, undecided. She caressed his shoulders and neck, rubbing her thumbs against his nape.

"Just give in, Rumple. It's going to be okay."

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he lowered his head, hesitantly brushing his parted lips against her bright-red ones. The sensation was powerful and immediate, a shock that had his skin breaking into goosebumps. He pressed his mouth more firmly against hers, making a soft little sigh that made Belle's lips curl into a smile for a second before she was devouring him, hands burying themselves in his hair so she could tilt his head to the side, the angle allowing her to deepen the kiss. His whole body caught on fire, hands frantically clawing at the wall just behind him, knowing that if he grabbed her it'd all escalate quickly. He was acutely aware of the loveseat a few feet away from them as Belle coaxed his mouth fully open with a few flicks of her tongue, taking her time to explore as much of him as she could reach. She moaned low in her throat, delightfully uninhibited, free of that fear that had so bothered him before. Her exuberance was contagious, but beneath the raw lust he could feel her innocence, her kindness, and it was like a drug he couldn't get enough of.

He felt her fingers dance along the skin of his stomach and it was only then that he realized that she'd somehow unbuttoned his vest and most of his shirt. It was like a bucket of cold water being dropped on him. Panic set in once more and when one of his hands still clawing at the stone wall behind him came across one of the threads that made up the dream he grasped it tightly and pulled, unravelling the magic. The room exploded around them, Belle being yanked out of his arms before he woke up rather brusquely, the momentum sending him crashing to the floor. He was covered in a cold sweat, shivering a bit with the after-effects of the magic and it took an embarrassing number of times till he could summon a carafe of whiskey and tumbler. With slightly shaky hands he poured himself an unhealthy doze of alcohol, unsure how much it would take for him to calm down, or how long it'd be till his magic settled.

One thing he was convinced about, however: he could never, ever see Belle again.