I don't own OUAT.

Trigger warnings for mention of underage sexual abuse.

It's been 30 years since I first made Rumplestiltskin's acquaintance - and in all that time he hasn't changed. He's lived over 300 years as the same man. Would a few seconds, a few steps, make a difference? I think not. I hope not.

I wish he wouldn't hurt others. I feel when he does, he also hurts himself. Nothing is ever created from violence - only destroyed. When he told me he found a way to get to his son - well, it made me glad. I hoped that if he could find the person he created it would help him remember what it was like not to destroy. I would go with him. I would wait for him. I would walk him to the line.

So there we stood, he with his son's scarf wrapped around him - and I, wrapped in my false confidence. I told him everything would be fine. I am in fact worried about him, and I will in fact miss him, but I do believe he'll return safely. I do.

He crosses over, where I cannot follow. He turns back towards me, and says my name. He hasn't forgotten me. He hasn't changed. And I'm glad.

We embrace, we kiss over that one foot chasm that stretches forever.

There is a loud noise.

Pain.

Blackness.

I'm asleep. I think I must be dreaming.

Am I asleep?

I think I must be dreaming. But dreams are pictures and feelings and flying. This is nothing.

I search the nothing, hoping for... something.

I don't know what I'm looking for. I try to center myself in the blackness, but realize I don't remember who I am.

Lacey.

Who is there?

If only I could see someone, feel something in the darkness, I would know which way to go.

I'll tell you who you are, Lacey.

Hello?

I must be dreaming.

You were small when your mother died. You barely remember her.

Who are you?

She loved you. Probably. You look like her.

I must be dreaming.

Your dad was very lonely. And you were such a pretty girl. You looked like your mother.

No. NO. That is not who I am.

I'm looking for someone else. Something else to lead me out of the dark.

No one believed you when you told them what your father did to you. After all he was such a -nice- man.

No.

I must be dreaming.

They sent you to therapists. They sent you to special schools. Finally, they sent you to be locked up.

Dreaming.

You were punished because you told the truth, so eventually you stopped telling the truth about anything.

Someone else. Something else.

The only therapist you trust is in a bottle. Your only truth is found at the bottom of a glass.

No!

There once was a girl named Lacey

I

Who acted a little bit racey

must

If only she knew

be

What really was true

dreaming

Then she'd stop being so spacey.

Who am I?

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"Belle!"

My back is pressed to the ground. How the hell did I get here? There is a man in a coat with long hair leaning over me.

"Who is Belle?"

Another fucking bender. This wouldn't be the first time I'd woken up with a stranger. But usually it was in a bed.

"Get off me, old man!" I pushed him away, trying to get my bearings. Pain exploded in my shoulder.

"Fuck!" I shout, clutching at my arm.

"Hold still, Belle. Let me heal you." Usually I was the one that forgot their names. This was fast becoming one of my least favorite wake ups. I closed my eyes against the pain - for once it wasn't in my head.

A soft heat suffused my shoulder, and then the feeling of agony was gone. I looked down, and there was blood on the front of my shirt, but the bleeding had stopped. I was dressed in an outfit I was pretty sure I didn't own. I looked around. There was a wrecked car in the ditch, and a body laying on the side of the road. It groaned. Oh. Not just a body, then - not yet.

Well, shit. This was now definitely at the top of my list of worst "mornings" after. I shoved the man away from me and stood up. I didn't know what was going on here, but I wanted no part of it.

"Belle!" The man stumbled to his feet.

"My name is Lacey!" I hissed. I don't know why I told him. It was probably better if he hadn't known. He stared at me, and looked so miserable and lost that I had to turn away.

I needed a drink.