When the curse was broken and her memories returned, she was afraid. Afraid that everyone would know who she was; what she'd done, and punish her for it now she was powerless. Then the purple smoke rolled over the town, filling her lungs, filling her blood, and she knew it was magic, pure and simple, and she wasn't afraid any more. Sure, it would take a little while to learn to wield it, but didn't she have time? And yet... And yet there was something she needed, something she craved, and there was only one place in town she would be able to find it...
The shop bell tinkles merrily as she walks through the door, head held high as she scans the dim interior. He's there, behind the counter, as she knew he'd be. Dressed now in Armani instead of dragonskin, he still manages to exude an aura of menace and magic. She swallows hard, then makes her choice – she'll try courtesy before antagonism. Hell, she'll beg if she has to. She dips in an elegant curtsey, inclining her head in respect to the creature behind the flimsy wooden case.
"Mr. Gold," she says, "or should I call you..?" He waves a hand, brushing the question aside, and smiles his predatory smile.
"Hello, dearie. I thought I'd be seeing you." She rises from her curtsey and approaches him, allowing her hunger to fill her eyes.
"Do you have it?" The imp chuckles, and she has to smile ruefully. "Silly question, yes?"
"You know what the real question is, Lark." She swallows again, hearing her true name from his lips.
"What do you want for it?" He laughs again and a cold sweat forms on the back of her neck.
"You traded it to me, fair and square, dearie, in exchange for your life."
"I know," she snaps. "But what do you want now? I'll -" She bites her tongue to stop herself uttering the words 'I'll give you anything.' That was what got her into this mess in the first place. He gives a mock frown, tapping those long fingers on the glass counter in front of him.
"What do I want, what do I want... How about we start with your life, dearie?"
"What use is it to me if I'm dead?" she demands, horrified to hear the brittleness in her voice. That laugh sounds again, and she can't fight down a shiver.
"Oh, no, dearie, I don't want your death. I want your life. When you lose your job, you'll come to work for me. Forever."
"How do you know that?"
"Because I know this town and the people who live in it. That's my offer, Lark. Take it or leave it." He lifts a wooden case, a little longer than her forearm, from a hidden shelf under the register and rests it on the counter, one hand resting possessively on the carved top. She can't help it, she's drawn forwards a few steps before she regains control of herself.
She gnaws at her bottom lip, and blurts out, "I want to see it." Gold inclines his head and pops the catch on the box. It opens to reveal a plush velvet interior and a gleam of silver. Her breath leaves her in a sigh and she reaches out to touch it. Gold's hand closes around her wrist before she can make contact.
"Until you agree, it's still mine, remember?" She closes her eyes, her nerves screaming that she pull away from his grasp, pull away now and run, but the allure of the object in the box proves too much.
"If I lose my job, I'll come to work for you." Her voice is tiny and frail in the dimness of the shop, and Gold nods, releasing her wrist.
"The deal is struck," he says, snapping the box closed and pushing it across the counter towards her. "Use it in good health, dearie." She snatches up the box and spins, racing for the exit. His parting comment, a wish for her to have a nice day, echoes in her ears as she flees.
"Gods, what have I done?" she asks herself in a whisper as she sinks down on a park bench, but even the idea of working for Rumplestiltskin forever can't wipe the small, tender smile from her face as she opens the box and looks lovingly at the shiny silver flute nestled within.