"But it was working! It was-"
Belle's voice broke as her coughs echoed between the bare walls of her cell.
True love, she thought, leaning on the wall and hugging her knees.
There was no point in yelling since Rumplestiltskin was probably long gone, leaving her alone in the dungeons. The day he had dragged her there, screaming that no one could ever love him, she'd heard a shattering uproar of smashed glass and furniture thrown upside-down, but now all was silent. No footsteps, no creaks, nothing. Some nights, when Belle couldn't sleep, she could almost hear the spinning-wheel's rustling, but she knew that she was only dreaming.
Upstairs, in a dusty hall lit solely by the cold morning light, a man who wasn't a man was drinking from a chipped cup, staring blankly at the wall.