A/N: So I'm technically cheating on this one, but not really. While Swan Lake isn't exactly a fairytale, it was still inspired by the story The Swan Maiden, which is a fairytale~ since I'm combining both tales in this fic, I think I'm good.

I decided to take a risk here, and focus on the Black Swan, character. And I'm not gonna lie, I'm a little nervous...Obviously in the plot of Swan Lake she is the evil sister, but I added a lot of spins to her and the plot so it will be different. Just like how everyone in Once Upon A Time isn't all black and white (Ha!) neither is she.

Also, I know how adorable Rumpelstiltskin/Belle pairing is, and after watching 'Skin Deep' I am a huge fan of this couple! But, I've been writing, changing, and editing this story for three weeks now, and I just needed to get it out there!

So with that being said, hopefully you like it and thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: Once Upon A Time, Swan Lake, and The Swan Maiden do not belong to me.

-x-x-x-

Two Birds One Curse

"I think that's enough."

Archie glanced up from his schedule, puzzled. It wasn't strange for Delilah to spout a few bold words now and then, but the room had been quiet for at least, a good minute, as he jotted down the young woman's appointments for next month. The surprise of hearing her calming voice break the silence was enough to draw his attention back to her.

"Uh—'scuse me?" He asked softly.

Big, bright eyes gazed down at her knee-high boots, stretched out in front of her. She was leaning back in her psychiatrist's swivel chair, with her facial expression seemingly blank. A few seconds lingered on, until she eventually spoke again, "See, I'm just not sure this therapy thing is necessary anymore."

Archie lit up with concern at the last part, setting his planner down next to him. He leaned towards the coffee table which rested between them, "I can understand why you'd feel that way. I know it's been tough to talk about it these past weeks, but ignoring this won't make it better."

His words didn't appear to faze the distant patient like he'd hoped. Her head still tilted downward to the blue carpet, as her fingers mildly played with the silver scarf draped around her neck. Of course, that didn't stop him from trying a second time. He had to do his best, and doing his best meant reaching out to his patients in any way he could.

Folding his hands in his lap, he continued, "Self-forgiveness is a long process, and the first step to healing is coming to terms with your guilty conscience. After that, we can take the next step together. We can learn why you're having these feelings."

"But that's just it. I know why I feel guilty," Delilah explained, before finally lifting her eyes to stare at the aged doctor, "You just choose not to believe me."

"We've talked about this, Delilah." He delicately whispered, as he wore a look of sympathy, "I've checked countless times. There aren't any records of a sister existing in your family."

"And that's why this isn't going to work," she concluded.

Reaching for her bag on the floor, she pulled the long strap as she rose to her feet. She slipped the old thing over her shoulder and walked to the door.

Exactly when did this haunting idea become her reality? When did she begin to wonder if she was really an only child? For as long as she could remember, Delilah believed to have a sister. This belief only grew stronger recently when she started to dream about her. A fair woman embellished in a beautiful dress, with white feathers embroidered on the trim, danced in her mind. Her poised body moved with the grace of a swan, as she stepped, spun, and soared in the air, like a ballerina. It was safe to assume she once was for that matter. She always ended her performance with an elegant arabesque.

Dr. Hopper, however; never faltered to dismiss her theory. He listened with an open mind at first, but week after week he began to lose sight of its realism. In the end, he saw her idea like he saw Henry Mill's fairy tale idea, just in their imagination. A coping mechanism to escape from the real problems in their lives. Unlike the mayor's kid though, she didn't have an excuse to believe in an 'imaginary figure.' She wasn't a child; she was a twenty-three-year-old working as Storybrooke's personal courier. And with Delilah connecting her sister to her guilt, it put a strain on these sessions. Archie and Delilah's conflicting views weren't solving the problem, but making it worse.

So, Delilah gave up.

"Delilah please, wait." she heard Archie plead from behind her.

Delilah stopped, feeling a twinge of pity after hearing his tense voice. He genuinely sounded lost, almost desperate. God damn, why doesn't he give up? It's useless to keep her around if they were constantly disagreeing. Perhaps it was his own conscience telling him to make her stay? That would make the most sense, after all.

Delilah listened to her conscience, too. She already suffered with her small voice, and being rude to Archie would only torture her further. He was a gentle person who only wanted to help; even if his strategies irked her a bit...She breathed a deep sigh, running a slender hand through her dark brown hair. This needed to end.

"Archie, look," she began, quickly turning around, a hand clutching tightly on to the strap on her shoulder. The doctor already stood up from the couch, "You're an amazing shrink. You are—trust me! You've made miracles happen in this town that just blow me away! But...I feel like we're wasting our time here. Thank you for everything—I'll still pay you for all the trouble, and...I'm really sorry this didn't work...So...bye."

She gestured him a wave and slowly turned to take her leave out the door, though Archie stopped her mid-step again.

"If you change your mind, you know I'll always be here to help you," he reminded her kindly, casting a subtle look of sorrow though those glasses.

"I know Archie," she smiled sullenly, peering at him from over her shoulder.

"Might I ask you something? Why does she make you feel guilty?" he wondered, his arms crossed. It was his last shot to ask.

Delilah was taken by surprise. That was the last thing she'd thought he'd ask when she was almost out the door. However; the answer came rather easily to the young woman standing in the doorway. She had already thought it over countless times during her restless nights. Her sister's pale figure surfaced in her mind so lucidly. Her sleeved arm outstretched, her pained expression, her breathing so rugged, her eyes glistening with tears.

"I think I did something bad to her." Her tone was serious.

"Why do you think that?" Archie inquired, tilting his curly head inquisitively.

"Because of the way she looks at me," she remarked, "In my dreams, I mean. She's not here now obviously. She's," heavily she sighed, "Gone."

"Where do you suppose she disappeared to?" His voice just as soft as ever.

Delilah shook her head, "It's not like that, she's not missing."

"What do you mean?" Archie's brow furrowed.

"Well...She...She died."

"She's Dead?"

"Yeah...She's dead, Archie...Dead and gone."

-x-x-x-

The courier's motorbike was parked a couple blocks away from Archie's office. It was near the curb of a well-used street, advertising her messenger business openly. If people saw her black bike they'd more likely come to ask her to deliver. It was hard to catch her when she was riding throughout Storybrooke, so it was best to confront her while they had the chance.

She reached her motorbike. Her hand rummaged through her bag, soon swiping her keys from the bottom. They jingled in her hand as she opened the carrier box, tied to the back. There inside was a black helmet, and a tiny agenda. Nothing too special, really.

As her big eyes flickered lazily over her bike, she wondered what she would do with her free time now. Everyone was working at this time, so planning something with her friends was out of the question. For now, maybe she could just bug Ruby—or Ashley Boyd might want company while she did the laundry? Hell, maybe she could chill with Graham at the Sheriff's department? It wasn't like he was busy all day. Besides, it was fun teasing the guy~she thought with a smile.

Unfortunately as quickly as it came, her smile dropped. Her eyes widened once they locked on a piece of paper attached to the front of her bike.

"Or maybe I'll kill that bastard instead," Delilah seethed. Instantly she stalked over and grabbed at the paper, briefly skimming through it, "Oh you've got to be—really?"

Yup, it was a ticket.

"Graham!" Delilah growled loudly, despite knowing he couldn't hear her.

The paper crinkled in her grasp as she balled her hands into tight fists, and slammed them against the seat of her bike. She dropped her head, pressing her forehead to the black leather. A muffled whimper drawled out from her lips. Angrily, she stomped her foot on the curb repetitively.

Why did Graham do this to her? Why now? Sure, she needed a distraction to keep her mind off Archie, but really, a ticket? It was not the sort of thing she needed to happen today!

"I'm gonna kill him," her whining was still muffled by the leather on her mouth. She pounded her fist to the cushioned seat once more, "I'm sooo gonna kill him!"

"I suggest you reconsider, dear," a heavy accent flooded her ears, "It would be a shame to see you behind bars."

Delilah's head shot up, startled, a thin layer of dark hair cloaked her face. Standing a foot away was a narrow figure holding a stable cane at his side. She noted the fancy black suit flattered the man nicely, and the dark tie and violet shirt revealed his expensive tastes blatantly. Finally she met the brown eyed gaze of a familiar pawnbroker.

"Mr. Gold...Uh, hi!" Delilah gawked.

The courier felt awkward. She had just thrown a mini-tantrum and, of course it had to be Mr. Gold of all people to witness it. Sheepishly, she swept her locks out of her face to seem at least presentable.

"Hello, Miss Wade," He greeted, giving her a small nod. His expression changed to a mildly-concerned one, as he closely studied the woman hunched over the motorbike, "I do hope I'm not intruding."

"Oh, no, it's all good...I was umm...and then, uh, the ticket...thing," she stammered, gesturing all around with her index finger, and then to the crumpled ticket, to which she tossed to the cement. She'd deal with it later…

Mr. Gold listened patiently; a crooked smirk had tugged at the corner of his lips. He didn't seem to be in any hurry, as he merely watched the young woman attempt to complete a sentence. It wouldn't be surprising if he was use to others stuttering in his presence. He sort of had that effect on people.

"Then. I was mad...and. Stuff. And—I'm not making any sense am I?" Delilah questioned in defeat.

"No," Gold agreed with breathy chuckle, "But, I did enjoy watching you try."

Delilah broke into a small smile, "Well that's good to hear, I guess. Umm, I'm sorry, is there something I can do for you Mr. Gold?"

She pulled herself upward and placed her hands on her hips. Delilah tried to brush her previous ramblings off like it was nothing, though deep down, she knew Gold saw through this. She had been transporting for him for years, and it was clear that the observant dealer had learned a thing or two about Delilah...

"There is, actually." Mr. Gold took a step closer to the parked vehicle, adjusting his weight off his good leg and on to his cane. His left hand rested in his pocket, giving off a casual vibe that rarely came from the powerful broker. "I am in need of your services tonight, you see. Quite a few documents of mine are in need of a signature. And I feel, given the benefits of your job, you'll have no problem delivering them."

It didn't take long for Delilah to read between the lines. Her eyes widened inwardly at the realization.

"Oh, it's one of those documents" she stated. After hearing Gold's request she strolled back over to the opened box and dipped an arm inside, "So, what are you getting out of this deal? Are you going to take their liver? 'Cause that would be refreshing," she added amusingly. Retracting her arm back, she now held a tiny agenda by its spine; nonchalantly she shut the box.

Mr. Gold limped surprisingly in a poised manner to her side. The suave dealer knew how to hide his weak points well. He certainly had a Mr. Applegates sort of aura emitting off his classy form, she thought darkly.

"You know in business, I find it's best not to ask questions," his dark irises glinted with a subtle warning not to push on the subject, he lowered his voice, "Especially when that sort of information doesn't concern yourself, my dear."

"Ah, okay," she blinked hesitantly, realizing she said something wrong. The last thing she wanted was to fall on his bad side, "I'll keep that in mind."

Delilah was one of the few citizen's of Storybrooke who didn't find themselves neck deep in trouble with Mr. Gold's business arrangements. It was probably why she could act a little friendlier to the broker than most. Although, despite that they were on good terms, Mr. Gold wasn't afraid to put her in her place if she went over the line sometimes. He liked to be cordial, yet professional when working with people, she had guessed.

"I would ask that you stop by my shop around seven," Gold was quick to change the topic, "I'll be finished discussing new arrangements with a certain client by then."

"Um, right!" Relief rushed through Delilah, as she was glad to avoid another awkward moment. She opened to a clean page in her agenda, unclasping a blue pen from off the book's cover, and scribbling the time and place down, "Around seven it is~and that won't be a problem."

"Good," he said pleasantly. Gold curved around Delilah, as he made his way toward the sidewalk. He gained some height once he stepped up on the curb, looming over the shorter courier more so than he did before,"You enjoy the rest of your day, Miss Wade."

The courier suddenly shifted her head to Mr. Gold, flashing a polite smile, "Thanks, Mr. Gold. You too."

He nodded, exchanging a polite smile of his own, before a thought dawned on him, "Oh, and please go easy on the sheriff."

Delilah returned his gaze back to the paper, with a little smirk, "No promises there."

No promises there at all.

-x-x-x-