Rating: T
Summary: The consuming nature of love and magic. Belle/Rumple set after the S1 finale.
But he is mine and I am his and if we are wicked then we shall we wicked together.
Spoilers: Skin Deep and Finale.
The Only Hope For Me Is You
By narciscia
Magic has infested Storybrooke. The air crackles with it. The grass seems greener and the sky brighter. There is a magical hue to all things. Magic has returned to my lover; yet he is unchanged: his flesh is human and his eyes are soft. Magic has fixed his knee but not blackened his heart.
Magic has returned to Rumplestiltskin … but strangely enough, it hasn't returned to Regina.
I live in my lover's house. I sleep in his bed. I wear no ring but I am his lover. The scandal of our relationship is oddly titillating. My lover is not a monster but perhaps we are a little wicked to be so wanton.
But he is mine and I am his and if we are wicked then we shall we wicked together.
My first week of freedom has been spent outside. I sit in the middle of the garden and relish the soft texture of dewy grass under my fingertips. I stare at the sky, I watch the birds soar and I witness every sunrise and sunset. No walls confine me. I stare at the endless expanse of the horizon. Oh, and isn't it beautiful? People so frequently let life drift past without pause or delight. Yet we are surrounded by such natural perfection. Maybe one needs to be imprisoned to truly appreciate the fine wrinkles of a petal or the glistening transparency of a rain drop. The world is beautiful – even here – and so I sit and stare at it.
My lover stares at me.
Touch is never enough. I touch him, kiss him and allow his body to fit to mine but we are never close enough. I want to be consumed by him – utterly. I want to fuse my life with his and live within him forever.
During the night he clings to me and through the medium of fingertips tries to caress my soul. I ache for him and feel like I could die of this love, that it could engulf me completely. Part of me wills it for it is such perfect torture.
Enough is never enough. I want more constantly. I want to sample his every breath and be privy to his every thought.
He is trying to learn me as scholars try to learn books. He traces every inch of me – every inch – even my fingernails and the splitting ends of my hair. He tells me that there is not a millimetre of me that is not perfection.
Sometimes he just stares into my eyes and in those moments I believe he can read my soul.
Sometimes I find myself missing my Rumpelstiltskin. I miss his unusual appearance and giddy ways. I love Mr Gold equally – just differently.
I wonder what sort of person I am that I would crave to lie with a man who is not quite a man? I wonder what makes me thirst for the other him so consumed with darkness. I maybe I have too many yearnings left undisclosed from the other world.
Maybe I am lustful and sinful for I wished – towards the end of my stay in the Dark Castle – that he would come to my room in the night and slip into my bed. I hoped he would make me his.
I think I miss what we never had.
Mr Gold loves me just as passionately. He tells me several times a day. Even if he never spoke those words I would know them to be true for his fingers tremble when they touch me and his eyes shimmer with tears when he gazes upon me. I feel his love in every breath, every touch and every utterance.
I am glad my love is a man again… but I would never want him to think I craved the human form more.
"I loved you just as thoroughly when you were cursed" I say.
"Belle," he chuckles, "surely it is better this way?"
"I love you whatever way."
"Do you miss the monster?" he asks – oh so perceptive.
"You were never a monster," I correct.
"You miss the danger and thrill of it?"
I shiver and giggle, "Sush…"
Our perfection lasted eighteen glorious days.
On the nineteenth day my lover kissed me awake and told me that our perfect happiness is marred by two problems in the world:
Bae is missing
Regina is missing.
He wants both back… for entirely different reasons.
I told him to focus on one and ignore two. Forget Regina – it's over now.
But he won't let it go. He suspended his rage for eighteen days and now rage calls him home.
Ironically, I realise that if he didn't love me so much he wouldn't hate her so much.
Never in my youth did I realise that such a pure love could provoke such intense hatred.
My lover has become obsessed with his quest for Regina. So obsessed that I fear he hates Regina more than he loves me and considering that he told me that he loves me endlessly, his hatred for Regina is truly terrifying.
He whispers his hatred into my skin as well as his love: a kiss for me and a curse for her. He imbues my body with lust and agony and as I burn with passion he burns with rage.
"I love you," I whisper; my breath hot in the humid air.
"I hate her," he breaths into my mouth, filling my body with poison. "She took you from me." He scorches my skin with his kiss. "She told me you were dead." As his nails bite into the flesh of my hips, he cries, "I love you." Then it's a ramble, a stream of consciousness, "IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou…"
During the day he plots. He lies with me in bed, the covers twisted around our naked bodies, and tells me of all the pleasurable things he will do to me … and of all the abhorrent things he will do to Regina. He will kiss every inch of my body and scar every inch of hers.
"How do you want her to die, Belle?" His pillow talk. He speaks like he is giving me the most beautiful gift. Her death is like the heavens and the stars and he will give me everything.
"I don't want to think of death" I say.
"I'll destroy her and give you piece by piece of her every day for the rest of your life."
He is consumed; utterly consumed: by magic, by me and by his hatred for her. And then of course there is Bae, floating eternally amongst us all like a living ghost.
This morning, while I was standing in the kitchen, looking out at the wild garden, my lover careened through the front door dragging a battered lump behind him.
My gasp made the lump he was dragging start and look up under waves of tangled hair. Regina's hatred filled eyes bore into mine. "Well, well, well," she wheezed, "if it isn't the monster's whore."
Before I could respond the basement door magically opened and my lover dragged my former captor down the wooden stairs and into the darkness of the rank basement. The blooded mess, formally known as Regina, The Queen, screamed and raged the entire way.
"I'll kill you. Don't think you've won anything. Don't think this will hold me. You brought magic back into the world and it will find me and when it does I will fucking kill you. I will kill you and your harlot."
Frozen in place in the kitchen I just stared at the open basement door until my lover appeared. "My dear," he said, as if nothing unusual had just occurred, "We have a guest. Don't feed it." He pressed a kiss to my cheek and hummed, "You smell nice. When's breakfast?"
"What are you going to do with her?" I asked, hearing our captive's muffled screams and rants from under the floor boards.
My love sat in one of the kitchen chairs and fingered the edge of my skirt, rubbing the material between his thumb and middle finger. "Make her suffer," he said simply. "Are you making tea?"
"How long will she be down there for?"
He shrugged. "Tea, dearie… come on, chop, chop."
"I don't think I can live with her down there…"
He tugged at my skirt and pulled me onto his lap. "You've got it all wrong Belle; look at what I'm giving you! Vengeance."
"I don't want vengeance…"
"Well I do," he said, pressing a kiss to my cheek.
The door to the basement is magically sealed. I know this because by midday every day I've tried to open it to bring our captive some food. I don't know if my lover feeds her.
Regina screams all day and all night. She threatens to kill me, to kill him, to rip us apart, to destroy our love and all manner of other gruesome things. Still, every day I try to open the door to feed her. It's still locked.
It's been thirteen days now and Regina has finally stopped screaming.
During my imprisonment I stopped screaming on day two. Rumple says it's because I'm smarter and braver than Regina.
Regina has started to cry and beg. She 'appeals to my better nature'. She asks for 'mercy'.
Some mornings I sit by the basement door and answer her cries.
"Belle," she sniffles, "I'm so sorry, I've learnt my lesson. Truly I have… please, please let me out. I'm scared for Henry…"
"Henry is fine," I reassure her.
She cries and wails, "Please, you've got to help me."
"Give him time… he'll let you out."
Then she shrieks and screams, "He won't! HE WON'T! YOU KNOW HE WON'T"
I no longer sit by the door and reply to Regina. I just ignore her. Sometimes I play music to drown out the sobbing. My lover told me to play love songs due to the beautiful irony but I resist the temptation to be unnecessarily cruel.
It's been a month. I can't cope with the noise anymore. Even with the music I imagine I can hear her voice swimming amongst the melody. Even in bed, wrapped in my lover's arms, on the second floor, I can imagine I hear her voice.
I always imagine her saying the same thing, 'Help me, Belle.'
To which I always mentally retort, 'You never helped me'.
I wonder when I became so malicious.
I blame her for that too.
Today I worked in the shop for the first time. I've been introduced to people as his wife even though a ceremony had never been performed. I expect we don't need one and I expect one won't happen until we are back in our own realm. Still, he says I am his wife in his heart and in his soul so I don't see the purpose of a holy man.
I am now Mrs Gold.
If it wasn't for the woman in our basement I would be utterly and completely happy.
I have a ring now: a beautiful sapphire ring, which was chosen – apparently – to match my eyes.
I stare at it as I sit in the kitchen and drink tea, or as I sit in our library and read. I watch it sparkle under the artificial ceiling lights.
When Regina screams or sobs from the depths of our home, I look at my ring and remind myself that my 'husband' is not a monster because he is capable of love.
Today we lay on the sofa, my head on his chest, as he read to me The House of Usher.
A scream from below our feet made me jump and made him laugh.
"The noise…" I complained. "I can't tolerate it any longer. It's horrific to hear her down there. Please you have to let her go."
"No, ignore her" he said and tried to continue reading. I pushed myself up slightly so I could look into his face. My hair tumbled over my shoulders and surrounded our faces in a curtain. "I can't…"
Regina's cries pierced the air again, as if to prove my point.
He shrugged and drew me in for a kiss. "I'll cut her tongue out."
Gasping, I pulled away, "No, just leave her be…"
He sighed and gently tucked my hair behind my ear. "I'll make you a deal."
"What?" I asked warily.
"I'll magic the room so no sound can trauma your beautiful little ears, if in turn you never try to release her."
"Can I negotiate?"
Rumplestiltskin looked intrigued and gestured for me to continue.
"You magic the room so no sound can be heard and I will never try to release her, but I do have to be informed of what you plan to do with her and the terms must be negotiable."
He looked irritated then. "You're still trying to help her!"
"I'm trying to help you!"
"You wish to save my soul?" he mocked.
"Yes, I have an invested interest."
"Fine, agreed. The deal is struck."
Now I hold his heart in one hand and her life in the other.
I no longer hear Regina.
I try to forget she is down there but my heart won't let me.
I've started talking to her. After I've cleaned the house I sit by the basement door and talk to her. I tell her about Henry and the others of Storybrooke. I mean it to be comforting but my lover gloats and tells me that my voice will be torture to her.
Today we danced in the garden, slow and to a silent melody. We swayed as blossom and butterflies spiralled around us. I felt drunk and perhaps I was drunk on whatever spell he had weaved, for the colours merged together like an autumnal kaleidoscope. As we laughed and spun I tried not to think of the fallen Queen slowly rotting away in our basement.
I made a cake today. I was contently humming as I iced the top layer, until I dropped my smoothing knife onto the floor. The thin blade slid through a wide crack in the floorboards and distantly clattered on the stone floor.
I remembered Regina and the cake was suddenly a hideous monument to my conformity.
It's not that I ever forgot her; I just tried to push the image away from the forefront of my mind. I feel guilty about doing that.
I got down on my hands and knees and peered through the gap. I held my breath, half terrified, but I couldn't see anything – it was too dark.
That evening I told Rumple that I wanted Regina to have a window.
"No," he said.
"I had a window."
"Good for you, unlucky for her."
"Please."
"No."
People have started to ask where Regina is. They all want a piece of her it seems. Little Henry hasn't enquired though. Rumple tells Regina that, he yells it through the basement door, 'Henry doesn't even ask after you, your majesty. You've lost his love.'
Rumple told the others that the 'Regina situation' is 'in hand'.
People no longer ask after Regina. No-one cares it seems. Not even Henry.
I can no longer hear her cries, but I assume she does.
I cried for the first few months of my captivity.
"Please, I want us to have mercy. To give mercy where she never has," I said.
"No."
"But…"
"No. No, Belle. I will give you the world but I won't give mercy. I won't let her go."
"Then let her die."
"Isn't that mercy still, my dear?"
I shook my head, exasperated.
"Am I now a monster?" He asked with something akin to triumph.
I refused to be baited. "No, you are not a monster," I stressed.
Even if he was, I loved him still: monster, man, demon, saint. I loved him all, completely.
He smirked. "I am a little bit monstrous surely?"
"I love you," I said simply. This seems to be my answer to most things now days.
"I wonder when love will stop being enough," he says.
"It never will," I assure him.
He grins at me and his eyes burn with yearning.
Sickly, I think we both get a little bit high on my love for monstrosity. I seem to love him more the worse he gets.
"She needs to go," I told him today.
"I'll relocate her six feet under the lavender bush at the end of the garden," he said with a sickly smile.
"Death would be merciful," I reminded him, thinking that perhaps he had mellowed over the weeks.
"Who said anything about killing her?"
I blanched and he snickered.
"I can't have her in the basement anymore, I can't." I looked at him hard and added "please". Even though there was no magical merit to the word he somehow had to obey me. The power of love!
"I'll get rid of her," he said.
"How?"
He shrugged, "Plan K."
I wondered how many plans there were and asked him.
"How many letters of the alphabet is there?" he retorted.
"Twenty-six," I said, feeling a dull ache in my chest.
"Double that and you have half the number of plans. After a, b, c and whathaveyou; we have 2a, 2b, 2c, and 3a, 3b…"
I walked away to make the tea before he could finish his sentence.
I doubt 3z ended with death.
Death really is a mercy it seems.
Regina is gone. The basement is bare and the blood has been removed from the walls. I can still see the red stain though, like the image has been burnt into my vision. So, today I announced that I wanted to move.
He said he would build me a castle. I said I just wanted a house without a basement.
"Ah, but what about a dungeon, Dearie?" he laughed.
He stole a kiss from me and I laughed through his playful attempts to kiss the skin hidden by my lacy dress. "No dungeons, no prisons, no basements, no oubliettes…"
It's been two weeks since Regina was… relocated and today was the first time I felt I could comfortably ask what happened.
At first he led me in a merry dance over the matter. "Who?"
"The Queen."
"Hmmm, I don't know a queen dearie; unless you are referring to the festering living corpse of a former monarch I once had staying in our guest quarters."
"That's the one," I said, sipping my tea. The hot liquid burnt by tongue and I felt I deserved the pain for being so blasé over Regina's torture.
"Well… let me think. What did I do with her…" he tapped his nails against his tea cup and made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat.
I smacked his arm playfully. "Come now, tell me where she is?"
"What's it worth to you? Shall we make a deal?"
"Ok," I said readily. "A deal."
He grinned at me and leant across the table to whisper the conditions against my ear. "You must promise to love me forever."
Easy. "Agreed," I said instantly.
"She's in West Harkwell Lunatic Asylum."
The shock must have displayed on my face for he smirked and leant back leisurely in his chair. I was shocked because it seemed so merciful. She had been presented with the same torment I had received. It was fitting and… strange. As he continued to grin I knew something was wrong. I ran the name of the hospital through my mind and drew a blank. "Where is West Harkwell?"
"England," he said with a wicked smirk. "But the question you want to ask is… when."
"When?"
"1880. Terrible time. Terrible, terrible time to be considered a lunatic." He then, rather gruesomely shook his whole body as if it were electrified, then laughed. "Shock therapy – just one of the many treatments available."
I gasped and let my cup drop back to its saucer with an indelicate crash. "Oh Rumple…"
"Hey now, it's not forever – just thirty years and then we'll have her back and I'll have to look into plan M."
I signed and dropped another sugar cube into my tea and stirred it aggressively. "Just let it go."
"Never," he said still smiling.
"You're like a cat," I complained, "you play with your prey."
"I am no such thing!" he said indignantly. "Cats kill their prey and I intend for Regina to live forever."
Roughly interpreted as: Regina will suffer forever.
Regina's back. While two months passed for us, years had passed for her. Apparently a little mishap with timing had rendered her stay in Harkwell Asylum as well over 40 years. I cringed.
Rumplestiltskin placed her before me like an offering at an altar. She wrote a tattered, stained gown which reeked of bodily fluids and filth. Her face betrayed her utterly wretched state. It was a harrowing site to behold. My heat bled for her, truly it did.
She knelt before me, her head bowed as she mumbled her apologies while my lover screamed at her to speak up.
"Forgive me," she yelled, spittle flying from her lips.
I looked into her eyes actually hoping to see her evil spark, hoping to see a glimmer of fight still within her. Nothing. She was defeated and yet he tortured her still.
Having had enough of his terrible pantomime of vigilante justice, I turned away and walked out of the house and right to the well that had brought magic to us.
I sat on the earth and rested my head against the cool bricks of the well and started to cry.
It's not that he is a monster. It's not. It's not. It's really not. He is just so hurt and so wounded and …
He isn't a monster.
I've repeated the words so often now they hold little meaning.
But he isn't a monster to me. Not when he holds me so gently, kisses me so softly and promises to snatch the stars from the skies for me. He isn't a monster when he makes love to me and whispers his eternal love into my hair. He isn't a monster when he tells me jokes, reads me stories and presents me with flowers. He isn't a monster when he dances with me, when he cooks dinner with me, when he sits with me in the garden and speaks of my beauty.
How can he be a monster when I catch him gently stoking Bae's tiny clothes? How can he be a monster when I watch him still gaze at that stupid chipped cup with utter adoration? How can he be a monster yet love so intensely?
He isn't a monster.
I'm the monster for I sit here, drink tea and let it all happen.
Maybe we are both monsters, so monstrous that we cannot even see the darkness anymore.
Things are worse when it rains.
When the days are sunny we spend them having fun, talking, making love and playing with magic. We take tea in the garden and talk about everything and nothing. We lay in bed and commit every inch of each other to memory. We sit in the library and read anything that takes our fancy. Recently it has been philosophy, from Plato to Heidegger. We read about the human condition and it turns out that part of being human is the capacity to behave intentionally wickedly. After all, only humans can commit genocide. It wasn't very uplifting to see that our joint monstrosity was perhaps innate humanity after all.
I wish we could be something better.
Anyway, when it rains, things are worse: worse for Regina. Rain provokes boredom which in turn inspires malevolence. Today I sat on Rumplestiltskin's lap, watching the rain drizzle down the window panes. We said nothing; I played with the soft strands of his hair and occasionally pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, he in turn rubbed my back softly and thought intently. He didn't need to tell me what he was thinking; he only had three topics of thought when it rained:
How to ruin Regina
How to find Bae
How to own me more completely.
I adored three, wished he would be more proactive about two and hoped he would eventually abandon 1.
Just as I started to drift into a pleasant slumber he asked me a strange question which made my eyes shoot open.
"My dear, when you were imprisoned were you ever drugged?"
"Drugged?"
"Drugged," he repeated, his accent rolling and pronounced.
I buried my head in his shoulder and sighed. "Yes," I murmured. "However," I added cautiously, "Regina never medicated me directly."
"No matter," he said, "there is always creative licence."
I hugged him tighter, attempting to warm his coldness with my body.
Regina, for the last few days, has re-entered society. No-one was more pleased than me. Truly, I was delighted. Just to see her shuffling around the streets, trying to rebuild her life was a balm to my soul. What she did to me was unforgivable but… she had suffered enough.
However, over the last few days I witnessed something new take shape. Our newly awakened townsfolk, Ruby, Snow, Ella and the others, scorned her, spat at her, snarled at her and baited her. Rumple found the entire situation hysterically funny, I found it sad.
The more I thought about Regina the more I realised she is a person; she was someone's child, she was loved by people once, she was beautiful once, she had hopes and dreams and innocence once.
Today she looked at me from across the road with bleary, red rimmed eyes. In fact, she looked through me as if I were not there at all. Gone were the power suits and fine clothes and instead she trudged along in holey, ill-fitting clothing. She was a caricature of herself. Taking a risk, I walked across the road and stood directly in front of her.
"Regina," I said firmly, "it's Belle."
She glanced up at me then, her once beautiful but hard eyes hollow and sunken. "Belle? Hello…" her voice trailed away and then she added, "Do I know you? I'm sorry, my head… my head, it's … foggy."
A dual shiver of delight and trepidation crawled up my spine. Pharmaceutical amnesia – I knew it well. In my malice I wanted to ask how bitter the pill was? How did her medicine taste? Instead I felt sad and defeated and just walked away.
In Mr Gold's Pawnshop my beloved scrawled notes into his ledger and upon seeing me smiled widely. The first words for me of the morning were stained with revenge. "Did you see her?" he all but cackled.
"I saw."
"It's like looking at a wind up doll," he chortled.
"I want this to end."
"Not yet."
"Now."
He frowned at me and tutted. "No, Belle. Final word on the matter."
I sensed a shift in his tone, he was becoming angered yet I still pushed. "I want the matter dropped. I want her left alone. She's suffered enough."
He flung the ledger into the wall and screamed, "It will never be enough!"
"For me it is!" I shouted back. "I should have the final say. I was the victim. It happened to me!"
"It happened to ME!" he yelled, his face red and his eyes livid. "She took you from ME! She took MY true love. She kept you from ME! She made ME think you were dead. I suffered. I suffered Belle. And I will make her suffer to the last."
I shook my head, his words incomprehensible to me. "You suffered?" I repeated dumbly. "You? Is it all about you?"
"Everything is about me!" He raged. Quickly, his anger dissipated and cleverly he added a final and crucial line. "Everything is about me and you." Unfortunately, he added the crucial line too late and I was already storming out of his shop.
As I hurried along the street I could see Regina sitting on a nearby bench with her head in her hands desperately trying to remember who and what she was.
For the last two days I have avoided him. It's pained him greatly I can tell. He calls out to me, tries to hold my hand, tries to kiss my cheek and tries to win me over with trinkets and witticisms. I think he is starting to realise that I am at the end of my tether.
I've started sleeping in the spare room although it was quite unintentional at first. On the first night I fell asleep there while reading but found it was easier for me to be apart from him so spent the next night there … then the next and the next.
Last night he stood at my door and asked me if I would leave him.
Maybe I should have said yes. Maybe an ultimatum would help but instead I said "I won't leave you" and fell asleep feeling miserable.
I was brave once.
I'm still avoiding him. I take meals in my room and don't attend to my work at the shop.
This morning he left a box by my door, an ornate wooden box. Instantly I was terrified that I would open it and discover Regina's heart… or another body part.
Instead I found his chipped cup.
No words were attached but I understand the sentiment.
He has given me everything by giving me that cup: he has given me his heart to love or destroy.
Regina is lucid today and consequently I have moved back into the main bedroom.
Regina lucid and free seems to please my lover unexpectedly. She is clearly terrified of him and is extremely submissive to any order he gives her. She is hated by the town and despised by the most powerful man in any realm. She keeps to herself mostly. She receives death threats daily and abuse is hollered at her in the street.
My lover is particularly pleased that Henry spurns her. The day Henry told her he hated her was the day Rumplestiltskin finally got even. She had lost her love as he had lost his.
"But I won dearie, I got you back!"
"And she will never get Henry back," I added.
"Isn't life grand, Belle?"
"Let's find grandeur in our own lives, not in the suffering of others..."
After a year of hell he conceded, "Okay my dear. What would you like? How shall we celebrate our victory?"
"Let's find Bae and go home."
Oddly enough he shrugged the suggestion off, as if the idea was a mere trifle. "I'm working on that. Don't you worry. I'm always working on that. But of us, dearie, what shall we do?"
"Let's build life rather than destroy it."
"You feel sorry for Regina", Snow said to me today as we ate sandwiches in the park.
"I feel remorse for what she went through at my house."
Snow nibbled at the edge of her sandwich and with genuine curiosity asked, "What did happen there?"
"She was locked in our basement."
"Is that all?" she exclaimed, looking vaguely disappointed.
Isn't that enough? I wondered.
Ashley and Sean fought publically in the street today.
She has moved out of their home and taken the baby with her.
I watched the whole performance while holding my lover's hand.
"That's so strange," I told him. "They were so in love."
He looked equally as puzzled but said nothing.
While I eat cake at Granny's, Ruby quizzes me on what happened to Regina. Everyone wants to know what sort of torture she received.
Was it horrible Belle? Did she beg Belle? I bet she cried, did she cry?
They have become scavengers.
What's wrong with everybody?
Today I asked Rumplestiltskin when we would get to go home.
Now the world is infused with magic he doesn't appear to be in a hurry to leave. He is a God amongst mortals here.
"Everyone is becoming dark," I told him.
"So?"
"So…"
"Hmmmm?"
"Doesn't that bother you? Even Snow White!"
He chuckled, "The name is quite ironic now."
"What about me? What if I become…"
"You're Belle. My beautiful, perfect Belle. You are light amongst darkness."
I've noticed that Henry no longer plays. He looks as sullen as the others.
I worry about the world, about what it is becoming.
In the glare of the sunlight I look in my bedroom mirror and twist curled strands of hair around my finger. Even in the daylight the strands seem dark somehow. Darker than normal. I tilt my head forwards to allow the crown of my head to be bathed in the window's light and see dark brown instead of rich chestnut.
"What have you done with your hair?" Rumplestiltskin asks me.
"It's darker," I noted, pleased he had noticed too. It wasn't just my imagination.
"Change it back," he said.
"I haven't done anything, it's just getting darker."
His eyes narrowed as he drank his tea. He said nothing more.
Today I levitated my tea cup out of its saucer and into my hand. We were sitting outside on the patio talking about Bae when the cup lifted inches from the saucer and drifted into my waiting hand. So unexpected was the magic that I screamed and jumped out of my chair. The table jarred and the cup tumbled to the stone floor, cracking into two distinct pieces. My lover was so shocked he stared at me incomprehensively for a whole minute.
"Belle, how did you do that?" he asked in a low tone.
"I don't know!" I exclaimed, hopping up and down on the spot. "Do I have magic now?"
He leant down to pick up the broken cup and traced his fingers along the sharp crack.
"You can keep that – another broken cup as a memento of my new power," I said, excited. I imaged he would place the new broken cup next to my old one in the cabinet. To my surprise he walked past me, headed into the kitchen and threw the cup into the garbage.
"Don't encourage the magic," he told me firmly, grasping me by the shoulders and peering into my eyes.
"Magic is power," I whispered to him, echoing his words from long ago.
"Magic is darkness," he told me.
I practice. He doesn't know. I can now levitate any small object from a short distance. One day I hope to levitate everything in our living room.
I practice for him. If I have magic I can help him find Bae.
He watches me closely now. He suspects I'm using magic but he can't catch me in the act. When we lay in bed at night he tells me he can smell magic on my naked flesh.
He is trying to goad me into a confession.
My first lie to him is that I don't have magic.
I don't mind the lie; after all, his first lie to me was that magic was more important than love.
We can both lie over magic.
My hair is black now. I like the change. I think black makes me look stronger.
My lover stares at my hair a lot and frequently runs his hands through the black tresses. Today he remarked that the strands felt cold.
He is working harder now on breaking the curse. Our house is frequently visited by the Charmings.
I stay out of the way mostly; I'm not in a hurry to go back anymore. Maybe we can make a life here.
I can now levitate large objects from a distance. I stood in our living room while my lover was out and lifted everything off the floor. While everything was frozen in mid-air, I forced the furniture and objects to slowly rotate.
This is power. This is power. I am the sun and everything orbits around me.
I can see how he might have loved his power more than me – even though he tells me day after day that it was a lie.
Maybe I love my power.
Maybe I could love it more than him.
Magic is power and power is bravery. If it had had magic in the other world Regina would never have locked me up.
I am power now.
My lover cried today, for what I do not know. He rested his head in my lap and sobbed against my dress. I couldn't bring myself to embrace him. His weakness embarrassed me.
"Be strong," I told him.
"Be Belle," he retorted.
"I am her!"
He shook his head and walked away.
In the distance I heard him say he would save me.
I don't need saving – I am no longer a victim.
Henry told me today that Rumplestiltskin, Emma and the treacherous others are trying to break the curse and destroy Storybrooke.
Henry says that this world shouldn't have magic. Henry says my lover made a mistake in bringing magic here. He stared at me with his serious, child eyes and said that 'everyone' was worried about the darkness magic was bringing.
I told him there was nothing to be scared over – Regina had no magic.
Henry said they weren't concerned about Regina.
I am beautiful. More beautiful than I have ever been. I was so pale before, so ordinary. Now my skin is bathed with a beautiful glow and my ebony hair glistens in the sunlight. I look like the goddess I am becoming. I feel the power stretch within me. I am awakening.
They whisper behind closed doors. They whisper about me. My lover thrashes in his sleep. During the day he begs me to listen to him. He begs me to return to him.
The town stares at me.
They want to take my power from me. They want to make me weak.
They will never be more powerful than me.
"Do you love me Belle?" he asked me today.
I paused before I replied.
I have never paused before.
He was crushed in those halted seconds.
I hardly cared.
"Belle, I want you back. I want my wife back," he told me.
I turned away from him in bed. He was stifling and annoying now.
Love is a weakness. I realise this now. My love for him rendered me a victim for twenty eight years.
He spends a lot of time away from the home now. I know he is with the town, plotting and scheming.
I practice my magic. I moved the house two metres to the left today.
He noticed and screamed at me for an hour straight.
"Why don't you use your magic anymore I asked?"
"Look at what it's done to you!" he yelled at me.
"It's made me perfect."
"It's destroying you!"
I scoffed at him.
"I love you, Belle. I love you still and I will love your forever. That was our deal."
"There was no such deal."
"There was for me. I will fix this. I will fix you."
I heard the threat in his words. He means to take my power away.
"You won't take my magic from me. I won't let you."
"Belle, if you love me at all you will cease this."
Cruelly, I repeated his words to me from years ago: "My power means more to me than you."
However, he didn't accuse me of lying. He looked defeated and devastated and for a second, a split second, remorse and utter love whipped through me. My punctured heart cried out and I gasped in agony.
What am I doing?
I fell to the floor and saw that my skin was fading back to pale and my hair was losing its ebony darkness. My lover collapsed beside me and pulled me to him. "Belle, come back," he begged. He tried to kiss me then. He wanted to suck the magic out of me. He wanted to make me a victim; he wanted to make me small. He wanted to make me powerless.
I shoved him away and pushed the agony of love aside and to my relief my hair returned to black.
Levitation is a mere trifle. A parlour trick. Now I can force objects to change their shape with the power of my mind.
Today I transformed our grandfather clock into a beautiful, squawking raven.
I need to practice this skill for I am not yet adept.
The raven died within hours.
Today I willed it to rain. It did.
Magic happens now without my control. Windows break and glass shatters. The walls warp and the floor cracks.
I have become power.
My head hurts and my body aches.
I sleep in a crooked room.
The sky outside my window is black and scarred. The grass is dead and the sun seems to be dying.
I think the world is ending.
I don't move from my bed. I'm tired. My chest feels heavy and my body feels weak.
If I attempt to do magic, blood trickles from my mouth.
I lay in bed with haunted faces surrounding me.
When Emma is here she lets me write. She tells me it's all nearly over. We can go home soon.
Thunder cracks overhead and the air smells like copper.
When Snow is here she cries, bitter, silent tears.
I don't know where my lover is.
I remember that I love him.
Emma, tell him that I love him.
He knows, she says.
Does he?
My lover holds me in his arms as the house creaks and groans. He tells me that all will be well tomorrow. Magic will be gone and we will be home.
He kisses me hard and tries to wrench the sickness from me.
True love's kiss no longer works.
This world is without love.
This world is dying.
"Belle, we're going home my love. All will be well again."
"You can't love me."
"Oh, but I do."
"There is no love here."
"There is love for you. Always for you."
"Save me."
"I am."
I awoke bathed in light. Bright, white, warm light. I opened my eyes to see my old room take shape. I was back in the Dark Castle; back in that sweet place where I first felt the stirrings of true love and where I felt tasted the bitter pang of rejection.
I was home and I was me again.
I felt comfortable and safe but mostly I felt warm. Warmth had invaded my body once more and had pierced the ice that had frosted my heart. I hadn't realised how cold I had been until the warmth returned. And with the warmth came pounding waves of endless love. Love for life, love for myself, love for the world, love for fellow man and love for him. Oh, yes, love for him.
Rumplestiltskin sat next to me, watching me open my eyes with delight evident on his handsome face.
"Welcome back," he breathed. Welcome home and welcome back to life.
"What happened?"
He sighed deeply and looked at me with pained eyes. "All magic comes with a price." He frowned and tears watered his eyes. "It almost cost me you."
I struggled to sit up and felt his strong grip supporting my arm and rearranging the pillows around me. "I'm still here."
He nodded and smiled. "Let's keep it that way."
"What of the other world?"
"Better off without magic destroying it," he said darkly. "It will repair itself but the town is gone."
"Gone?"
"Vanished. Like it never was."
"That's sad." Then I smiled, "but we're home."
He grinned at me then. "Belle, everyone came home…"
A tear trickled down his cheek as his words resonated in my head. "Everyone?"
He brought me into a delicate embrace and whispered reverently, "Everyone."