My routine starts at around six.
I get up.
I make myself presentable. 'Even though I may never see anyone again, it's always nice to hope.'
I go to the kitchen and try 'and oh I try' to make him anything other than a sandwich.
I fail miserably at making anything other than a sandwich. 'This usually results in him needing to teleport in and clean up whatever mess I've made.'
I make him a sandwich. 'Lettuce, tomatoes, grain bread, and whatever kind of meat he's in the mood for.'
I make tea. 'Mint, iced and strangely, always in that chipped cup.'
I take out a platter.
I place everything I've 'successfully' made on the platter.
I serve him his meal.
If he isn't out deal-making 'or whatever the heck he does while he's away', he definitely is then. Not a day has gone by where he hasn't been out of the castle by nine.
I then keep myself busy until his return.
I dust his collections.
If his collections already look pristine, then I wipe down every surface I can find.
If every tabletop is shining, then I sweep the floors.
If the floors are dust-free, then I scrub them.
If I can see my reflection in them, then I, at last, start exploring.
As soon as I find another room, I start the cycle over again.
If everything seems satisfactory, I press my hand against every brick in the room. 'Well, not every brick. I'm never that desperate for anything to do.'
I play around, I explore every nook and cranny until I know the room like the back of my hand.
Usually, I find something to clean by then.
I never reorganize anything. Everything stays in its place, and if it doesn't 'if it ever didn't' then that would most probably be a death wish.'Oh but who knows. The last time I broke something of his he waved it off as if it were nothing.'
This cycle continues until either his return or sundown. 'Usually, it's both. He's most always back by sundown, and if he isn't then it's a bit of a while before then.'
I always offer him dinner, but he never wants it. 'I've always assumed it was because he didn't need to eat, but that doesn't make much sense now that I think about it.'
He waves off any remarks about the day I give him, and gives a discarding remark or grunt to any 'I missed you''s I slip in.
This is when I go to my 'room.'
I cry for who knows how long, until my wails turn to sobs which turn to silent as I brace into what little slumber I can get. 'It's gotten much better, though. I used to cry until sunrise but now I'm starting to get some actual sleep.'
Routine. Routine. Routine. It's the only thing keeping a wall between me and the level of sanity that my captor holds. 'Then again, no one can truly be as beastly as he.' But, as my body starts moving on its own, and I no longer need to ponder what to do, it has given me much more time to actually think.
What do I think about?
The Dark One.
My captor.
Rumplestilskin.
Rumple.
Him.
AND SCENE.
I'm going to keep this as a 1-shot for now so I'm marking it complete, but if this is satisfactory enough for a second chapter then I can't say no. (3
