Day 2922

by Rufioh

This is in the point of view of Belle during her internment in the asylum by Regina. It delves into what Belle might of felt, learned, and experienced while in the asylum. It is multi-chapter and is going to develop Belle and Rumple's relationship (but you'll have to wait for that n-n). I own none of these characters.

Day 2922

Grace Donato

The slightest bit of sun crept through the barred window of a room, shining its light on the eyes of a sleeping young maiden. Morning dawned but, despite her body stirring in her sheets, despite her eyes discomfort toward the light being shined on them, the girl did not get out of bed. Under the dirt, the girl had skin like cream, cold and pale from lack of sunlight. Her face's features were soft, delicate. Her hair enveloped her pillow like thick smoke, its curls the envy of any girl. She was, put simply, beauty undisputed.

Belle-for that was the name of this beauty, did not get out of bed for the same reason she had struggled to rise every other day. In this white room, this tight little prison, the days fell into themselves; they never changed, never brought any more light than the night did, they in fact strangled any drive or sense of purpose. The only thing that kept Belle from falling into the basin of sadness was the strange sense of longing that filled her heart.

At night, the longing sculpted her dreams, in the daytime it gave her strength, and in the morning this longing—this unknown urge for an unknown something, rose her from bed (as it did today) in hopes for a new day. With a sigh, Belle sat up in her bed and shook out her tangled curls. She then stepped down from her bed, shivering once the pads of her feet touched the cold cement floor. Her legs wobbled weak from lassitude, and the moment she reached the floor, Belle fell to her knees. Not from exhaustion however, but for expedition. She poked her head under her bed and felt around in search of her notebook and pen. These items given to Belle by the Good Woman, who was the only one to visit Belle, were more sacred to Belle than gold. Usually, the Good Woman brought Belle flowers, which quickly wilted in the dimly-lit room, but Belle liked it most when the woman stayed a while, and shared with her adventurous tales of the outside world. Belle had no idea if any of the tales held any truth, but she had nothing else to believe. To Belle, it seemed like she always lived in the white room. She had no idea what life on the other side of her door was like.

With her book in tow, Belle sat on the hard floor and opened her notebook to its first clean page. This book held all of Belle's feelings, all her plans and hopes for the future, and any memory (mostly flashes of objects, a tea set, a book, her face reflecting itself in a mirror) that came to her. Above all else, Belle's diary held all of her dreams, both good and bad, in its soft pages. And Belle decided that last night's dream was too good not to be recorded.

With pen in hand, Belle began:

Last night, I dreamt that I lived in a grand castle.

Grande, big, giant, all reminiscent of fiction, all a great contrast to Belle's current abode.

I wore a golden dress, with frills the decorated my skirt and hung around my sleeves. It was beautiful, like something a princess might wear. Quite suddenly, I was dancing, dancing with a strikingly handsome man. He had dark hair and glowed like gold. He spun me around and told me I was the most beautiful woman alive. We danced for a good while, laughing and talking too. But all too suddenly, he had to depart…

Belle felt a pang of sadness as she recalled the handsome man's hasty departure.

… and he dashed out of the castle so fast that I had no chance to say good night. But, as luck would have it, the man seemed to have accidentally dropped something on the steps of the palace! It was a glove, black as death, and gold cloth for lining.

Belle stopped on that good note and, even wide awake, the glove gave her hope that she would soon see the man again. Then suddenly, Belle heard distant footsteps which seemed to be coming toward her. Excited, Belle hid the notebook back under her bed, for not even the Good Woman was allowed to peek into the deepest recesses of Belle's mind and sat on her bed to wait hopefully for the Good Woman. The steps grew louder and louder, and then softer and softer as they passed Belle's tiny room.

For reasons Belle could not understand, the disappointment those steps brought filled her with painful loneliness. Quietly, tears cascaded down Belle's beautiful cheeks. Usually, Belle did not cry. Belle was strong, Belle was independent. But no matter how independent she was, Belle still could not elude the fearsome grasp of loneliness.

So, for the first time since she had been imprisoned, Belle cried. But she also made a vow, a vow to never, ever, as long as she was trapped, allow herself to cry again. Today was the only exception, only today did she let anguish win.