Rumplestiltskin, Lord of the Underworld and Keeper of the Dead, let out a sigh.
"Once," he said in an almost wistful voice, "there was a great king who offered me his soul in exchange for his Queen's survival. She was very ill, you see." The slave soul he spoke to didn't respond, and Rumplestiltskin carried on. "I took the deal, the Queen survived, but the King had to return here with me, leaving her all on her own. He was morose about it for ages. How delightful it was." He watched the soul dusting around the windows of the hall. Of course, there probably wasn't any dust in his castle, but he had to keep the slave busy with some kind of chore. In days gone by he might have had a hundred slave souls at one time. Things were very different now.
It was strange to think that Rumplestiltskin, of all beings, would be feeling almost useless. Certainly he still had his true duty as the Keeper of the Dead, directing the deceased to their rightful eternities when the time was right. But ever since the first time a mortal had offered their soul to him in a deal, the dealing had been his passion. Chivvying the dead along their way was something he did because it was what he had to do. Making deals was what he did because it made him who he was.
A huff escaped him as he continued, "Your deal was the first I made in nearly a decade." The soul seemed to deflate at that, but still showed no signs of replying. Rumplestiltskin drummed his fingers on the arms of his great throne like chair. He didn't usually consider himself nostalgic, but he kept reminiscing as though it might lift his spirits. "I used to be feared and worshiped. All humanity used to know my name. I could probably walk down the street up there with my true face displayed for all to see, and never be noticed."
The slave glanced at Rumplestiltskin's sparkling green skin and wasn't sure that last statement was true. Surely even in these modern times people would see him for what he was. Turning back to the task of cleaning nonexistent dust, the soul made no sound as its master went on.
"And those that do still know of me think me merely a myth, a fairy tale. Something to frighten naughty children into eating their vegetables." Thinking about how the world had all but forgotten him filled him with a strange sense of emptiness.
Rumplestiltskin tsked. Before he could continue his rambling, a sound floated through the air and caught his attention. He listened, and after a moment, rolled his eyes.
It was that woman, again.
In the old days, the sounds he would hear from the world above were things like horses running, swords clashing, fields being worked, and of course the pleas of desperate souls, begging for the mighty God of the Underworld, or the Dark One as they had taken to calling him, to come and hear their sad stories and help them. Now, with most of modern humanity having no faith in the gods of their ancestors, it was mostly the background noise of cars and barking dogs, with fewer and fewer people calling for his deals, so he tended to tune all of it out.
Some twenty years ago, a new town had grown up, very close to the portal that lead directly to his castle. He had ignored Storybrooke much as he did the rest of the mortal realm, but in the past few weeks it had become annoyingly insistent upon being heard.
At least, one person in Storybrooke was making herself heard.
Rumplestiltskin knew that the woman he was constantly hearing was the librarian of the town; the library was the closest building to his realm and so the sounds came through all the clearer if he didn't keep a firm mind on blocking it out. For whatever reason, the noises from the library were coming through all the clearer these days.
At first, all he had heard was the clicking of her shoes, which was irritating but not to the point of distraction. The first time he heard her voice, he perked up eagerly, thinking perhaps it was finally an opportunity to make another deal. But no, the woman was not a sad sap calling out in despair. Quite the reverse, she was singing brightly. He had immediately blocked the noise and busied himself in guiding some souls on to their eternities.
Her singing and snippets of the conversations she had, with other people, with herself, apparently even with thin air, kept sneaking through the walls and finding him. Over the course of a couple weeks, he had heard her voice more than he thought he'd ever heard anything else.
Frankly, he was annoyed.
Now he shook his head, hearing that woman again, her voice floating down as if from a cloud. She sounded like she must be reading aloud, based on the cadence of her speech.
Rumplestiltskin scowled and barked at the slave, "Bring my scrying mirror."
The soul rushed to obey, and the Dark One rubbed his temples with his fingertips while he waited. "She'd be the death of me if I weren't immortal," he quipped under his breath.
His slave returned, holding the mirror. Rumplestiltskin snatched it away and dismissed the soul with another scowl. "Go tidy something." The slave scurried off quickly. Turning his eyes to the bright metal, Rumplestiltskin reached out with his thoughts, and the mirror rippled like the surface of a lake. After a few seconds, it settled and he saw the inside of the Storybrooke library.
It looked much as he expected it to look, shelves upon a shelves of books, a front desk with more books stacked on it, large chairs for people to sit and read, and a rather large circle of carpet where there was currently a cluster of children. They sat, staring wide eyed at the woman who was reading to them. This was she, then, Rumplestiltskin assumed. That woman who kept irritating him so. Her long brown hair was covering most of her face as she sat hunched forward over the book she read. She seemed to be as enthralled with the story as the children she was entertaining. But it appeared that she had just come to the end, for a moment later, she closed the book and straightened up, smiling.
Seeing her face, even Rumplestiltskin had to admit she was quite a beauty. Her blue eyes sparkled as she beamed at the children. He wasn't blocking the sounds out now, so he could hear as well as see that she was telling the group that it was time to go, the reading hour was over and the library was going to close. The smallest ones groaned and begged for more stories, but she told them they just had to wait until tomorrow. The older ones thanked her and began saying their goodbyes. In all the ruckus, Rumplestiltskin heard her name spoken many times as the children slowly departed.
"Bye, Belle!"
"Thanks for reading to us, Belle!"
"See you tomorrow, Belle!"
Dispelling the image and looking away from the mirror, Rumplestiltskin gazed out over his hall. Leaning back and resting his chin in his hand, he repeated the name once.
"Belle."
She had started humming, he noticed. It was a melancholy tune, but she somehow managed to make it sound happy. Rumplestiltskin listened until the song drifted away. Belle must have left the library for the night.
The Dark One tapped the side of his face with one finger, lost in thought. As irritating as he had found constantly hearing her voice before, something was different now. Something about her face and her smile and her sparkling eyes called to him in a way he didn't fully understand. And if there was one thing Rumplestiltskin did not like, it was not understanding his own mind. He nodded to himself, and rose, his decision made.
He was going to visit the mortal world.
Hoo boy, it's posted so I'm really in for it now! This is my first foray into chaptered works and so far it's stressful but fun! Reviews and constructive criticism are very much welcome! I'll try and update either weekly or every other week, depending on general life stuff. Thanks for reading!
