A/N-This is a piece I wrote for the Tumblr Rumbelle Showdown.
Rumplestiltskin plopped down furiously on a small stool placed before the spinning wheel. Weeks, or perhaps months, of pointless imprisonment had passed. He had come to find that being under someone's control was difficult, but living under the control of the Wicked Witch was an entirely different torture that settled unpleasantly underneath his skin.
Long hours of solitude and darkness never disturbed him, but the endless worry for his beautiful Belle nearly broke whatever strength he had left. Night after night, he'd question: Was she alright? Was she safe? Had the Wicked viper of a Witch tried to harm her? Tonight was especially difficult as his anger slowly boiled into misery; he continued to replay impossibly dark thoughts. Images of Belle's body flopping in pain, her face contorting in agony flashed mercilessly before his closed eyelids. His body trembled in torment of his own thoughts, and he placed his calloused fingers against his face, willing the awful thoughts to fade. The enemy, he learned, was truly hidden in the depths of his mind.
With the dagger out of his hands, his mind was left reeling and confused. He could not think properly or act as he wished, and the Wicked Witch had complete power over his mind, thoughts, and dreams. Abruptly, he stood, pacing the small space of the cell. A slice of moonlight spilled through the crack of the double-doors which led to freedom, or at least out of this ridiculous metal box he found himself trapped in. He leaned forward, just enough to peek outside. His shoulders dropped when he saw an open night sky and not a soul in sight. Beside himself, he viciously kicked the cell door. He never expected for the lock to pop, so when the door slid open his jaw nearly dropped.
Confused, he wiggled the padlock free and the cell door swung open. The ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Belle. He bolted toward the doors; his only thoughts were focused on seeing her again. She would smile at the sight of him, and wrap her arms around his neck. He'd kiss her, and hold her throughout the night. He jerked the doorknob forcefully; his smile quickly faltering at the realization that the doors were locked.
"No, no, no." His voice quavered.
His hope crumbled agonizingly. Feelings bubbled inside him with a sickening rage, and he began senselessly beating his fists against the wooden doors. After successfully shredding his hands to bits, he fell to the cold cement floor, defeated.
"Belle," he whispered—tears stinging his eyes.
Just then, two brilliantly blue butterflies fluttered through the crack in the double-doors. Rumplestiltskin watched exhausted while slightly curious. The butterflies danced beautifully before his gaze, and settled neatly on a stone step. Rumplestiltskin leaned forward, suddenly stricken with a desire to touch one. His index finger gently brushed the wings of one of the butterflies prompting the delicate creature to burst into a cloud of blue smoke on contact. Rumplestiltskin jumped back suddenly. The smoke faded revealing stunning auburn curls, pale porcelain-like skin, crisp red lips, and gentle cerulean eyes that watched him with incredible awe.
Belle.
"R-Rumple!"
Had he not been pathetically sprawled upon the ground he was sure he would have gone weak at the knees at the sound of her musical voice. He rushed to his feet, and lunged forward with his arms outstretched. An overwhelming happiness threatened to burst through his body like a loose electrical wire. His arms flew around her, and as he began to feel her godly warmth, her body went up in the same brilliant blue smoke as before. Startled, he stepped back calling her name urgently. A blue butterfly hovered where Belle had stood only seconds before. The butterfly flew and rejoined the other which had never left its spot on the stone step. Before Rumplestiltskin could think, the two butterflies flew between the doors and gracefully melted into the night.
In the distance he could hear a wicked laugh echoing throughout the blackened night. The witch was playing with him. Rather than inanely attempting to escape, he retreated to his cell and lay somberly on a patch of scattered hay, chanting on the verge of tears,"You feed the madness and it feeds on you. You feed the madness and it feed on you. You feed the madness and it feeds on you."