Sometimes, he literally could not believe himself.
He had had leverage. She fashioned herself intelligent, and she was; but clearly she was no Sherlock Holmes. He had known who he was ever since the smoke cleared and he had found himself in Maine, of all the godforsaken places. Close to 30 years, and she still had no idea. And he destroyed it all for a keepsake from a former life.
Goddamnit.
He held the cup in his hands and damned fate, himself, the queen AND her. Of course Belle had left, this is how these thing go after all. But to throw herself out a tower? Suicide? He had not expected that of her, and to think of her reduced to such a state…
Better not to think of it at all. He twirled the cup, gently.
She's dead.
The chip was still there.
It's your fault.
The Queen had "found" it easily enough. He probably shouldn't let it sleep in the cupboard anymore.
You set her free, and he locked her up… he killed her…
He had beat the life out of Mr. French. The old fool had screamed as he broke an arm, a shoulder, a hip with his cane, and all he could feel was joy, an exultant vengeance. The man had not denied any culpability, had never once asked him what was he talking about as he screamed out for blood for the man's daughter.
Why hadn't he?
Mr. French had not denied what he was talking about. True, there had been much screaming, but no denial…
It's no wonder that her name means Beauty.
Mr. Gold had many a favor owed. Perhaps it was time to cash in.