Arising

Chapter 2: Belle


"What's Hopper doing here?"

Gold has shaken off Belle's arm and stands before the umbrellaed table straight and tall, holding his cane as if it's a fashion piece rather than a crutch. But his face is white with pain and the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth have deepened. Whether it's physical pain or emotional, he won't say.

The good doctor snaps right back at him. "You trust me with your physical health. Why won't you trust me with your psychological health? After all, it's my expertise."

"I agreed to allow the Reul Ghorm in on this because we need her magic," Gold answers. "And that's the only reason. A fourth party was not included in the agreement."

"I need him," Mother Superior says. "What you're asking me to do"—she includes Gold in the "you," despite the fact that the idea is Belle's exclusively—"will be difficult, at best. We're about to uncover memories of events that changed your lives, some of them very painful. I'm no psychiatrist, but I do know that sometimes the brain suppresses memories as a survival mechanism. It would be wrong for someone who knows nothing about psychology to open those memories. I'm sorry, but I won't attempt this without Archie."

"I take the Hippocratic Oath very seriously, Mr. Gold," Hopper softens his voice. "Nothing that may be revealed here will go beyond this garden."

That Hopper doesn't mention the fact that Gold once before sought his counsel, Gold takes note of. But there is a vast difference between a conversation, in which words can be chosen with care and questions can be avoided, and the thing that Belle has proposed they do now. Gold's expression in answer to Mother Superior could freeze mercury.

"I propose a ground rule: the owner of the memories decides which memories we open and which ones we walk away from. And the owner has the right to close the memory at any point," Archie suggests. "Of course, if anything comes up that you'd like to talk to me about in private, I'll be glad to stay as long as you like after this session." He smiles at the nun. "You too, Mother Superior. One more ground rule: no lies, no manipulation of the memories. That would defeat the purpose."

Gold's body shifts; he's about to walk away. But Belle catches his eye and he can feel the desperation boiling in her blood; if he walks away from this request of hers, he walks away from her.

It gives him pause.

"Please," is all she says, but her voice is raw.

The word works its magic. He withdraws a chair from the table and stands behind it. Belle recognizes that the chair is intended for her, so she seats herself. He assists her with pushing the chair in before seating himself.

Belle looks around, admiring the setting: they are in the heart of the garden, beneath a pair of pear trees. Before them is the flower garden, dotted with marigolds, snapdragons and daffodils; behind them, the vegetable garden, where freshly planted tomatoes, peppers, melons and squash are taking hold of the damp earth. The land smells brand new; she, in the sundress and sandals she bought in a shopping spree with Bernie, feels brand new too. She's had a complete physical, affirming her good health despite her imprisonment, and she's started meeting twice a week with Hopper, just to talk things over.

Gold watches the pair seated across from him. Archie is dressed as though he's just come off the golf course, though he's never played a round in his life: he wants to set a casual tone to make his companions in this endeavor comfortable, as their success depends upon it.

The nun wears her favorite gardening outfit: faded jeans and a plaid shirt. The cross she has worn every day of her human life reflects the sunlight.

Gold, having complained vigorously about the hospital gown he found himself in when he first awoke from the coma, has dressed in a starched white shirt, tie and black trousers. The absence of a dress jacket is his one concession to the "dress for comfort" edict.

The nun pours iced tea for her guests and passes around a plate of snickerdoodles, Bernadette's specialty. Belle takes one and comments that after 28 years of flavorless food, her taste buds are just beginning to awaken—and then she glances sideways at Gold and ducks her head. He's got that guilty look again: her imprisonment is his fault.

She sets the cookie down and folds her hands.

"Shall we begin?" Mother Superior suggests. Her hands, lying idle on the tabletop, start to shake; through the metal table, Gold can feel the vibrations. He leans forward involuntarily; although his body is human, some part of his brain still reacts to the magic hovering in the air. "I may need help," the nun informs Gold. "This is a higher level of magic than I normally dealt with."

He nods. "We'll figure it out."

Belle appreciates the "we." She clutches Gold's hand; through her grip, he reads her confidence and trust. Despite her long imprisonment, she's still a woman of faith and she'll gladly loan him some of hers, if he'll only take it. "Please, let's start with me."

Gold's mouth tightens: she has shown herself the braver of the two.

She sets her hand on his, as if she has heard his thought. "I'm hoping that if you can see what happened to me, you'll understand: it's not the pain I remember; it's the love."

Mother Superior—the Reul Ghorm now—passes her hand through the summer air and a wand appears, held gently in her fingers. She taps the center of the table and a blue crystal ball appears. Caught off guard, Gold cracks a smile: it's the same crystal ball he brought back from Oz. The Reul Ghorm whispers some ancient words that only Gold can translate, and a mist develops inside the ball. The mist becomes a haze. "Set your hand on the crystal ball, Belle," the fairy instructs. "Close your eyes, breathe deeply, open your mind and your heart; let the magic in."

Belle settles more comfortably in her chair, then does as the fairy asks. For several long minutes the haze swirls in the crystal ball, changing colors: purple, then blue, then green, then yellow, then pink, then turquoise. The haze settles on this last color and continues to swirl, faster and faster, and as the four watch, the haze leaks from the crystal ball and swirls above the table like a quiet miniature cyclone.

Gold studies Belle's face. He's watched her sleeping, many times, when she lived in the Dark Castle, but he's never seen her face so relaxed, even in the depth of a happy dream.

"I'll need some help with this next spell," the Reul Ghorm says, and Gold gives her the correct phrasing.

The cyclone rises, swirls above their heads, its tendrils unfurling. It fills the sky, then fills the garden, and they are caught in it, but it sedates them at the same time it sharpens their senses. Belle sighs. The contentment in her sigh gives the magic permission to continue. Although he remains seated, still clutching Belle's hand with one hand and his cane with the other, Gold has the sensation of being lifted and moved, weightless, timeless. It's similar to the sensations he used to have when magic transported him from place to place, except it's quieter, gentler—and still turquoise.

He feels a stopping sensation as Belle whispers, "Here."

The haze withdraws.

He's hovering in one place. He looks down. "We don't need to whisper, Belle. They can't hear us; we're here only in spirit."


They're in a spacious, well-appointed bedroom. The four-poster bed is much too large for its occupant, a nightgowned girl of about five years, whose dark hair is decorated with turquoise ribbons. She has filled her bed, as little girls do, with stuffed animals—but as little girls in Fairytale Land seldom do, she has also filled her bed with tin soldiers, and it's these she is playing with. She's lined up her soldiers on either side of her legs; her knees are mountains they must cross before the war can begin. She calls one of her soldiers Alexander and she pretends he rides a black stallion she calls Bucephalus. Her Alexander leads his troops stealthily up the mountain and they peer down on the enemy, snoring beside a campfire in the valley of her blankets.

Some sound beyond her balcony interrupts the girl's play, and she crawls out of bed, still holding Alexander. She patters to the glass door separating the balcony from her bedroom; the door is half-open to allow in the summer breeze. Without hesitation she trots onto the balcony. She leans against the railing, looking down—

And Gold wants to grab her, because the wooden bars are too far apart; a child could slip right through—and does. With a short shriek the girl tumbles into the night, her arms and legs pumping as though she's swimming.

And she drops into the arms of a gold-skinned imp, who opens his mouth in surprise, revealing rotten teeth.

The girl smiles up at him and snuggles against his chest until another man, this one dressed in a courtier's garb, runs up and snatches her away, cursing at the imp.


Sharing a single thought, Belle and Gold ask simultaneously, "That was you?" Gold adds, "Your nanny had summoned me; she wanted a youth potion." Belle adds, "I remembered I was flying, until a sparkly man caught me and cuddled me." All four of the travelers share a thought: true love works in mysterious ways.

"Go on," Belle says, and the haze settles on them again. "Here." When it clears, they find themselves in a formal dining room. Sitting at the table are six military officers in their finery—plus one girl of about eighteen, also in finery. Pacing at the head of the table is Maurice, younger and thinner than Gold remembers him, but Maurice nonetheless, and no more confident in his bearing then as he was when Rumplestiltskin first met him.


"May I suggest, Milord, that the women and children of this court be sent immediately to the Northern Highlands. King Gladwin will provide refuge," the eldest of the officers says. He adds with a sideways glance at the girl beside him, "All of the women."

"I'm staying," she objects. "I'm needed here."

"She has the finest military mind in the land," another courtier says, and a third adds, "She's our best chance of winning."

But a fourth man returns to the original complaint: "She's a woman. A slip of one, at that."

Maurice is torn.

"Papa, look," Belle rises and carries a map to him. "We could send troops through this pass. They can come up behind the ogres here. You see, we can attack them from the front and the rear at once."

Maurice forgets about sending his daughter away. He and Belle bow their heads over the map and talk in excited voices. Then Maurice remembers the earlier suggestion and lifts his head long enough to tell a servant, "Send the women and children away."

"Come, Milady, I'll help you pack," the servant says.

"Belle stays."


From his left, Belle remarks, "I've always felt fortunate that I was appreciated for my skills, not my skirts. Because of that, I made a difference in my realm."

"You've made a difference in Storybrooke, too," Gold says.

Belle commands the magic, "Move on." The haze sweeps them along again, to a half-demolished throne room that Gold remembers.


"My price is her."


"It was my choice," Belle says, "and I've never regretted it."


"My room?!"


"Not even then."


"Was there a son?"


Gold says, "His name was Baelfire. I should have told you then, Belle. I'm sorry."


"I expect I'll never see you again."


Belle says, "I didn't understand then why you let me leave. I do now."


"Did my carriage splash you?"


Gold moans, "I should have told you. I should have warned you about her. I should have given you a charm to protect you against her—"

"But then I wouldn't have come back."


"There's nothing more to tell, really."


"You broke our deal, Rumplestiltskin."

"I should have—"

"Yes, you should have."

"But I will."


"Why did you come back?"


Belle moans, "Oh, if I'd only said what I meant!"

Gold moans, "If I'd only told you why—"


"Kiss me again. It's working!"


"I should have asked. It never even occurred to me that if you became human again you'd lose your magic. I thought I was breaking a curse."

"I should have understood what you were trying to do, and why. How could I think it was a trick? The kiss itself was proof."


"You turned her against me!"


"I thought madness had overtaken you—yelling at a mirror. But I understand now, and I'm sorry, so sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I let the Dark One take control of my judgment. You were right, Belle: I was a coward. Afraid of losing my magic."

"Not any more."

"No, not any more."


"My power means more to me than you."


"Was that the truth, Rumplestiltskin? I know you loved me then, but you pushed me away. Why didn't you let me stay—and talk to me?"

Gold lowers his head.

"Let me understand."

"I will. This time, I'll show you the truth."


"All you'll have is an empty heart and a chipped cup."


Belle says in amazement, "You kept the cup. The curse took your memories away, but you kept the cup."

"Love is more powerful than any curse."

"Move on," Belle orders, and the haze takes them to an orchard, with Maurice's estate in the distance.


A foot-sore Belle, her skirts torn, her skin scratched and sunburned, leans against a pear tree; she reaches up for a pear, then slumps to the ground and eats. She's worn, but the fire in her eyes proves she's not beaten. The pear and the shade revive her.

She hears something; she clambers to her feet and looks around, then she smiles, calls out and waves: "Gunnora!"

A middle-aged woman carrying a pear-filled basket emerges from the trees. "Milady?" Then, assured, she drops the basket and runs as fast as her seven petticoats will allow. "Milady Belle! Milady Belle!" She's sobbing and laughing as she seizes Belle and envelopes her. "Milady, Milady," she says over and over, stroking Belle's hair and face. "Oh my sweet child, it's been so long."

"I'm home to stay, Gunnora," Belle sighs. As if to prove the point, she removes her worn shoes.

The nanny holds her at arm's length to examine her. "What's happened to you?" Her faces blanches. "Did he—did that monster—"

"No, no, I'm just a little worse for wear. I walked from the Dark Mountains. It took me nine days. But a tankard of mead and a bowl of Cook's elk stew will revive me."

The nanny glances toward the castle. She's contemplating, and then she decides. "You're coming home with me." She links her arm through Belle's and picks up Belle's shoes. She's forgotten completely about her fruit basket. "I married four months ago—your father's Chief Liveryman. Your father granted us a small house on the grounds."

"I'm so happy for you, Gunnora." Belle squeezes her nanny's hand as they walk.

"And I'm so happy to see you again. I've worried, every moment you've been gone. We heard terrible, terrible things—well, of course, there have always been horrible stories about that beast; no one speaks well of him. And after he took you—"

"He didn't 'take' me. I chose to go with him."

"Oh my sweet child, you may think that, but I'm sure it's a spell he's cast on you so you couldn't tell us the truth."

Belle stops in her tracks, her hands on her hips, her eyes snapping. "What are you saying, Gunnora?"

"Why, everyone knows what a monster he is. There have always been stories; in the village, they call him 'He Whose Name Must Not Be Spoken' because we know, if you say his name aloud, he will hear you and appear." Gunnora peers at her closely. "Some call him 'The Baby Eater.'"

"That's ridiculous! What a horrid thing to say! I lived with him nearly a year and I know him to be gentle and considerate, one who cares about children when their parents do not."

"Then he did notforgive me, Milady, but there were stories. A visiting queen reported to us that he—that unseemly things had been done to you."

"Never!" Belle hisses. "Rumplestiltskin is a gentleman, a man of honor. His treatment of me would put my father's courtiers to shame. Who told such tales? Who is this 'visiting queen'?"

"One who would know, we thought; one whose powers allow her to see through walls. She rules a kingdom that borders the Dark Mountains and has encountered. . . him. . . many times, defeating him each time. Though he's frightfully powerful, her powers match his, and her will is so strong she is able to resist his tricks. She's an elegant lady, Belle; you would be much impressed by her, as we were. A thoughtful and knowledgeable lady, though a bit sad, having lost her husband, King Leopold, most tragically."

Belle glares. "Regina!"

"Yes, that's Her Majesty's name. She had heard of your agreement with the monster, and she came to warn your father. Of course your father was dreadfully alarmed, but as she said, once one has made a deal with the monster, there's no breaking it. Had your father demanded your return, Her Majesty said, the monster would destroy the entire duchy. Your mother was so distraught she fell ill—" Gunnora pauses, her voice cracking. "I'm sorry to tell you this, Milady; she didn't recover."

Belle covers her face with her hands. She allows Gunnora to lead her to the cottage near the stables. The nanny fusses over her as she grieves. Hours pass, and finally Belle collects herself, washes her face and brushes her hair. "I must see Father." And then she begins to cry again, this time not for her own loss but for her father's.

"Stay here the night, my sweet child," the nanny coos. "You will sleep in my bed. Ranulf will sleep in the hayloft. Don't object, Belle; he will consider it an honor. He does not believe, any more than I do—" and then she bites her lip.

Belle nods. "I must see Father as soon as possible, but I need to be strong for him. I'm sure he's suffering."

"Yes, he did suffer horribly. But it's been half a year since your mother's passing; he's better now." Gunnora pours a cup of tea for Belle, then sits beside her at the kitchen table. The nanny says cautiously, "Her Majesty was a great comfort to him."

Belle coughs in mid-sip. "What? What are you saying, Gunnora? Is that witch here? In my mother's home?"

"She's an honored guest of the court, as any visiting royal would be."

"Her relationship with my father?" Belle's voice creeps higher.

"Perfectly respectable, let me assure you, Milady." Gunnora stirs her tea, lost in thought. "I must tell you something, Lady Belle—you know it's out of love for you. You must not stay. The wagging tongues have murdered your reputation. Your father—he still loves you, of course—but he has been ridiculed; he is humiliated; and there are those who would use this opportunity to undo him. You endanger him as well as yourself if you stay. This can be your home no longer."

Belle struggles with words. "What—why? What are they saying?"

"Milady, I love you too much to repeat such vile things. Your father has always had his enemies; many call him weak for having sought out the monster. A stronger leader would have conquered the ogres in the first year of the war, they say. Your return would finish him, and I fear what they would do to you."

"I don't care two snaps for their opinion." Belle raises her chin.

The nanny lowers her voice. "Some have more in mind for you than just talk. Some believe you are the beast's slave; they will say you've come to do his bidding. I fear for your life, Milady." Gunnora rises and goes to a cupboard, where she unshelves a ceramic jar. She reaches inside, withdrawing a fat purse. She returns to the table and sets the purse beside Belle's teacup. "Please take this. You'll need money to travel. I'm so sorry, Milady; you were born noble, but you must live in exile now, as a poor relation. Ranulf will purchase passage for you on a ship. I urge you to go to the land of my birth; my sister lives there still and will give you a home and—I'm sorry, Milady—work as a seamstress, perhaps, or—forgive me—a nanny. But you'll be safe."

"I—I need to think."

"Here," the nanny helps her to stand and leads her to the cottage's only other room, a bedroom. "Rest a while. I'll prepare dinner."

Belle lies down on the rope bed. She's distraught, but her body is so weary, she can't think clearly. She cries herself to sleep, whispering to herself, "Not a monster. A gentleman."


From their celestial perch, Gold reaches out to Belle, and she to him. Neither can speak. The Blue Fairy casts a glance at them, then lowers her eyes. Archie asks, "Are you all right, Belle? Should we move on?"

"Not yet," Belle says. "There's more."

The young Belle—only twenty-four, Gold realizes; somehow she seemed older than that, in some ways, more mature than he was, in those days—the young Belle twitches in her sleep, and Gold wants both to turn away, out of respect for her privacy, and to take her nightmare away with a wave of his hand. He forms the words of a peace-granting spell in his mind and makes a sideways motion of his hand, as though erasing a slate, but he has no magic. The best he can do is to place a comforting arm about his Belle's shoulders.


Night has fallen. Ranulf has returned to his home and Gunnora serves his dinner as she explains the situation. They have only just broken bread when light pours through their windows and rough voices shout at them. "Liveryman! Bring the lady out, now!"

Gunnora hides beneath the kitchen table as Ranulf seizes the nearest weapon—a broom. He bars the door. Harness jingles, horses stamp their feet, and blinding lantern light pours through the windows as the men continue to shout threats. A rock shatters the glass; the door is kicked repeatedly. "We'll set fire! Send her out now!"

Rubbing her eyes, Belle stumbles from the bedroom. "Get down, under the table, Milady!" Ranulf urges, but she won't. She listens to the shouts; she can hear horses at the back of the cottage; she realizes there's no escape. Her military mind tells her that her best hope is to surrender and watch for an opportunity to negotiate or escape.

A thud causes the door to shake. A second thud splinters a plank. Belle unbars the door. "Milady!" Ranulf protests, and Gunnora wails.

"I'll be all right," Belle says, and she seems to believe it. "These are my father's men. He won't let them harm me." She pulls the door open and walks out.


Bright light blinds them. The four visitors can't see the abduction, but they can make out some of the shouts.


"The monster's whore!" "Watch out, she might have magic!" "You scared of that little girl, Asa? You used to give her pony rides before she could walk!" "Yeah, well, she's a demon now, ain' she?"


When the bright lights fade and sunlight returns, they see a black carriage pulled at a canter by four black horses. Gold groans; he knows this carriage.


The vehicle rumbles on, its driver whipping the horses.

Hours later, the horses are near death with their exertion. The driver finally allows the animals to slow to a walk. They need their last bit of strength to pull the carriage up the mountain to an imposing estate, double the size of the Dark Castle. When they reach the gate, the horses are shuddering and foaming. The gate opens without a touch, the carriage rolls inside the yard, and the gate closes again. A footman runs forward to open the carriage door and hand the queen down.

And then comes the thrashing, hissing, kicking Belle. As soon as her feet touch the ground, she rears back and sends a right upper cut to the queen's jaw. As the queen staggers, and her footman rushes to catch her from falling, the prisoner runs. It's to no purpose, however; Belle is trapped.

The queen need not give orders: her servants know what to do. Belle is thrown into a dungeon. Light and dark, light and dark, days pass. Belle sleeps fitfully on straw she bunches up into a bed. No one brings her water or food. She takes fever, then chills, and her stomach cramps. She curses and cries until she's too thirsty and worn out to do anything more than to sit in a corner, her arms wrapped around her knees.


From their perch, Archie clears his throat repeatedly and the Reul Ghorm weeps quietly.


From her corner, young Belle swallows, then tries to shout. "Rumplestiltskin." Her voice is a croak.


From above, Gold calls back, "Belle!" The older Belle leans against him, reminding him of her presence. "I'm here. I'm all right," she assures him. But Gold's hands work, opening and closing into fists; if he had magic, this dungeon would be blown to bits.


Young Belle tries again, but she can't manage to speak. Still, she's been heard. A visitor in black silk and lace appears in the cell with her. The visitor pats her immaculate hair with her manicured fingers, wrinkles her nose in disgust and grunts, "Ewww. My dear, you really need a bath." Then with a harsh laugh she crouches beside the prisoner. She clicks her tongue in mock pity. "Poor baby. Are we hungry, hmm? Thirsty?"

Belle glares her answer.

The queen scowls. "Rude thing! Didn't your mother teach you to answer when your superiors speak to you? Rise, you wretch, and curtsy to your queen!" Regina prods at Belle, but is frustrated by the girl's lack of reaction.

"So it's our darling Wumple we want, is it?" Regina asks in baby talk. "Well, I am known far and wide for my hospitality, so it's Wumple you shall have." Regina spins in a circle, her skirts flaring, purple lightning flashing from her fingers. When she stops, she clasps her hands in delight. "There! As promised."

Ceiling-to-floor mirrors cover the dungeon walls, and in every one of them is a Rumplestiltskin.

Belle coughs and rubs dust from her eyes. She looks again to realize she's not seeing multiple Rumplestiltskins; she's seeing different angles of one. He's at his wheel, but he isn't spinning; he's just staring. Lost.

"Miss him, do we?" Regina sneers. "Well, you'll have the pleasure of watching him, every remaining moment of your life." She folds her arms and, with Belle, watches the mirrors. Finally, bored—for Rumple continues to stare into space—she shrugs. "Whatever did you see in him? He's absolutely hideous." Regina spins on her heel to face Belle. "Or did he enchant you? Was that it?" She runs a hand over her mouth as she considers this idea. "Nooo, it had to have been true love, or the kiss wouldn't have worked." She shrugs again. "Oh well, no accounting for taste, I suppose. Now this is more my type."

Right on cue, a young bearded guard appears just beyond the bars of the cell. He carries a tray on which is set a pitcher of water, a glass, and a well-filled plate. Belle can smell it: roast beef, honeyed carrots, potatoes, fresh bread. Belle runs her tongue across her cracked lips as she watches beads of water course down the pitcher.

"Delectable, isn't he?" Regina purrs. "And quite good in bed." She glances at Belle. "Blushing, my dear? Oh, that's right; your relationship with Rumple was purely intellectual. But that lust in your eye is unmistakable. What? It's the food you're craving, not my Huntsman? Well, hospitality is the hallmark of every queen. My Huntsman will gladly serve you—provided you show me the courtesy every guest owes." Regina grasps Belle's chin and forces her face up. "Satisfy my curiosity."

Belle forms a word but can't speak it: "What?"

"Answer a few friendly questions about your former master, and then the water and the food are yours."

Belle twists from Regina's grasp.

"Let's start with an easy one. What's his game?" Regina paces. "For years now, he's been accumulating odd things, nowhere equal in value to the magic he's bestowed. What's he up to? What is he working on?" She stops and waits.

Belle tries to speak.

"Ah." Regina says. "Of course." She snaps her fingers at the Huntsman in a command; understanding, he pours water and passes the glass through the bars. Regina kneels, presenting the glass to Belle.

Belle snatches the glass away and drinks, choking and coughing, but she manages to get some of the liquid down.

"Better? Can you speak now?" Regina takes the glass away and returns it to her guard.


Gold's hands clutch uselessly.


Regina continues, "Well? What's his plan?"

Belle manages, "I don't know."

Regina slaps her.

Belle persists, "He didn't confide in me. He didn't take me along when he made his deals. He didn't show me what he brought back."

Regina sneers. "His worthless little pet. I suppose that's believable; my Huntsman shares my bed but not my secrets. All right, then. He must keep records. His spells are much too complicated to remember. Where does he keep his records?"

"I don't know."

Regina slaps her again. "Are you stupid? You cleaned his rooms. You had access to his entire castle for nearly a year! What rooms did he keep locked? And don't tell me you didn't sneak into them while he was away. Even the most ignorant of maids knows how to pick a lock."

"No."

Regina seizes her arm and shakes her. "'No' you won't tell me, or 'no' you don't know?"

"He trusted me. I didn't violate that trust."


Gold says to his Belle, "I never doubted you."


"Which rooms did he keep locked?" Regina demands.

"You can't get into the Dark Castle unless he allows you in," Belle replies.

"Then you won't mind answering the question!"

Belle turns her face to the wall and finds she's leaning against an image of Rumplestiltskin. As she watches, the imp rises from his bench and walks to the windows, the same ones she undraped in the first week of her stay in the Dark Castle. He leans against the panes, searching for something out there.

Regina watches too, muttering, "The lovesick puppy." She passes through the bars of the cell as though they didn't exist. As she moves past the guard, she commands, "Give her the water, but not the food. We'll keep her alive another day or two."

Dark and light, dark and light, more days pass, and Belle watches Rumplestiltskin, talks to his image. She is given water; sometimes the Huntsman slips bread and cheese to her, or a peach or plum. He never speaks to her, and when she tries to question him, he shakes his head in warning. She understands and stops talking.

Regina returns. "He loves you! That wretched imp has a heart. Who else does he love? What else?"

Belle watches the mirrors and says nothing.

Dark and light, dark and light. Regina returns and yells, "Where did he come from? Does he have family? A brother or sister? Friends? A name, girl! Give me one name and my Huntsman will feed you."

Belle watches the mirrors and says nothing.

"She doesn't break," Regina mutters to the Huntsman, but Belle hears her and smiles.

Dark and light, dark and light. Regina returns with a fresh idea. She waves a hand at the mirrors; the images shimmer and bend. "I paid a visit to your lover this morning. Would you like to see?"

"And after her stay here, her 'association' with you, no one would want her, of course. Her father shunned her, cut her off, shut her out."

"So she needs. . . a h-home."

"He was cruel to her. He locked her in a tower and sent in clerics to cleanse her soul with scourges and flaying. After a while she threw herself off the tower. She died."

. . . "You should get a new girl."

Regina studies Belle as the girl watches the mirrors. There's a hunger in Regina's eyes that mirrors Belle's physical hunger. Both are starving. As she watches Rumplestiltskin place her cup on a pedestal, Belle breaks.

Regina gloats.


"This was the hardest of all," Belle whispers. "Bearing your pain as well as mine."


Dark and light, dark and light. "How can he be killed? Don't lie to me; everything can be killed. How can Rumplestiltskin be killed?"

Now Belle is deathly afraid. Most of Regina's questions she couldn't answer if she wanted to. She can describe his values, his moods, his habits, his tastes; every article of clothing in his possession, every stick of furniture, every dish, every artifact; she knows how he wakes up in the morning and how he sleeps at night; how he takes his tea and which pieces of music move him. But about his past she knows next to nothing.

She does, however, know how to kill him.

She came across the information accidentally, in one of his books.


Archie whispers, "Belle, this is too hard; let's move on."

But the older Belle promises, "I'm okay. You'll see. This is a story of love."

Dark and light. And suddenly the Reul Ghorm draws in a deep breath and smiles. "I remember!"

"Yes," Belle says.


The Rumplestiltskin in the mirrors is back at his wheel, but still he isn't spinning. He holds the chipped teacup, turning it over and over in his hands.

The prisoner Belle struggles to her feet and stands on tiptoe, trying to see out the windows high above her cell. She's too weak to stand long, but it's long enough for her to call, "Reul Ghorm! Reul Ghorm!"


From her perch above the scene, the Blue Fairy clasps a hand to her mouth and releases a small cry.


A blue light appears in one of the windows. It floats down to the straw, grows larger and brighter, and the Reul Ghorm appears. "I'm here, Belle. How can I help you? Shall I take you from here?"

The prisoner Belle sighs. "She'd only go after my family. No. I find myself wanting to give in to her. As soon as I do, I'm dead and so is he. Please, Reul Ghorm—if I have no memories of him, she can't steal them. Let me remember only that I loved him, and he loved me."

"I understand. Are you sure, Belle, that's what you want?"

"I'm sure. She's breaking me."

"Belle. . ." The fairy hovers, uncertain, then decides. "Belle, a curse is coming that will destroy this world and sweep us away to another, a world where magic doesn't exist. The curse will take away our memories; every one of us, even I, will forget this world and who we were in it. Rumplestiltskin created that curse and Regina will cast it." She allows Belle a moment to take this information in.

Words of denial take shape on Belle's lips, but she refrains from speaking them.

The Blue Fairy continues, "But Rumplestiltskin also created the means for breaking this curse. The time will come, Belle, when we will awaken and remember who we are, and magic will return. I want you to remember this and be at peace as I take your other memories away, as you requested."

"And I'll remember the love?"

"I have no magic powerful enough to destroy love," the fairy smiles. "Nor could any curse." The fairy waves her wand.


"We've seen enough. Go home," Belle commands. The turquoise haze swirls in, wiping the world away.