These lovely creatures are not my own.
Belle sat down at the wheel and put her chin in her hands, staring at the pile of gold in the basket. She watched as the sun moved through the sky, glinting at different pieces as it changed positions. She sat there until her back began to ache, and still sat there. She sat and waited, waited for the prince of magic to come back, waited for a bolt of understanding, waiting for something. But nothing came.
She stood, her back complaining, and fetched the feather duster. She dusted the long dining table, fluffed the pillow on Rumpel's chair, and wandered off to her own room.
Rumpel lay face-down on his bed for hours, listening intently for the sound of the front door. Obviously his captive figured it out, obviously she knew that he was in love with her and had stolen her away for his own selfish heart, obviously she hated him, obviously she would run away. He sighed and sat up, rearranging his cuffs. He walked over to his window, smudging some of the dirt away to look outside. He'd forbidden Belle from coming into his bedroom – he didn't want her to see the disaster that it had become since he lost his son. There were broken mirrors, shredded pictures, rags, dusty gold everywhere. It was perilous to even step into the room, and it was the room that needed her care the most. But he couldn't let her in there. He couldn't let her see how broken he'd become. She was just beginning to fix him.
He watched out the window, staring at the road, expecting to see a flash of blue and green as his lady raced away from his castle. The sun moved across the sky, and there was nothing. Did he miss her? Was she already gone?
He tore down the stairs, terrified, heart racing. He needed to know. He needed to see if she was gone. His nails scraped along the stone walls as he ran, his eyes flicking across every room he came across. Not in the kitchen. Not in that bedroom. Not there, no, not there either. Suddenly, all energy left him. The girl was gone. He was alone. He didn't need to tear the whole castle apart to know that. She was gone. His girl was gone. His Belle…was gone.
He slumped against a wall, skidding down to sit against it, ripping the back of his shirt in the movement. He pulled his thin legs against his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He'd lost her. How stupid of him – he could have told her the story of Snow and her Prince, he could have told her about Ella, he could have told her about any other story – not this one. Not his, not hers, not…theirs.
He brought a hand up, digging the heel into his eyes. He couldn't cry. Rumpelstiltskin did not cry. But his body betrayed him, and a single tear fell, light as a petal, and stained his knee. He stayed like that, pushing his tears back into his eyes. He was in that position for a long time, hours in his mind, when he suddenly heard the swish of skirts.
He swiftly stood, completely composed as if nothing had happened. Heart pounding, he turned the corner nonchalantly, to find the flash of green and blue he'd expected earlier.
"Now, Rumpy, what have I told you about throwing plates when you're angry? Now I'll have to sweep for another hour. Don't you come in here – you'll cut up your feet." Belle poked at him with her broom gently, shooing him out of the servant's quarters kitchen. Unable to speak, Rumpelstiltskin just stared at her, then let out a trilling laugh.
"Of course, my dear. Be careful. Wouldn't want to hurt yourself." And he stepped back to watch.
Reviewers get to mend Rumpel's waistcoat.
