Author's Note: A have maybe two more chapters planned for this short story. I'm not sure how quickly they will be coming out but I'm hoping with a week off of work and then new schedules, it wont be too bad :) I'd had fun writing this, and it's been a good way to keep my mind off of waiting for Season 2 to come out in the fall. Can't wait! I hope you've enjoyed the story so far, and this chapter as well. Please leave a review with what you think, critiques, ideas... anything! The story is pretty much set in how it will end, but I LOVE to hear what people think is going to happen next, especially because that's definitely what I did during the series ;) Thanks for reading!

- Phantom's angel

Time slipped away from Belle. She couldn't begin to estimate how much time had passed because the witch had failed to visit her for so long. What was happening out in Storybrooke that kept her away? Or was it her accuracy in guessing her prince's name that frightened Regina off?

With the lack of stories over the past weeks, Belle was forced to think them through on her own. She felt successful in linking the story of Prince James to Princess Abigail, and their desires for other paths to love. She drew upon the illustrious genie and realized his yearning for the Evil Queen herself. With the time she bought from her first unsuccessful guess to finding the name of her prince, she had nearly completed her project in full.

It began to look like a game to Belle; puzzling together the pages she'd completed and inserting them in order by time and place. Naturally, Snow White's story was first. Abigail's was placed somewhere in between, as was those of the eight dwarfs. Red was to follow, then Rapunzel…

Belle began illustrating the stories as well, taking the bits of details Regina once offered her and used them to draw the names as actual characters. Her imagination took control as she began to get really creative in using mashed up food, candle wax and mixed pills to add color. Belle was surprised at how well the colors stuck to the parchment paper.

Even if the drawings had plenty of chance to be inaccurate, they gave her the chance to truly feel the stories as if she were really apart of them. From her hazy memory, she was never part of any of their stories at all, but writing her characters how she was taught and drawing them how she saw them in her mind made her feel like she was apart of not only their stories, but Storybrooke as well.

How Belle longed to be out of the cell in the asylum and with the people she once walked amongst. Even if she were blind to the truth, at least she would have company. Perhaps the father she remembered more and more each day now would run into her at times. Maybe she would even have the chance to cross paths with her prince, even if she didn't realize it.

To complete the book of stories, Belle tied in the details of the curse against her people. She detailed the happily ever afters and the jealousy of the Evil Queen, eventually linking the birth of the child; a little girl named Emma, and the sweep of darkness over everybody's minds. If only she could remember all of it as clearly as Regina had depicted it.

One day, near the end of Belle's illustrations, she sat on the edge of her bed with the parchment papers scattered across her lap. She figured it was well past noon when she heard a faint, friendly voice in the hallway outside of her cell. She'd never heard anybody sound so pleasant before; not in her memory.

"You'll proceed at your own risk," the mousey voice of the nurse said from outside.

"I understand," said the friendly voice.

After a long pause, the latch of the door slid and the heavy door began to open. The light spilled into the room, drawing Belle's hand up to cover her eyes. It had been so long since Regina had come in to tell her stories, she was taken back at the sight of the light flooding her room. But suddenly, she was more surprised by the sight of a pleasant face entering her room.

She was a young woman; not too far off from Regina's age, it seemed. She had short black hair, like a raven, but her eyes and smile were much kinder than a raven. Her skin was light, with rosy pink cheeks, and her arms were crossed in front of her waist, linking at the wrists while holding a tote bag in front of her legs. The young woman looked hesitant as she stepped into the cell, but Belle was alert, though still a bit frightened to see a new face.

Belle looked down at her drawings on the bed, running her finger along the parchment of one particular piece. Another young maiden, similar in appearance to one she had recently illustrated. Snow White.

As the young woman stepped into her cell, Belle gathered the parchment papers and bunched them together quickly. She stacked them clumsily in her hands and placed them behind her back, pulling the sheets over them for extra protection. She couldn't be sure who this woman was, though she had her ideas.

The woman waited for the nurse to close the door behind her. Belle could see a bit of fear creep into her eyes, as if she were being trapped with a hungry animal. But she turned around and looked to Belle and smiled gently to her.

"Hello, Jane," the woman said kindly.

Belle cocked her head. She looked around the room to be sure there was no one else present, but sure enough, it was just the two of them. She looked back to the young woman and bit her lip.

"I'm sorry, is your name not Jane?" she asked, clearly embarrassed. "It's what the nurse told me your name was."

Belle hesitated. Surely, there was reason to her being called Jane; some value of protection behind hiding her true self. So she went along with it and nodded slowly.

"Oh, good," the woman said. "I was afraid I'd made a bad impression."

The young woman gave a quiet laugh.

She wore a cream colored sweater and a red scarf. Her pleated pants were an ashy grey with pint stripes running down her legs. She gripped onto her bag that hung down in front of her shins and it spun from the tension coiling in the straps. Belle watched as it swung back and forth, flashing an embroidered "Storybrooke Elementary School" logo.

"My name's Mary Margaret," the woman said.

Belle was taken back by her salutation. She'd fully expected for her to say her name was Snow White. It had to be her… the woman held her hand out to Belle for a hand shake, but Belle remained frozen, looking from her hand to her face with confusion. Mary Margaret slowly dropped her hand, obviously trying to make light of the situation.

"The nurse told me you might like a visit; I'm a volunteer at the hospital," she said.

Belle watched her hand gestures. They seemed fluent and inviting. The name must have been a cover-up from the evil queen. Perhaps she knew what was happening in Storybrooke and she was there to consult with her… to learn the truth that Belle was fortunate enough to know.

"Would you like a visitor today?" Mary Margaret urged.

Yes, I would.

Slowly, Belle nodded.

She scooted over on the bed, pulling the parchment beneath the sheets over with her and looked back to Mary Margaret as a request for her to sit. The friendly young woman nodded her head, smiling kindly, and thanked Belle as she sat beside her, still showing a level of caution.

"I hope you're doing well today," she began, making herself comfortable.

Belle didn't know what to say.

Everyday was just like the other and the only excitement she knew was Regina coming in to give her another piece of a story. Lately, her thrill came from her work on placing the stories; on looking for her prince's name. Otherwise, doing well didn't seem to fit within Belle's understanding. It was an understatement at how not well she was feeling every day.

Sure, I'm just fine.

Belle looked to Snow White and smiled. She didn't feel much like talking, so she assured her with all she really had left. She felt if she had purpose to talk, she'd use her words. Maybe even in her former life, she was quite talkative. She wouldn't know until she could remember… the small pieces she had acquired were so promising.

"Good," Mary Margaret said. "I'm doing well also."

She was good for keeping the silence away, at least. Belle liked that. Even if it wasn't a story, it was nice to hear someone speak.

"I work at the elementary school in town and finished work about an hour ago," Mary Margaret said. "I love teaching the kids. It's so fun to watch them grown."

Belle imagined what it was like to see a child. She'd been one before.

"I have one little boy in my class who I'm especially partial to," she said. "I admit, I probably shouldn't have favorites, but Henry is just special in some way."

"Henry?" Belle mumbled.

"Yes, that's his name," Mary Margaret said.

If there was one name Belle dwelled on the most lately, it was that of Henry. She knew the name to be linked to Regina's father, but there was a boy she was taking care of – her son she had adopted – who she called Henry. Belle could never decide where he fit in the story, but after hearing he was adopted, she'd settled on Regina's reasoning that there was no fit to the story for him. But hearing Snow talk about him so fondly gave Belle jitters.

"He's a sweet boy," she said more to herself. "And he's got quite an imagination."

Oh?

"He actually thinks his mother is an evil sorceress, or something to that extent."

She laughed.

Evil Queen, actually... Smart kid.

"He's just looking for a way to cope," Mary Margaret sighed. "He was adopted, after all."

Belle was ready to jump off of the bed and exclaim everything she knew to Snow. She wanted to her know and to stop the curse, but then she remembered that only one could break the spell: Snow White's child. She wondered about Henry, but knowing he was in elementary school ruled that out immediately. The savior would be nearing 28 years old now. But with his suspicions of the queen, Belle knew this boy was onto something. Her stomach turned with anticipation. How could she relay what she knew to the son of her capture? How could he find the savior to release Storybrooke from the spell?

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be talking about this," Mary Margaret said, blushing.

No, please keep going!

"No," Belle said quietly.

Mary Margaret looked up and smiled. She placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze.

"Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

If only I knew about myself.

Belle turned away and looked to the ground. She shifted on the bed and the parchment crinkled beneath her weight. She was working on knowing more about herself, but until she finished her work, she'd be stuck beneath Storybrooke forever. She'd remain the one who held knowledge over everybody else, except for herself. But time was running out.

"How about something you wish for?" Mary Margaret tried.

I wish…

Belle felt her mind whirl with thought. She wanted her prince, her life, her family, her dreams all to come back again. She wanted to know, even just what it was she once would have wished for. She wanted Storybrooke to go away and the old way of living for herself and for all those trapped up above. But at that moment, she wanted Henry.

She wanted to talk to him and get him to understand. She knew he was on the right track and he may have been the only one. If she could only get to him, she could fix everything the Evil Queen had told her of. She wanted to be brave for her kingdom…

I want…

The feeling sparked a memory of a man, less brave than she, but daring in his own ways. He was handsome and bold in his features, but something about him was not all Belle had expected of her prince. Perhaps it was he who she was looking for? Perhaps this image – this man she was drawing from her memory – was who she was meant to recall. She dwelled on the name as Mary Margaret looked to her. What did she want? Was it this man? Was it Gaston she wanted?

"I don't know," Belle said sadly.

Mary Margaret looked pitifully at Belle. She tried to smile, but she knew it was not what Belle needed. Her grip tightened around her shoulder, relaying her regret by a simple gesture of kindness. Belle shrugged her shoulders lightly.

"Would you like to be left alone?" Mary Margaret asked.

Never….

"Please," Belle said.

Snow White smiled and pushed herself off of the bed, grabbing her tote bag slowly and headed for the door. She paused before giving a couple of beats against the door, and then waited as they both began to hear feet scuffing in their direction down the hall.

"Will you come back to visit?" Belle called just before the latch slid over and the door began to open.

Mary Margaret hesitated before smiling back to Belle over her shoulder and nodding gently. The nurse stood on the other side of the threshold, waiting for the young woman to step out of the cell impatiently. Snow White smiled.

"Of course, Jane," she said.

As soon as she had stepped out of the cell, the nurse closed the door and turned the latch of the vault. Belle was alone again.

Her thoughts were left to dwell on all the years she had seen, past and present; in her kingdom before and in Storybrooke's asylum. All of the stories she had heard were transcribed to paper, and all of her imagination's pictures were drawn out to the best of her abilities. She had the pages completed, but how was it a help? Nothing in her stories helped her remember her name, and now she was acquiring names she'd never considered…

Gaston. A strong name. But one that made her feel tense as she tried saying it out loud. Clearly, it was part of her past life because of the feelings it drew from her, and perhaps it was correct because of their supposed unhappy ending. She offered herself the chance to give it a try – if she ever saw Regina again – but in the meantime, began to look frantically around the room.

She pulled the parchment from out under the covers and placed them neatly on her pillow. Then she began to pull the sheets off of the mattress, revealing the stained stripped cloth beneath. Belle ran her fingers along the hem and stopped as her fingers found thick chorded threats holding the sides together. She began to pluck her fingernails inside of the chords, weakening the threads and grinding them down until a piece snapped in half.

Belle unraveled the pieces slowly and kept the thread untangled across the floor, looping it in a perfectly laid circle behind her. Eventually, the entire bed was coming apart and all of the thread was removed. Underneath the mattress were two leather pieces that she pulled out and examined. She left the threads across the floor and focused her attention on the candle beside her bed. She dipped her pencil into the flame and waited for it to heat. As it began to spark at the end, she pulled one of the leather pieces to her lap and began touching the smoldering surface with the pencil.

The process was long and tedious, but Belle had all the time in the world. She carved along the outline of a sketch she had previously created and decorated it with an old fashioned design along the lettering she designed. After hours of work, she held the leather piece in the air and examined it through the light coming out of the crack of the door. In a single huff of air, Belle placed the leather down and sandwiched her stories and artworks between the leather. She then pulled a needle she'd acquired while the nurse was not looking upon delivering her food and threaded it with the chord across the floor. She pressed a hole inside of the leather in four separate locations and began weaving the chord between the pages.

As she finished binding the two leather pieces together, she held the finished product up in the air and examined it in the light. She slept well that night, with her masterpiece resting beneath her head for safe keeping. Each night, she fell asleep wrapping her arms around the pillow and the book of stories she made, falling asleep with the words "Once Upon a Time" stamped across the face of a leather book beneath her head.