His leather boots clicked as he stalked down the hallway. Knocking down vases, and tearing tapestries that got on his way. Rage and another emotion, one of many that had been long forgotten and reawakened by the presence of that vexing girl. How after all this time something human still remained below, and the Darkness within him was doing it's best to destroy the vulnerable threads of humanity.
The Dark One had a plan. Had, since his research in his various grimoires had revealed a surprising spell. He had been searching for uses for the virgins hair, and happened upon a tremendous spell. One that had the ability to completely alter his life. To fix all the wrongs he had done. To return Bae to his side, so that they could rule together. Surely all of this time in exile had left him yearning for his Father, and even more, his Father's power.
Virgin's blood was only one of the necessary ingredients. His expression darkened as he considered the other necessary elements to the spell. Some would be easier to come by then others, and one in particular would require great sacrifice. He stomped his way into his own sleeping quarters and slammed the door shut behind him.
Belle was not allowed to clean in here. This section had always been off limits to her. For her safety, and his, and truly that of the Kingdom. This was where he stored more of his dangerous magical items, the darker of his magical texts, and the energy of the room was so powerful that when she cleaned anywhere near it, the girl became sad. Had dark thoughts of hurting herself, that she never entertained on her own. When she had voiced this to him, he had forbidden her from entering the wing all together, and it seemed to have helped.
Rumpelstiltsken was used to the darkness. Thrived in it. The curse had greatly altered his ability to process the emotions he was taking in or causing, and the heavy melancholy, rage and hopelessness that were found in this wing were worn by him in layers to protect him from far more dangerous emotions.
Cobwebs lined the corners, a thick layer of dust on the floor. He sat down in his leather chair, and poured himself a glass of whiskey from the decanter on the table, stacked heavily with books and scrolls around the smudged glass he had been drinking from every night for the last several months. He poured it to the brim, and lifted it to his dusky lips, taking a long drink and closing his eyes. Considering the options.
Blood was required, and it was all needed. He could use the magic, but he couldn't trust himself with the rising feelings he had for the girl. The afternoon had revealed that. She had a hold of him. Her own kind of magic, and it was not the kind he was used too or comfortable with.
Squeezing his eyes shut to try and shove the image of the weeping girl he had spent the afternoon romancing, and the rest of his life tormenting. Why had he cut her hair, he wondered, taking another comforting gulp of the alcohol. She had defied him. Ruined the first step of a complicated and devastating plan. She had to pay. She was lucky, he decided, that she had only taken her hair. She would thank him. Or should. Ungrateful wretch probably wouldn't even realize the favor he had done her.
He opened his eyes and set the glass down. Reaching within the trunk near his feet, and opening it. An enchanted hand mirror lay inside. Reaching for the sculpted precious metal handle, the gold of it shining in the faint moonlight shining through the dirty row of windows behind him. Turning it over after a moment, studying the engraved rose on the back and turning it again. Muttering the incantation required to see with it, and muttering. "The girl." In direction of what he wanted to see.
Still awake and weeping, she was curled up into the fetal position. The sight of it causing his stomach to seize unpleasantly, and a sound of a growl and whimper escaped his lips. A horrible shudder running through him. Setting the mirror down where he could still see her if he wanted too, but not wanting to break the enchanted object. It was too valuable, and had aided him in thousands of deals.
Contracts were unbreakable, and he had a contract with himself. There were things that had to be done. There was no way around them, and he would not allow himself to be weighed down by petty moral obligations. He was a Monster, and with such a title came carte blanche to do what you liked. He LIKED this. Didn't he? Of course he did, he reasoned with himself, beginning to pace his way around the cluttered and filthy room.
Justification came easily to him. It soothed the pesky tugs of emotion. A ready balm to calm those times when he thought he had a choice. There were times he had pushed it away. The way he had kissed Belle in the forest. The way she made him smile. The darkness returned again and again, and he had learned early on through his worst days when he had lost Baelfire that reasoning away what he did. Finding excuses, someone else to blame. It eased his pain, and what remained of that was less and less each time he patched himself up with lies, his armor thicker and more impenetrable then before.
Returning his gaze to Belle crying on the bed, and nodding with a slow satisfaction. Pausing as he stood over the mirror. A slow smile rising to his lips. She should be grateful, he decided. With her beautiful hair gone, surely the stirrings within would lessen, he convinced himself. What needed to be done could be accomplished with more scientific steps. The emotions would have gotten in the way. He would have to do better, to keep her from having the opportunity to sway him with her eyes, her lips, her smart, sweet words. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he turned the mirror over and started toward his desk.
The leather book he had pilfered from Maleficent's castle after her unfortunate end was at the top of the stacks of books. Taking it and heading to the door that led to his bedroom. A large bed in the center and he headed directly for it. Setting the book beside him and sitting on the dark green velvet bedspread. His hand running over the side next to where he slept, letting his mind wander for a moment to impossibilities.
Growling a little at his moment of weakness he sharply withdrew his stroking hand and turned his attention to his boots. Yanking them off, and wrinkling his own nose at the smell of his feet. The dampness from the waterfall fed lake and the wool of his stockings, and the sweat from the walk, and the anger had left a smell that turned even his own nose. Belle would wash them out, he knew, and have them back to new quality in no time. She could be counted on. For a slave girl, she was useful. And she rarely defied him. Tonight had been different, but he had requested ore of her then she had expected. And perhaps his bedside manner had been a little abrupt.
It was better this way, he reasoned as he removed the other boot, and both of the soaking, stinking socks. Scooting himself back on the bed and bringing the book with him. Laying down on his mountain of pillows, and turning the page with the spell he had happened upon. An answer to a prayer some might have called it, but he knew better. There was no goodness in this spell, nor in the man that wanted to cast it.
His gaze settled on the words, digesting their meaning again. The feelings mixed, as they had been since discovering it. In the evil fairies neat cursive in black ink.
" Blood Summoning Spell -
- To bring back they who are lost
- Be certain, be sure.
- You must sacrifice
- The blood of the pure.
- An exchange shall be granted
- The life of your seed
- New and enchanted
- Will fuel the spell when they bleed.
- The life of an infant
- Sired by the Father
- The sought one so distant
- A trade of blood not water.
"
He read over the explanation and the details once again, to make certain he had interpreted it correctly. Sighing heavily at the task he knew would be coming. Closing the book and settling down to sleep, exhausted by the days activities. He had to do this, he reasoned with himself as he struggled to find sleep. There was no other way. He need to save Baelfire. He had promised himself he would, at any cost.
All magic comes with a price.
