The aromas creeping throughout the Dark Castle let Rumplestiltskin know that dinner was ready. He found his plate cooling on the table in the Great Hall, and Belle stretched out on a couch nearby reading. Over the last days, her cooking had improved dramatically, no doubt thanks to the cookbooks she found in the library. "You're not eating?" he asked her.
"I ate already," she replied absently, not looking up from the book. He finished his meal quickly, and walked over to peer over her shoulder. "What's it about?"
She twisted her neck to look at him. "It's about this woman, Penelope, and her husband, Odysseus. She stays home fending off suitor after suitor while he has these grand adventures with gods and goddesses. Would you like to sit down?" She curled her legs up to give him room.
Rumplestiltskin sat down gingerly on the other end of the couch careful to not touch her. "You know, most people would say that The Odyssey was just about Odysseus' adventures. Most would ignore Penelope's role; they would say it was inconsequential to the story."
"You've read it, then?"
"It is in my library."
"Yes, well, my father has a large library, too, and he hasn't read most of the books in it. Certainly not fantasy stories like this one."
He held out his hand. "May I?" Belle placed a strand of golden thread to mark her place in the book and passed it to him. Rumplestiltskin caressed the book's cover. "I didn't have very many books growing up. It wasn't until I came here that I had the money to buy books, and the time to read them. So, yes, I have read every single book in that library. Cover to cover. Even the ones I didn't enjoy." He opened the book to the thread marker. "Why are you using this?"
"Back home, I would use a ribbon to mark my place." She shrugged. "I don't have any here, so... I didn't think you'd mind, you have so much of it."
"I don't mind." He picked up the thread, waved his other hand over it, transforming it into a thin gold ribbon. He placed the ribbon, closed the book, and handed it back with a slight bow. "My lady."
Belle nodded her head in return. "My lord. Thank you. Would it be..." she bit her lip. "Could I write to my father? Ask him to send me some of my clothing? This dress really has seen better days."
He shook his head, "No, no you can't write to your father. But I'll see to it that you have new clothes. Warmer ones. Winter is coming."
Later that evening, he spun straw into gold at his wheel in the Great Hall. Belle was curled up on her couch, reading, only a few feet away. Something is different about her tonight. Not just the new dress. He stared at her, trying to pinpoint what had changed. Belle looked up from her book and smiled at him. She's acting like she belongs here. Like this is her home instead of her prison. He averted his eyes, focusing on the wheel spinning. His stomach clenched with uneasiness. Something's changed.