/Mandatory AN: I do not own any of the characters, names or places. Nor am I affiliated with Disney in anyway.
This story is a commission.
Prologue
-Gil-
Gil was 6 when he first heard about the spirit of the widow. He was playing with a pair of dice at a table in the corner while waiting for his father. He was listening quietly to some ragged men at the end of the bar, absently playing with the dice to hide his eavesdropping. People seemed to think he wasn't a bright child. He wasn't a genius, he knew that, but he also knew more than they thought he did. He didn't like to correct them. It made life easier when people underestimate you. His attention was piqued as soon as he heard their gruff voices. Something in the tone of the man's voice was something that took the breath from him. He sounded almost hopeful.
It had been a particularly hard winter on the isle -not that they were ever easy. Everyone had tightened their belt buckles by a few holes and attitudes were rather bleak. The ease and relief in the sound of his voice struck Gil like blow. His ears rung and his eyes unfocused as he strained to listen, fingers still toying with the dice.
"-that old fisher Pete's girl, the one married to that slime-ball Farson's kid, she was so bad off she dun go waillin' to the widow."
The other man scoffed but shot back in a lowered voice.
"She's a fool to go and y'er a fool fer spread'n tales" He hiccuped and there was a pause before he continued.
" Well? Did she get an answer from the spirit, or not?"
There was a small chuckle from the gruff voice. He must have nodded because the other one gasped and breathed
"She did!? What she ask for?"
"Same thing as the rest of 'em I recon. For a curse. Dark magic, that." He spat on the floor.
"Donny says he saws her come trompin' outta the mountains woods haullin' a whole deer! Plenty a desperate hunter combed those woods for years and ain't never seen no trace of any deer."
"How did that wench get the spirit to magic up that? That is if y'er not pullin' me leg again?"
"I ain't pullin' no legs with this one, promise. I don't know how but I says to myself, there's one person who know the answer to that. I asked round the docks today and they live in a shack up by the dump. Why don't we pay us a visit to ol Pete's little girl."
The other villain laughed and there was a clank as he slammed his tankard onto the bar. The two drunk men stumbled out towards the door, and vanished into the night. Gil toyed with his dice. The door to the back room swung open and his father came striding out. Gil shot to his feet before his father made it close enough to drag him out of his seat and fell into step behind him. Gripping the dice in a clenched hand, Gil's eyes swiveled between scanning his surroundings for possible threats and his father's shoulders for the warning of any sudden change in movements. They paused by the door. Gaston looked down over his shoulder at him. He gave the slightest nod before opening the door and striding out, his chiseled chin held high. Gil swelled with pride as he followed behind, he was learning fast how to work with his father. It was easy to learn with his father; if he did something wrong then his father would punish him. All Gil had to do was work out what it was that he did wrong and never do it again.
He was glad for the next part of the day. Walking around with his father and his father's goons collecting payments and other business errands all he had to do was stay quiet, watch his father and follow him closely, but not too close. This gave him lots of time to think over what he heard at the bar and work out what they were talking about.
The girl they spoke of had gone to see a widow to ask for help and got a whole deer! His mouth watered at the thought he had only ever had seafood and eggs, his father got to eat chicken. Maybe he could ask the widow for some meat. He was small and didn't need a whole deer, surely she could spare a little. or better yet, he could sneak some! He could be quiet and he was small enough to slip through windows and was really good at climbing. He just needed to find out where the widow lives. A widow was an old lady whose husband had died, there were a lot of those on the island. Gil ran the conversation over again in his mind. The other man had called the widow a spirit. But, wasn't that a drink this father liked? That didn't make sense, a woman can't be a drink... Can she? The thought perplexed him and started to make his head hurt so he gave up and let his mind run onto other things.