Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nada. It's very sad, I know.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The sounds of water trickling were perhaps the only sounds that kept Rumlestiltskin sane. Those sounds of the world reminded him of why he was in a cell, and all that needed to be accomplished.
Emma. Emma. Emma.
That name also kept him sane. The savior was meant to break the curse; she would bring him back to the only thing that mattered anymore. She was gone, but his boy could still be alive. Baelfire. He didn't know how many times he had to think of his boy to keep himself going, to keep the plan on track.
A swish, followed by a cloud of white smoke followed. Rumplestiltskin rose from his perch at the corner of his cell and grinned. She was here, and she was always fun. Especially when she was angry.
"Always did have a flair for dramatics dearie." He stated, moving closer to the bars as the smoke dissipated. A young girl stood on the other side, and she gave a sly grin before stepping forward.
"As did you Rumple. Although, I never imagined that you would actually lock yourself up on purpose." She stated, trailing her finger along the bars of his cell. She was probably the only one who dared come so close to him, anyone else might end up dead.
"This coming from the girl who has been a prisoner in this castle for longer than I. Tell me, do they know you can escape your cell?" Rumplestilkstin couldn't help but laugh at the truly offended look on her face.
"My room Rumple. And I'm sure common sense tells them that I can, but that I don't. I placed the spell on the room myself, remember?" She spat, looking a bit bitter about the whole thing, and the dark one only shrugged as if it didn't matter.
"Right, right, you're brother being the King does have its advantages. But what would they do if they knew you were here, talking to me?" He countered, enjoying watching all of the facial expressions she often made.
"They won't know." She spoke quietly, finally moving a safe distance away from the cell. The unspoken was that, they wouldn't care, at least not with the curse nearly upon them.
"The curse- will it…" She trailed off, voice thick with emotion. The dark one himself barely understood, considering the fact that she had nearly offered up her own death not so long ago.
"Kill you? Perhaps…" He closed his eyes for a minute, and then paused. "No. I don't believe so."
Rumplestiltskin opened his eyes to her leaning against the wall of the underground, rolling her eyes.
"You sound so very certain…" She replied sarcastically. "You might be happy to be rid of me, if I wasn't so vital."
He had to admit, she did have her annoying flaws. She was correct, he would be happy to be rid of her. Over time she had come to be similar to a disease to him, or actually more similar to a parasite. Feeding off his energy, while never returning anything of value. He had long ago come to terms with the mistake that he had made in creating her, and he would forever live with those consequences. She couldn't be allowed to die though.
"Correct on all accounts. But how to keep you alive I wonder?" The imp mused quietly, causing her to move towards the bars curiously. He leapt forward, grabbing her hand tight and quickly pouring a purple drop on her palm. The girl nearly screamed, and a spasm wracked her form as she fell on the ground.
"What the hell was that?" She accused, studying her palm. Rumplestiltskin gave a signature laugh of glee.
"An attempt to make you a little more...portable. You're coming with us now dearie. I still have many plans for you dear Aurelie. And you will come through for me in the end." He practically snarled out the last part, while the black hair beauty glared menacingly at him. In a flash she was gone, but the smoke that was left over almost looked purple now, so his lips curled into a smile.
Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes, enjoying what was to come. Leaning his head against the stone he barely registered the sounds around him. But even as the dark curse engulfed him, the smile never left his face.
Storybrooke, Maine- 28 years later
"Daddy?" The voice was like nails on a chalkboard to Jefferson's ears, but that word was even worse.
"Yes dear?" He answered kindly, hating himself for his own politeness. He also hated that she had to be kept inside, all day, with him. And he hated the fact that he couldn't bring himself to just drop her off at the borderline of Storybrooke and call it a day. Damn it all.
"Can you pass me the-" Persephone's voice suddenly caught in her throat, and she dropped her book. She clutched her hand crying out in pain, and despite his own protests he moved forward to help her. Grabbing her hand he flipped it over to reveal a large burn, as if she had suddenly put her hand in a flame. His brow furrowed, and he noticed her biting her lip to keep from crying out.
"It's alright sweetie, it's just a burn." He said leaving her side to grab bandages from the bathroom. Leave her there, like she would to you. A voice said, but Jefferson pushed it away.
"I don't understand. What did this?" Persephone questioned, studying her hand carefully. Jefferson duly noted how different that reaction was to her nature, as he sat down to tend to her wound.
"I told you not to sit so close to the stove." He murmured, pretending to turn the stove off.
"Oh, yes , right. Of course." She said softly, rolling her eyes at herself and her face glazing back over. Jefferson wrapped her hand relatively fast, wanting to be done with this interaction as soon as possible.
"All right, we'll take you to the doctor in the morning. It will be fine until then I suppose." He said, and Persephone nodded in accordance before getting up from the table.
"Oh, what was it you wanted?" He questioned, remembering their conversation before the mysterious burn. Persephone's eyes lifted and went directly to the teapot, and then down at her cup. From where he was sitting the cup looked empty. She shook her head hurriedly, walking and placing the cup in the sink.
"Nothing, never mind. I can't really remember anymore. Goodnight!" And with that she hurried out of the room, sparing one last glance of the teapot. He was too tired to point out that it was only eight o'clock. Shaking his head he shrugged and poured himself another cup of tea, humming quietly to himself. As he approached where they were sitting his eyes strayed to the book she had been reading, now forgotten. He flipped the book over to read the title out of pure curiosity, and his heart stopped.
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll stared back at him. With a yell he threw his teacup at the wall, watching it shatter with satisfaction. The irony of it all.
In her room Persephone could only cry herself to sleep from the unbelievable pain in her hand. And that night she dreamt it wasn't Alice that was trapped in Wonderland, it was her.
A.N: I hope that wasn't too confusing! The storyline will tend to jump around a lot.