XI

"Have a seat, dearie, you're making me nervous."

Belle had been fixed to the dining room window for several minutes. Behind her, the Master was having his breakfast; she could hear the gentle clink of his tea cup – the cracked one, his favourite – on the table behind her.

"Have you seen this?" she asked in reply.

There was the scrape of his chair legs on the floor, and she felt him come to stand behind her.

Just below their window, the garden lay in the peaceful, enchanted bloom of spring; on the other side of the garden wall, the world appeared to be in turmoil.

Flights of birds, of all kinds and sizes, trekked by in the distance, their winged figures clearly set off against the blue sky. From the bushes in the distance small flocks of animals – deer, rabbits, boars, badgers – burst from the bushes at irregular intervals, rushing across the fields before disappearing again in the shrubs on the other side. All animals traveled in the same direction, running away from the same thing.

"They're fleeing," the Master said pensively behind her, as if he had read her thoughts. Belle could hear him stirring his tea, but couldn't bring herself to face him. In the two days since she had gotten so recklessly, idiotically drunk with him he had acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and she had played along – with some difficulty. "Fleeing, poor buggers," he repeated. "They don't know exactly from what, of course, but animals have keen instincts. All the necessary ingredients but one have been assembled, and they can sense that this world is tottering on the brink, and the suspense is driving them mad. It's almost enough to drive me mad," he added mildly, slurping his tea.

That makes two of us. She turned around and, without looking at him, said: "Looks like we're low on jam," before marching out of the room.

…

Minutes later, Belle crept into her room instead. Kneeling down by her chest of drawers she slipped her hand into the bottom drawer, just to make sure the object she was looking for was still there. It was – and she wasn't sure whether she was relieved or disappointed that it hadn't disappeared as magically as it had appeared. Feeling the shells and string between her fingers, she thought back to a conversation she had had the day before.

"Regina, I don't know if I can do it."

"It has to be you, Belle; you have the dagger, you're inside the castle, and there is no-one whom he trusts enough to get close enough to do it."

"That's what's killing me."

"Did he tell you that you won't have any memories of your old life once the spell has taken place? None at all. You will only have to live with the guilt for a day – less than a day, even. Within hours of making the sacrifice, we will be in the next world and no one will ever know what you did, including yourself."

"You will know."

"But I swear I'll never tell you. You wouldn't believe me if I did. You'll be able to start all afresh."

It sounded similar, eerily similar, to what the Master himself had said to her. But there were many more questions to be answered.

"How would I even leave this place?" Belle asked. "There is no way out."

"I'll think of something."

"But how would I do it?" Belle whispered. "If the Master dies, so do I – the reason I'm alive now is because I'm bound by a deal with him."

"I'll think of something," Regina repeated.

And she had. The mirror lay face-down at the bottom of the drawer when Belle picked it up the next morning, and although she could have sworn it lay perfectly flat there turned out to be something coiled underneath it – a shell necklace.

"Regina," she had said into the mirror, and her friend's face had appeared within seconds. She held up her find. "What is this?"

"It's from a place called Neverland," Regina said, "where the people are forever young and never die. I purchased it from a captain whose ship sails there sometimes. Wear it when you take your Master's heart, and it will keep you alive until the curse is activated."

"Are you sure?" Belle asked, studying the necklace closer. It looked like it could have been made by a child after a day on the beach, braided of long, dry grass and hung with unremarkable white shells that could have come from anywhere. No heavy chain of gold or silver, no mysterious amulets; she could have torn it to shreds between her fingers without effort.

"Absolutely," Regina said, "just put it around your neck and, whatever you do, don't take it off."

"And the way out of the Castle?"

"The Dark Castle is protected by spells that have been cast hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Even after the Dark One's death they will linger for years more," Regina said.

"So I would still be trapped."

"Let me finish. have probed the circle of enchantments he has put in place, and found one way out."

"What is that?"

"The well," Regina said, matter-of-factly. "The well goes deep. So deep that its deepest point extends beyond the sphere of enchantments. I have placed a spell not far outside the castle's walls that connects directly to the bottom of the well – if you reach it, it will transport you outside. I will meet you there with my carriage when the time has come, with the other ingredients. And then you activate the curse."

…

The plan was all set, Belle thought, twining the necklace between her fingers absent-mindedly as she sat on her bedroom floor. And if all went well, she would not have to live with that knowledge for long.

…

She avoided the Master that day, wandering around the Dark Castle by herself for the very last time, retracing her steps of years ago. The dining room where she had first entered the Dark Castle, scared and grief-stricken; the rooms and corridors in which she had dwelled in darkness for years when the curtains were closed, with nothing but the light of candles and oil lamps; the bedroom in which she had cried herself to sleep more times than she could count; the little boy's room, and all the other rooms, abandoned one day centuries ago and now soon to disappear altogether; the large hall where the rose that was Gaston had wilted and died, with not a trace of dust left of it now; the series of rooms full of spun gold, twenty-six when she arrived, one hundred and forty-three now – a fortune that had lain here unused and would now be left behind. So many reasons to hate the Master were strewn around the house and yet, despite the grief and fear she had experienced here, it was the only home left to her and she was soon to lose it too. And with it the pond on which they had skated, the library he had grown for her, the dining room in which they had eaten so many meals together.

The Master spent most of the day in his work room with the door closed – almost as if he, too, was returning to those first years when she lived at the Dark Castle. She didn't mind; it was easier if she didn't have to look at him.

In the evening she had ended up in the library, perched on her ladder and rifling restlessly through her books. Even though there were thousands, she could not find a single one that could hold her attention for more than a moment and take her mind off of what she would have to do so very soon.

From her elevated position she almost missed the soft creak of the library doors opening and the Master coming in. She wasn't sure if he had seen her at first, as he made his way to his spinning wheel. It was a beautiful, soft spring night and the large windows were wide open, letting in the smell of the honeysuckle that grew at the base of the walls; she saw him look out for a few moments, breathing deeply, before sitting down by his wheel, hands moving and wheel creaking in the way that was so familiar to her by now.

"Lovely evening," he called out without looking up.

"Yes." It would not do to let on to her nerves now. She seized a book at random and clambered down the ladder, settling on the couch in an artificially comfortable position, both legs drawn up. As it turned out, the book she had taken was a cook book; she tried to look engrossed, but kept being distracted – by the flickering of the candles, by the Master's movements spinning. Lowering her book, she watched the gleaming, gold thread coiling into the basket by his side. "Why did you never spend all that gold?" she asked.

"One of my more unfortunate characteristics," he said, "is that I never want the kinds of things you can buy with gold."

"Oh." Belle could feel her throat closing up and stood up abruptly, letting her book fall heavily to the ground. "I'm tired," she said, a little awkwardly. "I'm going to bed."

She was already at the door when she heard him say softly: "Good night, Belle."

Belle could not sleep that night, and made no serious effort – she paced, took out the dagger and put it back again, lay down on her bed to stare at the ceiling until another fit of restlessness seized her and sent her pacing around the room again. The doubts and questions tumbled through her head in endless succession until. It was with dread that she looked up to realize that a soft grey light was emerging between the curtains. The first light of dawn.

She crept to the window to look out and her heart sunk to see the lush, green leaves on the trees outside. They had come full circle: it was summer again. And now it was up to her to end her long captivity at last; the Master had brought her here. Belle would get herself out. And she would do it now.

A dry sob broke from her when she opened the bottom drawer. Then she gathered all the resolve she had. She lowered the shell necklace around her neck and took the dagger, clenching it so hard that her knuckles turned white. She looked around her bedroom one last time. Then she stepped out of her room and started down the corridor, off to find the Master.