The bright light nearly blinded her and the cacophony was near deafening, but she was unnoticed. Dancers swirled around her to their own beat in erratic moves whilst onlookers observed the twirls of the lavish costumes and gaudy masques. Laughter from the assembled throng echoed around her threateningly, smiles from passing guests stretched to grotesque proportions. An ornate candelabra was the main feature above their heads, sinister in its sharp edges and clarity, and around them decorations glittered in ostentatious celebration. Food was plentiful and drink was flowing. But she wasn't part of this. She was just another decoration here. Her dress more elaborate than any other, everything about her was designed purely to be on show, admired from a distance, nothing more. But over the harsh discord of the musical instruments she could hear a whispering. Her name, but not her name. Belle. Over and over again. Belle. She held onto it, listening so carefully to try to find the source. It promised all her hearts desire's, everything this garish nightmare was supposed to provide her but could not. As she focussed solely on the whispering voice the scene around her faded to nothing until blackness engulfed her, bringing peace and serenity in its wake. Crepuscular, the room erupted briefly in a flash of bright light. The features of the room were thrown into sharp relief before slowly vanishing into the afterglow, revealing a figure sat before her shrouded in the darkness. 'Show yourself', Belle begged. 'You see what you want to see dearie, it's not for me to show myself' the figure whispered hoarsely. He sounded so broken and Belle's eyes filled with tears. A rhythmical sound began from where the figure was, the sound of a wheel spinning and spinning. It filled Belle with a longing, but for what? 'Tell me who you are, please' Belle pleaded in the dark. 'If I'm not to know anyone else can't I at least know you?' Another flash of light illuminated fingers. Long thin fingers, one shaking itself backwards and forwards as the voice replied playfully 'Nah, uh uh! Maybe you just want to know the monster's secrets!'. Belle's sense of déjà vu was increasing. 'You're not a monster' she said, filled with conviction at her statement. The voice chuckled before saying 'You do know me dearie' in a sing song voice. Thunder peeled in the distance and Belle's frustration at not knowing grew, tears now cascading down her face. 'I don't remember' Belle sobbed, walking forward blindly in the dark. 'I don't remember!'
Isobella sat up in her bed, a scream about to burst from her lips. A bolt of lightning lit her room before another peel of thunder followed swiftly on. Trying to convince herself that her dream was no more than a reaction to the weather outside, she failed miserably in this enterprise. Composing herself she switched her bedside lamp on and got out of bed. These dreams were maddening. She knew this man, but couldn't know him. He wasn't human, he was like nothing she had seen before. She splashed her face with cold water. More nightmares. No, not nightmares. I have to stop thinking like that. They're not nightmares; there is nothing in them to be scared of. My subconscious must really be trying to tell me something. Isobella sighed and decided to watch some late night TV, sleep was likely to elude her for the rest of the night. When she closed her eyes all she could see were those fingers, and the memory stirred very strong feelings in her. She settled back onto the pillows as she selected a pointless chat show with some very insalubrious guests who she really hoped were actors, and lost herself in the insomniac's wet dream pulsating from the screen.
As Isobella was preparing her breakfast, the phone rang. Checking the caller ID she saw it was her father. Mentally steeling herself for another lecture on how she should move on, find someone her own age who shared her interests etc, Isobella accepted the call. "Good morning darling, how are you doing?" Maurice asked ebulliently. "Fine Papa, you?" Isobella replied, waiting for the lead in to the lecture. "Fine, fine...I thought you might need cheering up, so I've booked us a table tonight at The Hovel". Despite its name, The Hovel was a high end restaurant, impossibly expensive. She'd been in there many times with Mr Gold but her father rarely frequented the establishment, saving it for very special occasions. "You're not doing anything are you?" Maurice checked. "No, no, dinner would be nice" Isobella replied, relieved at the absence of a lecture. "OK, meet you there at eight" Maurice said. "Sure, see you then Papa".
Isobella looked around the apartment whilst eating. She'd had some of the furniture delivered from the second hand store, but had still to plan where everything would go. Naturally she'd picked the wall by the large window in the living room to put her bookshelf against, and ensconced a large, tattered but comfortable, armchair to fit in the corner between the bookshelf and window. The rest of the room held an assortment of mismatched furniture including some meant for the bedroom, however she'd already placed her bed and a small dresser in that room. She hummed to herself whilst mentally placing and then moving the other furniture. Her clock chimed and she dropped the toast she had been munching. 08:30!... The grand opening for the library wasn't for another few days, but she had preparations to make; deliveries to accept, books to stack and catalogue, and it wouldn't sort itself out. Hurriedly emptying her bag out on the floor she re-filled it with what she would need for the day, and noticed that the divorce papers that had been left in her bag since meeting Gold in his office were now languishing on the floor, a shameful reminder of a life wasted. Picking the papers up she reached for the pen in her bag, and hesitated. No, this could wait. She had a new life to focus on building. She stalked to her bedroom and shoved the papers into the top drawer, intending to return to them when she had a better idea of what she wanted her life to hold, or maybe to forget about their existence entirely until such a time as the subject was forced.
Isobella rushed down the stairs to the side door that connected her apartments to the backroom of the library. She made it just in time to hear the buzzer ring, indicating the arrival of the first delivery of books, which she accepted with glee. Isobella set about sorting through this delivery and preparing for her meeting later on with Mary Margaret. Mary Margaret had suggested to Isobella that she perhaps bring a small class of children with her one evening a week, after school and after library hours, for further reading and for rehearsals for the school plays that the reading group liked to put on about what they'd been reading. The school just didn't have the right...atmosphere to facilitate this, and Isobella had made the library into a homely calm place that Mary Margaret felt would be better for the class. All they had to do was agree weekday evenings and times that both were free to supervise.
Walking to the restaurant that evening took her past the pawn shop. Slowing her pace she could see the faint outline of a light from under the curtain to the back of the shop illuminated against the dark. Wistfully she thought of the weekends and evenings walking to the shop when she would try to scrape together enough courage to seduce Mr Gold, to act out all the little fantasies she created about him in the back of the shop. And that one night she had managed to do just that. Their first kiss. She'd stayed late in the back room as he'd shut the shop up and flipped the sign to closed. When he walked through the back he was surprised to see she was still there; she'd usually left by the back door by then. He'd asked her why she was still there and she'd told him, praying that she hadn't misread the little signs from him. He'd stood like a rabbit caught in the headlights at her confession, dumbfounded, and then pulled her towards him. The following evening at work any mention from her about the previous night was met with cold silence, or a rebuke that he was paying her to work, not talk. Until closing time again. When he locked the door and flipped the sign to closed and nearly knocked her down when he pushed her back against the display cabinets, kissing her passionately. And it became a little routine for them. Strictly business during business hours. But after hours? Well anything goes. Her darkest desires were finally realised. But so careful in front of other people to be nothing more than a boss. She'd finally confronted him, angrily demanding to know why he was ashamed to admit what they had to people, why they had to keep it hidden, what was so wrong with her? And his confession that he wanted it kept secret to keep her reputation intact, he'd been worried she'd be ashamed to be seen with him, to let it be known she was with a much older man, the town despot. She'd put a stop to that; dragging him out on dates all over town. Her father had disapproved at first; insisting she give a relationship with Gaston a proper chance; sure that Gold would tire of her eventually.. He had assumed that because Gold was wealthy and an influential man, and he and Isobella were too different, that nothing would become of their relationship. Isobella was not well travelled, had no money and no influence, nothing to recommend her to a man like Gold, and Maurice had felt that Isobella would be better off with Gaston. But once their engagement was announced Maurice's fears of being permanently financially responsible for Isobella were assuaged. Gold and Maurice were able to hold a shaky truce despite their mutual hatred of each other. Gold had Maurice over a barrel and Maurice knew it. As the town lawyer and a very wealthy man he could easily pull any story that Maurice may plan on running about him and his sometimes less than respectable, although highly legal, deals.
Shaking her head to dislodge the memories she continued on her way to the restaurant. Snap out of it she angrily chastised herself. You've wanted out of that marriage for a lifetime. You've got it now. Sign those divorce papers and move on.