The deplorable steps of ageless time the cruel Cora punished Belle to scrub were long gray slabs cut from the craggy rock of the cold earth far beneath the keeps gilded surface. These steps leading to the foul dark dungeons of the witch were never hewn for smoothness like those in the castle proper. Jagged edges and grainy striations with the feel of razor steel along the barren skin heavily lined the rock. The stairs descended in a long spiral leading to the sordid bowels of the keep like a throat leading to the stomach of blackest Hades.

Torches few and far between sat in their mold strewn niches along the walls of the plunging coil. Low flames bickered sharply in their stone pew as frigid drafts of hopelessness gusted through to the blackness of the dungeons. Light bore down insipidly upon the gray stones and turned the shadows into cutting daggers in midst of the dimness. Once the stairs reached a certain point even the flames were not enough to bite back against the prowling blackness. Darkness ruled the territory of ill hope and lorded little rays to penetrate the deathly kingdom.

The dungeons had been no place any criminal wished to find himself when the castle was governed by the true king and even less so with Cora as mistress of the accursed stronghold. Death called the cells home and offered no respite of gladness in the eternal black.

An exhausted groan tumbled poignantly from Belle's mouth as she dipped her stiff fingers back into a wooden bucket of gray, cold water. Dirty suds sloshed over the notched wooden rim, adding another sopping mess to her drenched golden dress.

Pain throbbed pointedly throughout the beauty's entire body in pulsing torment that racked her worn figure. Her back pounded with agony from being bent over so long on her enormous task. Her knees were raw and red with the epidermis long gone. Heaviness burdened her slender arms as though boulders were clapped to her appendages and her muscles burned with lashes of fire.

Blood tinged the pallid skin of her knuckles telling that her knees had not been the only ones to succumb to the rough stairs. Cora in her ever cruel state of being did not have mobs of scrub brushes. She allowed her servant only rags in which to task her toil for the maximum pain she could instill upon her slave girl while she tended to other matters of magic and malice.

The coarse, hard stone like the mistress who owned the keep, was merciless upon her body.

There had been no reprieve all the day, for Cora had conjured her luncheon and supper to her alone, leaving Belle to tend the cruel chore without an inkling of rest for body or spirit.

Pushing away the thought along with the regret that welled in her tired heart from her abject stubbornness, the beauty focused on the last of the strenuous task. Her scarred fingers, white and shriveled, gripped the mass of filthy brown rags in a frigid vice as she scrubbed with what little strength still remained in her body. She had to keep going, if just to save more pain in the ever looming future.

Steadied by the thought, her body rocked with the rhythmic motion of painful toil. She had to finish, she had too.

Abruptly, her hand slipped from the dirty rags hold. Her knuckles slammed into the slab of stone before the one she tended to in a sharp rap. The rough stone, unforgiving did the job the mistress desired well. Hot, blistering pain erupted in her openly bleeding knuckles like salt in an open gash.

Biting down on her bottom lip, the beauty forced away tears from her azure gaze but dared not stop. She was nearly done and Cora could very well tell when Belle dared to rest. Every tenuous breath she took when not scrubbing was taken in peril, for Cora was not a woman to disobey in word or action.

A droplet of hot blood streamed from her lips as the pain boiled in her hands, but she did not cry out. Doing so would give Cora the cruelest of satisfaction.

Tears brimmed hotly in her sapphire orbs as she worked through the abject pain in her miserable lot. Her tears fell in scalding drop upon the damp, blood tinged stone and trailed down her cold cheeks in trails of warmth taken quickly by the winds. "Almost done." She whispered beneath her breath to spur herself on. "Almost."

Finally, after an entire day she came to the end of the last stair. Cora knew the stairs could be finished in a day from dawn to twilight of hard labor. There could never be an excuse that the steps were too many. She expected them all to be done and some days for Belle to be finished early.

Fatigue shuddering through her skinny limbs Belle stood up, her chore finally at the close. Her burning extremities trembled with a vicious quaking from being in one position so long. The muscles rebelled to her movement. Her legs felt like jelly and trembled in peril of dropping her.

Wobbly, she leaned her slender form on the cold black wall for support. The coolness of the stone did little to dampen her pain, but the frigid stone felt good knowing her work was at its dusk. Her bones popped in protest and her back screamed as she acclimated to standing again.

Finally, she was done, her punishment over.

Tiredly, she let the rags fall into the black, blood stained water. The last of the filthy liquid sloshed over the rim and into cracks forged upon the stone, but the beauty was beyond caring. Coalescing her flagged strength like remnants of some broken glass, Belle clung to the wall and lethargically climbed the winding steps she'd been bound to scrub. Her worn hands glided over the smoothed stone to lead her path and steady her limbs. Once or twice she stumbled but she refused to halt. Even then Cora could have been waiting to ambush her and punish her again for resting.

Such was her existence. For surely her being was no true life.

The temptation to simply crawl in her cell down at the end of the steps tugged the cords of her heart, but she could only go when Cora dismissed her. The witch would probably never let her sleep again if she did something so blatant.

Her only hope now was Cora did decide she could do little else. But then again Cora would never be so kind. There was always one more task with Cora, one more burden upon her slaves back to see when she would stumble and bend with the weight upon her shoulders.

Dispirited with thoughts of the cruel witch, another name came to mind in her weary brain; a spear of light through the murky slough. Though the thought was odd, she hoped that the Dark One was there instead of Cora. Perhaps he would be kinder than his malicious lover.

~8~8~

A yawn fled Cora's ruby mouth as she stoppered the last vial of a new potent serum in her apothecary.

One room her slave was never allowed to clean, the apothecary was a place where she could harness the magic's that could be bottled like Rumpelstiltskin had taught her all the years before.

Wooden shelves that shot high to the towers spire lined the stone walls. A window she'd once dared look down from the dizzying height in her peril was paned with crimson glass. The fireplace glowed bright, casting the room in enough brightness to work by and enough to keep the darkness close. Stone work tables of ancient days sat upon the center and vellum tomes scattered about the corners and edges of the table.

A gnarled wooden perch of beech made for her pet crow sat nearest the maw-like stone hearth. Upon the top of the twisted timber, a bird of blackest ebony sat hunched into the darkness. The oily sleek feathers mingled with shadow and cloaked the fowl in treacherous sable. His beak even was a glossy onyx revealing no hint of him from shadow. Only the golden eyes could be seen when he opened the lids to his demonic sight.

Once the tower was a prison she was meant to spend her last night with a spinning wheel and a heap of straw and now the room was used to surge her devious plans and trades onward.

There was a certain poetic irony in the thought that made a smile twitch at her pursed mouth from time to time.

Spell worn fingers delicately pinching the neck of the bottle, the witch held up the phial to her cat-like gaze and she inspected the powerful concoction freshly brewed. The amphora's thick glass glowed an iridescent green. Syrupy fluid that roiled and popped, bubbling hazardously. Tenuously she swirled the contents and cocked her head to the left to inspect the liquid closer.

"Elixir of Saproot." Rumpelstiltskin expertly snatched the phial from her fingertips as he appeared in the tower all in the same smooth motion. Purple smoke still misted away from his gray-gold skin from his impromptu arrival as he hefted the bottle plucked so quickly from her hands.

An impish smile of mischief tilted his lips as he held the bottle precariously by its brown cork. His free hand unfurled and displayed the bottle like some peddler hawking expensive wares. "One drop can easily lay a dragon low." He tittered with glee.

Holding back a sigh, the witch stared at him with an inkling of frustration. Her lips pursed in an unpleasant line. "I see you're back." She snipped tartly. "Did you enjoy your trip?"

"A trip to Wonderland is never enjoyable." He remarked crisply, his voice disapproving and humor vanished. His hands fell back to his sides, his jester's wit forgotten. Bereft of all humor he turned from her.

Out of all the places he could go, Wonderland was his least favorite. The topsy-turvy place evokes memories of his son he'd rather soon forget.

When he'd first garnered magic, he had taken his son to the wild, unforgettable land. The wide eyed lad had experienced an entirely new world, most would never dream of. They had enjoyed a day of fun watching the strange creatures from afar and spying the animals that called the place home. The realm of oddities indeed left a sore spot that would never heal drilled upon his heart.

Unfortunately, magical items he could not collect in his realm all seemed to flourish there. But then, Wonderland was the land of ironies.

Sliding her hands against his thin shoulders, the witch grinned lasciviously up at him. His body tensed beneath her touch, helpless to the pads of her fingers. Her fiery eyes smoldered wantonly as her body closed in to his. Behind him, she leaned her head upon his shoulder. "Well, I can help you with that." She ran her thin, dexterous fingers against his brocade vest teasingly, touching each silver button, her words alluring from her scarlet mouth.

Slowly so that she would not get the wrong idea, the fiend broke apart her hold. Bedding her now was the last thing on his mind. He couldn't, not with so many memories swooping through his head. "Not just yet, Cora." The Dark One replied mildly.

A glimmer of abject fury sparkled in her eyes at his rejection. How dare he spurn her advance. "Already tired of me Rumpel." Offence laced her bitter tone.

"Never that." He assured faithfully. "But there are things in Wonderland I'd rather not recall.

Displeased knowing stamped across her narrow features. "So you're going to spin?" The words brimmed with bile laced accusation. Why was the matter so important for him to spin? Why did he have to forge useless gold? Why would he chose his spinning over her?

"A little." He tried to assuage her offence. "Then we can move on to more pleasant matters."

Her lips curled into a tight grin. She was angry, they both knew, but there was no way she could make him not turn his wooden wheel. There was a better chance in the sun plummeting from the sky and crashing into the moon. "Alright. As long as you're down there tell that worthless slave she is dismissed for the night."

Turning upon his heel, the fiend crashed his lips into hers passionately. A he pulled away, he departed much better knowing Cora awaited him at his leisure. Though she was angry, they seemed to make fantastic love when one or both of them was enraged. But at the mention of Belle, his thoughts diverted to the night ahead. There were still so many questions he had about her. Part of him wished to ask Cora, but he knew that unwise. First he wanted to spin and then ask about her slave girl? No, not even he was that brave.

Winding down the castles labyrinth halls he finally made it to his wheel. Just as he entered from one door, so did the beauty.

Surprised, the fiend too a step back at her sudden entry. Uncertainty twitched against his skin and crawled across his flesh. Even though he knew she was near she managed to off kilter him with her sudden presence. Something about her made his dark heart leap and that was no mean feat.

She looked terrible, he witnessed at first glance. Pale, crusted blood splattered the dirty gold of her tattered finery of days long gone by. Large splotches of her essence congregated at knee length of her ruined gown. Her legs all but trembled beneath the dull gold rags of her gown. By the look of her all she wished was to crawl into some corner and curl up with her wounds.

"Do you need anything?" She asked softly, her words all but begging him to say no. In her condition she couldn't do much.

As she padded closer to the well the fiend could see the extent of the damage her punishment for disagreeing with Cora had wrought. The skin on her knuckles was all but departed, leaving mottled red streaks and vibrant blood upon pale pink under-flesh dappling the torn skin that remained. Her knees had to be killing her, he knew but could not see but for the red splotches on her dress and a few places of fresh tears from her laborious toil.

If the blood was any clue to go on, for her to stand must have been utter torment. How her back must have screamed and her bones ached. The work Cora gave was back breaking labor meant never to be tackled and reaped no reward of any sort. No one was trying to impress a king with stairs that descended to a foul prison of no return for most. The work was as much inward punishment than outwards; all her hard work, all her blood would never matter. No matter what she believed none of her cherished spirit mattered. That was the price for defying Cora.

Staring at her enraptured in misery, he might have been tempted to feel something for her if his own demons were not rising from the crags of his tired mind. Being in Wonderland evoked terrible memories from him. Memories he cursed and cherished all at once.

Shaking his head faintly to rid his features of surprise, he strode over strongly to his wheel. He had been gawking like a village simpleton at her as his mind worked. "Fetch me a basket of straw." The fiend eased down to the stool by his wheel. Wood creaked under his weight as he made himself comfortable. "Then you are dismissed."

Nodding, the amber haired beauty turned and set to task. At least he wanted nothing major. In her state she didn't even think she could make a pot of tea.

Her body flinched as she took a step towards the door. Pain shot all through her body hitting every nerve and stiff joint rusted in her figure. Cora did not mean for pain to be a brief assault, she meant pain to last for a good while upon those who displeased her.

"Wait." His rough voice warily stopped the beauty. Staring hard at the spokes of his wheel, he sighed as though giving into to some inward thought. His eyes burned holes into the wooden wheel. Bae would have wanted him to, he excused to his depravity. "You're apt to get blood all over my straw the way you are." Waving his hand, magic came eagerly to his service. The darkness that lurked within barked at his sudden action, but he chose to ignore the vileness coiled about his ugly heart.

Magic hummed through the air in a wave of power. In an instant purple mist enveloped the beauty's hands.

Hands out forward, Belle watched in amazement as she felt warmth from the fog of damson seep into her flesh. Skin tingled with an effect never before felt. Through the mist a light aura tinted her hands. She could feel skin coming together and settling.

The feeling lasted for but a tense moment before dying away. Slowly, the mist trailed away, taken by the frigid draft of the keep.

In a blink of an eye the raw, scarred skin on her knuckles and knees was healed. Flesh, full and whole and without gnashing agony lay once more renewed on her body. No raw pink was to be seen. A bit of pain still lingered from the cuts and gashes but not the agony there had been.

In awe, she turned her hands over and over. Each time she expected to see gashes and marks an each time she saw renewed skin.

Before she could turn around to thank him he snapped. "Get to work slave, I don't have all night!"

Obediently, Belle dove to her task. She flew down the darkened hall like a flitting ghost upon an errand from hades maw. The firelight barely had time to dance in her chestnut mane as she floated on his behest. Her mind swirled with shock as she gathered bushels of straw from the simply stone room and stuffed them into the basket. For a brief moment in time she had thought the magic might have been a dream, but with every ticking minute the lack of pain in her hands and knees told of the magic wrought upon her scarred skin to seal her wounds and deliver health.

In no time she was back in the main hall of the mistress, a light wicker basket heaped with straw swinging on her arm.

Placing the basket by his wheel, she fought back a hiss of pain as her back throbbed. He hadn't taken all the pain away and that area would certainly hurt the worst for the next few days.

Swallowing down the large lump of agony she backed away. Her healed hands clasped in front of her in silent inquiry she dared not speak aloud.

Though her body throbbed in torture she could not help but notice is despondency. Sadness laces his visage as he plucked up stalks of golden straw and shoved them into place along his wheel. Melancholy surrounded him in a shroud, but what could make the most powerful man alive so plaintive?

"Is something wrong?" She dared to ask tremulously, unable to keep her insatiable curiosity at bay.

His spindly talons stopped before making contact with the wheel. Surprise sprang in him a second time laying him low. He thought he had hid is emotions quite well from the hard world before his pain. Cora hadn't been any wiser in the face of his lugubrious nature.

How could she, this assiduous slave girl, so easily discern his listless feelings?

"You still got blood on my straw." The Dark One muttered sullenly, looking for any excuse. Head bowed, he stared intently upon the wooden wheel as thought the ancient spinners tool would burst into flames.

A ruddy blush involuntarily tinted her cheek. "Oh."

"See that it doesn't happen again." He growled dangerously in a sneer, his mind unsure why he had just taken the raw skin away. Cora would most certainly have not condoned the near kindness he allotted to her rebellious slave girl. She would have been furious to know he had done such a thing.

Tossing the though away, the fiend flicked a dismissive hand at the beauty. "Away with you now."

"Oh… yes of course." She bobbed a deferent curtsey. "Good night, master. And… thank you."

Staring at his wheel he pretended not to hear. Gazing at the hypnotic spinning spokes turning in their mindless blur to weave away his pain, his mind ambled away with the thoughts he was trying to forget and why he had healed her.

For the life of him he could not discern why.

Perhaps he would have to let Cora down and not come to bed as once claimed, he supposed as the straw transformed into a strand of glittering gold. The cord twisted upon its way down to the floor, much like his expectations to bed the witch. Tonight looked to be a long night of drowning thoughts and contemplating others far more troublesome.