Pain awakened Belle long before the glorious sun crested over the cursed forest the next day. Pale black and blue bruises mottled her marred creamy flesh in an array of hurts mettle out by the unforgiving stone. The flesh was tender and hurt with but the slightest pressure against her skin. Wounds garnered from the toil of yesterday pulsed with every beat of her stoic heart. Her head swam with flares of despotic torment but tenuously settled in the calmness of the black hours of morn.
After the Dark One dismissed her she had all but stumbled in the groping throes of agony down the freshly cleaned stairs. The cleaned spiral of dark desperation, tainted with blood led to only one place she could find solace in the torments of her vastly cruel mistress - her room. The "room", as Cora first mockingly called the wretched place, in so taunting a manner was nothing more than a foul little dungeon cell nearest the long stairwell.
A single, low, insipid flame in a sconce flickered at the base of the ominous stairwell allowing Belle to see the door in the bottomless darkness every night instead of groping about the dark for the maw of her prison. Three black, slimy walls composed the only home she had known for five arduous, hellish years. Nary a chink or inkling or rubble bedecked the thick walls that led up forever to the dark ceiling. Not even rats entered her cell, for their was not a crack or crevice out in the smooth coffin.
The oaken door was at least a hand width thick and stood like a slab of mountain to bar her freedom. Heavy dark iron dotted with steel rivets banded the door like chains over a torso. The portal was locked with a heavy bar on the outside that closed each night when she entered and did not open under any circumstances until the next dawn.
A mean, square window gouged from the center of the ceiling was her only means of light. The reach-less window was arrayed with crisscrossing thick steel bars that allowed only a faint hint of luminance, but never sunshine, to fill her cold cell. When the elements roared, Cora made certain Belle suffered from the inclement weather of rain and chill.
Holes stabbed through the middle of the barren stone floor to let rainwater drain; one thing Belle had been grateful the witch overlooked in supplying her prisoner with such a harsh place to rest.
Cora afforded her dutiful slave no spare comforts to her miserable existence nor after living the first week with the cruel witch did Belle expect a farthing of kindness. The Spartan cell was as barren as the day she had been shoved into the prison and the door slammed behind her. There was not even a plank of wood held by rusted chains or a cool stone slab to lay her tired head after each strenuous day or even a heap of straw to drift away upon. Only empty stone floor that sometimes grew moist and clammy when the rains fell was her bed.
Cold fingers of death nightly plied their way upon the slimy walls and assailed the cage with the fists of frost. Chill rose in a faint mist the stone and permeated the cell like an ice chest. The nights were bitter in her prison, but still, at least the cell was hers.
A sigh of gratefulness pattered from her mouth as she forced her stiff limbs to work from their punishment. She clenched her fists as she willed her aching appendages to move. A hiss oozed from her mouth as she stirred.
If nothing else, Cora knew how to punish a body.
Pulling her worn body into an upright position, the ailing beauty forced her back to the slimy, black wall. Still caught in the throes of exhaustion, she leaned her head against the cool wall. For once the cold was a blessing rather than a curse. Her body felt numb from the hard days toil for at least a few more moments before the cell unlocked and she had to get back to work.
Once she started moving a great deal though, the pain would hit her with all the cruelness that embodied the witch Cora.
Though the thought of the up coming pain made her wince, the blue eyed beauty was more focused on the pain that wasn't there. Tremulously she ran the pads of her right fingertips over her left knuckles. The scars and crusted blood that should have been there were all gone. Tenuously she wiggled her digits before her eyes. The pain was not as bad there though they throbbed every so often if she flexed her hand.
Holding her hands to her chest, the beauty inspected her knuckles through the dim light. Her crystal blue eyes roved over the scars that should have been but were bereft upon her skin.
Moments of the night before flashed vividly in her mind. She recalled the purple cloud of smoke that engulfed her bleeding fingers and shot down to the torn flesh on her knees. There had been no cause for such kindness, but he had healed her. Though he said the healing magic was for un-bloody straw, she dared guess that was not the case.
At the thought, the enthralled beauty scolded herself fiercely. Head down, she tried to shake the contemplation from hanging like a rebellious limpet upon the forefront of her mind. What else could his healing motives have been? He was the Dark One, teacher and lover of Cora the cruel. Healing her suited something he needed not because she was in pain.
Tucking the indecisive thought away for later, perhaps when the moon had risen and she was allowed to crawl back into her cell, the beauty rose. Her back slid against the slimy wall as she came to her feet. Warily she found her balance and rocked on her heels.
Pain sang through her back as she stood. Her back felt like a knife had chiseled away pieces of her spine and lodged them everywhere else along the ridge of her back. Repelling a groan of agony, the brown haired beauty limped vapidly to the door.
Oh yes, she knew emphatically with every step, today was going to be bad.
~8~8~
Today was going to be most terrible, the Dark One assured himself sullenly as he produced another strand of gold to the pile amassed at the end of his spinning wheel. Quite a heap had been garnered from the night before and the long morning of turning the wheel. The mountainous pile of riches was nearly to his knee though the string was not enough; never enough. Melancholy stabbed at his heart with every new inch of glittering gold spun from his hoard.
Cora had not been at all pleased he had not come to her bed in the night, the moments for love making far past their prime. As he lay beside her and moved to kiss her lips, she had given him a shoulder all but coated with a carapace of ice and turned her back to him. He had not come all through the night. The last thing he would receive was a kiss, a token of her love.
She denied her affection, so he found himself spinning early in the morning to drown his thoughts. That too would infuriate her, he knew imperatively.
A hint of amusement curved upon his lips at the thought. But she needed to know he did not hang upon every fiber of her sensual, dark being. She needed to know that in-between her creamy thighs was not the only place he could stave off misery threatening to creep over his soul and drag his spirit to nothingness.
"Spinning again, Rumpel?" Cora's sharp tone frilled with fronds of frigid ice as she appeared in her main hall. A cloud of murky obsidian magic billowed about her form like a sable, heavy cloak made of raven feathers she shook from her shoulders.
Over the years Cora had perfected her grand entrances with magic to stun or awe or provoke terror. She always looked graceful when stepping from the roiling mists like some haunting phantom from the grave.
Flicking her naked hand sharply at the hearth fire bounded to life on the conjured wood. Fires fury roared to being at her mental behest. The sudden flare of heat fanned over the Dark One like some elemental message of her displeasure.
Oh she was angry.
"Old habits, Dearie." He trilled in his impish timbre.
A decidedly dark frown came to her lips making her look nearly frumpy. "Old habits indeed." Her lips curled into a bitter sneer. "What sort of man would rather sit at a spinning wheel than come into the arms of the only one who would have him?" She asked in a venomously syrupy tone. Her lips twisted into a cruel demons smile. "Oh wait that's right, you aren't a man."
He deserved that, he knew as she spat the dart. The barb stung his soul and pierced his heart with the all too true testament. Shoulders heaving in a shrug he took the blow without a hint of pain. They both knew what he was, perfectly well. She was just angry he had not bowed to her desire.
Simmering with ire she waited for him to shoot back a stinging lance of his own. When they got into arguments, their passions were too high to die away. He had left her craving in anticipation and he had never delivered. Now, the time had come to make him suffer in anger and pleasure without relief of either.
Words of battle hung on her tongue, waiting for him to make the next move. A thousand parries and insult flashed in dizzying blurs through her mind awaiting her pleasure to be plucked up and tossed, but he remained silent.
He wasn't going to fight; she knew after a few moments. Head turned he kept at his spinning task. He would let her stew in her lustful rage.
Rage gushed through the vile sorceress at the infuriating thought. Her hands curled into twin fists that clutched the sides of her peach hued gown. Malice coiled like a snake over her black heart and filled the husk with bitterest poison.
The thought of him holding back his snapping tongue did not anger her, but the thought of him winning without matching a single a word to her bout drove her mad. Blood boiled in an inferno in her veins stealing away any calm into viperous vapors.
Angry, she cursed his name under her breath and slid into her chair just as Belle entered with breakfast.
Pinpointing a new target for her anger, the witch focused on the beauty. Her cat-like eyes trailed the girl with branding disdain. A snarl skewed her crimson mouth as she glared at the helpless woman. "There you are slave. Taking your time this morning?"
"I'll go faster mistress." Belle replied diplomatically with a bob of the head. Forcing not a hint of pain on her features she sped up thought her muscles screamed. She was actually early since the pain let her sleep so little, but she dared not correct Cora.
Her mistress looked to be in a riotous temper, something she wished no one, no matter how brave to be about.
Placing the tray littered with good on the table, she doled out ceramic bowls of honey and porridge tremulously.
Swiftly, Cora's mind altered to the new target for her malice. The witch smiled menacingly at the beauty. Her eyes followed the girls every movement like a stalking cat. If she couldn't lay wound to Rumpelstiltskin then there was another she could battered and stab with words to score upon the heart.
"Did you sleep well slave?" Cora inquired in mock sweetness of some tender noble. She tented her fingers under her chin sagaciously.
"Yes mistress." Belle replied humbly as she poured out tea in the usual set. She knew better than to answer otherwise.
The witch canted her head slightly to the right, feigning interest. "And how I are you feeling?"
Belle paused, giving the treacherous question due thought. Her eyes fell humbly to the steaming bowls filled with cream colored breakfast. When the avaricious Cora asked that there was no telling what the correct answer was.
Swallowing her fear she continued pouring the tea. "Well enough mistress." She answered cautiously, praying her answer was correct.
"Oh? Well then I suppose you could do the tower stairs today then?" The sorceress taunted cruelly. A smile weaseled upon her pale face as she took her bowl and placed her elbows upon the table. Vapidly swirling a silver spoon into the mixture she kept her eyes upon the beauty.
Blood drained from Belle's cheeks at the thought. Though the dungeon stairs were terrible, but the tower stars were worse. Blocky and hewn from stone from the faraway mountains the tower stairs were rarely used even in the time of the king that lived in the castle before her.
Footsteps had not smoothed any portion of the stone down. One could get bloody feet from walking them barefoot. In her condition she didn't think she could get a quarter of them done.
Head down piously, the beauty tossed her dark amber mane. "No mistress I could not do the tower stairs."
"And why not?" The cruel witch placed a hand on her chest and feigned shock.
Anger and sadness boiled in rapid tumult in Belle's heart. She knew what despaired words her slaver wished to hear. Biting back her pride she sighed in dire resignation. "Because I am weak mistress."
"That's right." Cora chuckled darkly and took a bite out of the fresh bread laying on a platter before her hungry captive. "You are weak. You come from a realm of weaklings. Your people couldn't stop the rampaging ogres; your foolish father couldn't govern his people whilst a war raged over their heads. You had to summon me because you are weak."
Belle clutched the silver tray with all her might as Cora assaulted her and her people. How dare she say those things about her papa? King Maurice, portly and jolly, was no war miser. He loved peace and made his kingdom prosper from trade. He never wished what happened to occur to his kin and kind. In the throes of war, he did what he thought best. The ogres were bloodthirsty barbarians who reveled in war. Hardly any kingdom came out of a conquering when they needed more slaves and treasures!
Her diligent fingers seemed to nearly break through the gilded silver tray's curled artwork as she held back her own fury. Her tongue bristled with words to shoot upon the cruel sorceress but she held them at bay behind her clenched teeth. She dared not snap back, not if she wished to keep her tongue in her mouth.
Mildly assuaged, the witch flourished a hand in the beauty's direction. "But the tower stairs are fair enough for now. You can start off by dusting this room. Then there is a mountain of laundry you can tend too."
"Right away mistress." Belle breathed a sigh of vast relief past her rage. At least there were no more foreseeable stairs in her future.
Too Cora's surprise the beauty picked up the filled chipped cup that the Dark One used. Her eyes, riveted to the pretty slave girl, followed the beauty as she carefully strode in small, tenuous steps over to the master magician.
"Master?" The word came out tremulously in a question.
The wheel paused as he looked up to her, the witch witnessed from her high backed seat. His black orbs, filled with surprise, fell directly to the cup in her grip, a grip, Cora noticed, was free of wounds. A look of intrigue crossed his face as he took the cup from her grip. Going the extra mile wasn't exactly what slaves were known for.
Silently taking the cup, he watched her as she moved gracefully over to a nondescript, wooden box with a brass knob. Shear and dusters and other tools for cleaning sat in the box.
Taking out a black and white duster she began to clean the odd trinkets Cora had collected over the years. There were dull little treasures and bibelots; vases and sparkling gems of rarest quality unearthed from the veins of their lands, little more than ornaments to decorate the forlorn castle at Cora's whim.
Her body still hurt abominably, but dusting wasn't that strenuous a chore. She was grateful her mistress did not lash another cruel task upon her.
Dusting off a vase near a thickly draped window the beauty carefully made certain every spec of dust was off. If Cora spotted one hint of grime she would make her start over or perhaps worse.
A twitch of pain struck just as she moved on to the next pillar. In that instants disaster struck. Focused on her hurt, her right foot tripped upon the gold tasseled fringes of the trailing drape from a large window behind her. The cords wrapped like vines about her ankle in a loose grip when she took a step making her careen forward.
Desperate not to break one of Cora's treasured things but to stay her fall she veered away from the pedestal. Instinctively, her arms grasp for anything to settle her fall. Her fingers curled over the drape, taking them down as she fell.
The sharp sound of ripping and tearing cloth blared dreadfully through her ears. Light, untainted by red cascaded through the window in luminous hue. Slants of sun filled the once dim room with utter radiance. The expensive drape had once been nailed firmly to the stone, now the window was free showing a pane that were not conformed by Cora's dread magic. Happy golden sunlight shot through the dank main hall, filling the place with cheer long since not seen.
The drape was shorn from top to bottom with a massive tear. Tatters of ancient fabric hung about the wound and fluttered in the cold draft like some fallen banner of a vanquished army.
In an instant Cora was on her feet. Her once mildly soothed rage boiled to overflowing in her heart, sweeping everything else aside.
Fury swirled in a gale upon her visage. Her almond eyes glinted murder of the cruelest sort for her slave. Standing above the beauty like some towering colossus of destruction she stared down wrathfully at her wearied slave. "You stupid, clumsy, useless little chit! You've ruined a two thousand year old drape!"
Head bowed the beauty dared not explain her blunder. She was still weak from the day before, but never would Cora take such an excuse even if she did allow for excuses. "I'm sorry." The strangled words fell in a frightful plea for clemency.
Sorry, she was sorry! This wisp of a girl dared to even speak in the face of her mistress?
"You aren't sorry yet." The witch hissed fiercely, her mouth a ruby line against her pallid face.
Magic roiled like thick puddle of boiling sludge through her veins bursting with sinister intent. Blackness hinted her delicate fingertips like splotches of her dark heart. The crackling of power hummed and snapped visually through the air telling the tale of vast unpleasantness to assail the hapless slave.
"Cora I could show you how to make that sleeping poison today." Rumpelstiltskin's voice broke through the storm of magic like a fragrant breeze whisking the storm clouds away from shore.
The creaking of the wheel paused the ancient cycle even as the words left his lips. "I located the last ingredient yesterday." He finished carelessly, his marble eyes still pinioned upon the wooden spokes as though they held the secrets of life themselves.
Instantly the magic died to a faint hum rather than a roaring gale. Sharps sparks of ebony power crackled against Cora's skin, but none of her magic was directed to anything.
Incredulity marbled her pallid face in haughty insult. "You did not tell me this earlier."
"I wanted to spin." He replied easily, his words taking no care to her ire. "I like peace and quiet when I'm at the wheel and since that seemed not to be happening, I suppose showing you how to formulate the potion is due."
Suspicious fell heavily about the cruel witch like a mantle upon her slender shoulders. Her eyes narrowed caustically upon him though he looked not to care at all if she thought his interruption dubious or not. Certainly he could have waited until she was done beating the girl.
She could tell him to wait, but she knew from first hand experience keeping the Dark One waiting was never a wise venture.
Turning face back to the beauty, a sinister smile traced her mouth. "It's your lucky day slave." She let her hands fall delicately before her. The magic faded from her grip, leaving her spell worn fingers all that remained. There would be other times to punish the girl, she wasn't going anywhere.
Paying no more heed to the girl as though she were a worm writhing on the sun kissed flagstone, she gracefully stepped away. "I'll prepare things in the apothecary, Rumpel. Please don't tarry."
Flashing her delicate hand, she dispersed into a cloud of onyx. The scent of pungent ammonia, the stench of Cora's toxic, hateful magic wafted noxiously through the air in vile fumes.
Astounded, not daring to believe her good fortune, the beauty sat prone upon the floor where she had tripped and ripped the drape all the way up to the top. Her body shook as though she were naked in a snowstorm. Blood pounded through her early in wild galloping. She had been only inches from the worst pain she knew. Was the moment really over? Had she come out with nary a scratch?
Daring to look up she saw no mistress looming like the specter of impending death in flesh, only the Dark One. His skin was a curious tint in the fresh light untainted by red or shadows cape. In the dimness his skin seemed a reptilian's green-gray hue, but in the light he took on the color of glinting gold.
The fiend stood by his ancient wheel, his cunning features warped in intrinsic thought and confusion. His eyes blinked up at the sun shining through the glass then back at the beauty. He seemed even more surprised than she that she knelt there with no injury than she did.
He had saved her from horrendous pain, and both knew that. The only question was why. There was no cause for him to interfere but he had all the same.
"Thank you." Belle breathed out tremulously in a shaken whisper, her words quaking from her tight throat.
Utter gratefulness glowed upon her ivory features, glinting in the shower of untainted light. She knew he had done, and nothing she could say would let him know how thankful she was.
Looking at her, something stirred inside the fiend's oily black heart. The feeling was as a splinter stabbed into the soul, but there nonetheless. His tongue, so glib and clever, felt dry and swollen in his frightfully narrow mouth. Itchiness raked his palms in a blazing sensation that nearly burned. He felt ill kept in his slender gray-gold body.
She was gorgeous in the light. Her chestnut man danced a copper hue in the sun. Her skin was creamy and pale and soft and the contours of her body made his heart leap. Their was something genuine about her, not mutated by magic. Pure beauty.
Her eyes branded against his skin like burning sapphire pressed to his flesh, making him feel every inch of his gray-gold flesh under her lovely scrutiny. For the first time, he realized, she was looking at him eye to eye without dropping her head after a heartbeat of contact.
This was not the humble slave, this was some one else entirely.
Breaking the hypnotic tether of her eyes and his, the monster looked away. "No matter." The words did not come out a high pitched and impish as usual. No, they sounded more human than he remembered his voice ever sounding in centuries.
Rising to her feet, the beauty jerked a thumb to the mountain of tattered drape heaped below the shining panes. "I'll just find a way to mend these." She swallowed tremulously.
"See that you do slave." He remarked, his voice soft as he shook her enchantment off. What was he thinking acting so about her? She was a slave. Showing her favor would not do.
Stalking away thoughtfully, the fiend tried focusing on the potion and head and not on the girl he had saved a hefty punishment, but could not tear her away.
Behind him, her mind in a pulsing whirl, the beauty stared at the Dark One. And for the first time in many years, a faint smile twitched upon her lips.