Midnight

Dear Diary

I could hardly get any sleep at all anyway, so I might as well write. I stopped trying not to cry some time ago, and must say it felt good not to have to hold back the tears anymore. I'm alone and cold and frightened, so not the best conditions for sleep, I guess.

I ran out of tears a while ago, or maybe I'm too tired to cry anymore. I'll never see Papa again and I left against his wishes. I just wish I could have explained that I love him more than words can say, would never have left him like that if there had been any other choice, any way at all. Because, yes, I want adventure, but he needs me. But I can't, so I just hope he understands. Forever is a long time for regret. I just wish I'd said a proper goodbye.

Better try to rest a little bit, though how I can, in this cold, dark place, is a mystery.

-#-

Next Night

Well, contrary to common expectation (including my own), I am still alive at the end of my first day at the Dark Castle.

Not only that, I am relatively unscathed (shock doesn't count), though I have learned a few things.

First, puffy gold ball gowns are not exactly the best attire for scrubbing floors, though I can't exactly expect the Dark One to give me new clothes. If he thinks I'm going to ask him for anything, he's wrong. I can clean in this dress, and I will.

Second, I really should have learned to cook before I made a deal to be a caretaker. I'm mentally blessing Mrs Potts for the basic lessons she gave me, back when I could still slip away to the kitchens unnoticed. This way, I at least knew how to make tea (reminds me, the Dark One takes his tea black, with two sugar cubes and lemon. Gotta remember that, I've a feeling I'm going to do this often), which was the first thing he asked me to do when he opened the door at dawn. I'm to serve him meals, so I hope he doesn't mind sandwiches and such until I get better at it. The larder is always full, so I guess I could do a few experiments, see what works.

And third, the Dark One has a sense of humor. A morbid, horrifying one, but still. After he told me everything I'm to do (and taking care of the whole castle myself isn't in itself a very inviting prospect), he added one last order: you'll skin the children I hunt, for their pelt.

And I, clumsy as I am, dropped the cup I was holding in horror. In that moment, I truly believed him capable of doing such a thing, killing a child, and making me..no. He said it was merely a quip, a joke made at my expense, perhaps, but I was hardly in any state to fell insulted. I felt so relieved, I was almost happy.

And then I noticed the cup I had so hastily dropped at my feet. I hadn't filled it yet, so no tea stained the carpet, but the cup, it had a piece missing from the rim. A chip.

I wondered what he would do now. But it was almost anticlimactic, really. He told me it was just a cup. 'Just a cup'! Even if one of the servants back home had done something like that, dropped a cup in front of their master, they would at least have been reprimanded for carelessness. In other places, I've seen worse treatment. and here was the infamous Dark One, not even raising his voice on the matter. He even took the damaged cup and told me I was to serve him with it. Why was that, I wonder? (and again, thanks to Mrs Potts that I could make tea with all this running through my head)

I just wish I knew what he was thinking. He is so hard to read, but I guess I just don't know him yet. I've decided I want him to be pleased with me, if only because his gesture with the cup touched me. He would, in this instance, have been justified in his anger. But he was more than fair, when he needn't even have been that.

So, in a way, I owe it to him to not be what he expected either. I may not be able to read him as easily as I can other people (it's only a matter of time ), but I think he's so sure I'm going to hate him that he doesn't bother to find out if I will.

I'm not sure what kind of a person he is yet, maybe it was just a cup and he didn't care about it , and if I hurt something precious , he'd show his true colours. But it may just as well have been a genuine act of kindness,and I am going to find out, one way or another.

I'm really, really tired, so maybe I should rest.. I've been crying again, I just can't help it. Writing helps. But after a day of work I'm so worn out I just might sleep.

Do you know, I was just about busy enough thinking of Rumplestiltskin today that I was able to get my mind off home for a little while.

I always have loved a good mystery.

Belle