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In the darkest heart of the Dark Forest, where the trees grow so thick that daylight does not penetrate beneath their leaves even on brightest days lays a clearing; strange, exactly circular in shape, the wall of trees standing around it menacing as fierce guardians. The air here is always cold, the sky clouded; the place is ever silent. Even in summer, the clearing is covered with snow, not bright and virginal, but grey and muddied. No one ever comes into the clearing: humans cannot find it, and birds and beasts in the wood fear it, so no one ever stirs the snow – no one clears the spot in the center of the charmed circle. No one knows that exactly in the center snow conceals an entrance to a dark cave into which no light had ever entered.
It does not seem natural, this clearing, and indeed it is not; it was created not by nature and not by human hand. Great magic happened here thousands of years ago, in the days long past and best forgotten; for it was dark magic, spurned by darkness itself: it acted out of the wish to find a way into the world – to create a messenger that would carry out its' will. A human endowed with the greatest power in the world, all of it dark – that was what darkness wanted; that was its' plan, and it seemed to have no faults, for darkness has watched humans for a long time and knew that for power they would sacrifice anything. It had no difficulty in finding a human to act for it – a tribal magus, whose restless mind has been long seeking the limits of knowledge, – even though it warned him that the price of power is steep; he'd have to sacrifice his soul, and to give up his body so that it would become the vessel of darkness within. The magus concurred, gladly. But darkness underestimated its' servant; he was cunning and, sensing the danger of the deal, he created the tool that might control him, and with which he would be able to pass on his power to another human if need arose – the price of the exchange being the initial price of the deal: a human life.
The darkness had to accept that; it had no doubt that its' aim would be achieved anyway – it knew the darkness of human heart, and knew that all thoughts of control would leave the man possessed with power.
The magus entered the cave, and spilled his blood on the stone in its' center, and smeared a dagger with his blood, so that his name appeared on the blade, binding him and darkness forever; and the deal was done, and a man gone, and a new force came into being.
Thus the Dark One was created, and with him, his dagger.
For thousands of years they walked the earth, creating havoc and grief. For thousands of years darkness gloried in its' victory, watching as wizard after wizard succumbed to it; watching as, when mortals had a chance to control the Dark One, power over him corrupted their souls.
Darkness triumphed.
But then, one day, something unforeseen happened. The Dark One that possessed the power for over a century decided to pass it on, and choose for that a man despised by everyone, a man whose soul was desperate and life haunted. A perfect candidate, it seemed, but for one thing: his heart was full of love, his reason for accepting the darkness was a wish to protect his loved ones – to protect all innocents in the world.
For the first time in eternity, the darkness met an obstacle; the man who became the Dark One resisted the power that was given him. With all his will, he tried to remain human and to control the darkness in his heart. Of course the darkness could not accept that; it fought with its' servant, tried to bend him to its' will. Over and over again it challenged him, pushed him deeper into despair and rage. It took away his loved ones, it clouded his mind, it exploited his every weakness; it made him the loneliest of men. And still he resisted; still there was hope in his heart, and vestiges of kindness, and still he loved, and sought redemption for his sins, his darkest crimes serving but one end – to redeem the greatest mistake he ever made, a betrayal of his son. A mistake orchestrated by darkness, of course; a mistake that made him more committed to love then ever before – so given to the power of love, in fact, that Love itself found a way into his life.
The darkness could not stand it; it had to punish the rebel, to bring him on his knees. The Dark One must serve the darkness; if he does not, let him fall – many humans would eagerly step into his shoes; darkness will have no difficulty finding another man to serve it. It gathered its' force, it sought help of all the dark hearts it possessed, and it brought its' mutinous servant down.
Or so it thought for, just as at the very beginning of things, darkness underestimated a human it used.
The Dark One fell, but he triumphed in his fall. He died with a heart full of love and light; he died in the name of love, and stepped into the light, sending darkness, which hoped to roam the world freely when he disappeared, back into the place where it all started – back into the prison of the dark cave in which the initial exchange between darkness and a human took place, back to where the first soul was sold for power.
So in the darkest heart of the Dark Forest the clearing lay, deserted by all life and covered with snow, only sound around the whisper of the cold wind. And under the snow, an entrance to the ancient vault was hidden, sealed forever. And in the vault itself, in its' black depth, stood a stone, once covered with blood of the first human to serve the darkness. And on this stone lay a dagger, a dagger that controlled the greatest wizard of the world – a dagger that had never before returned to this place. It had no one to control now, and its' blade was supposed to be clear of any writing. Yet the blade that lay there, in the depth of the secret cave, still bore a name of the last man who possessed the dagger.
'Rumpelstiltskin'.
It lay there silently, emanating a weak, shimmering golden gleam.
A ray of light in a place of eternal darkness.
Darkness watched it in awe, unable to vanquish it, trying to figure out how it happened.
The first man who gave up his soul and his body sealed his deal with darkness with his blood. Every Dark One after him sealed the continuation of the deal with blood; murder committed with the dagger was a sure proof of readiness to serve.
This man, this last man, who proved so difficult to rule, used the dagger to kill himself. His blood, spilling on the blade, broke the deal – changed it forever. The power has come full circle, and came to a stop. His blood, changed with the first magus's potion, showed the dark power the way to the place of its' birth; and here it stays, the dagger both its' lock and a key to it, paralyzed.
And the dagger still bears a name of the man who held it last, for he is still its' master; no one took it from him.
And the dagger glows in the dark for the force with which the man broke the cursed circle was light. It was Love, over which darkness has no ultimate power.
So they have reached an impasse, the darkness and its' rebellious servant, dead now but still not yielding to its' will. He sacrificed himself, and broke its' power. He imposed his light onto the heart of darkness, and darkness has no choice but to suffer it, for it can do nothing.
He mastered it.
He rules it, now.
So the darkness lingers around the dagger, fearing its' power, shying from the light. It senses that nothing could be done about it. It is a force in itself.
It is, somehow, alive.
Darkness has no way of knowing it, for it has no understanding of the way light works, but it is right: the dagger is alive, in a sense, for it contains a loving soul.
All thoughts of the man dying were of love – he was given to it, wholly. Love filled his heart, love was the force he used to conquer darkness, love gave him strength to bear his pain; so it is his love that went to rest in the magical blade – his love that keeps his name written on steel.
His love is alive, and he is alive with it. Not his mind, this human thing with its' reasoning that always interferes with purity of feeling; not his mind, that would have been filled with regrets and pain. His soul, which knows only the truth. It smiles as it senses how puzzled and defeated darkness is. It smiles as it hears the darkness whisper, trying to convince him, trying to lure him on its' side: 'Darkness is not only gloom and misery and rage. Darkness is bliss of oblivion. Darkness is shelter for the suffering. Darkness is the warmth of the night that envelops lovers'.
'Stop talking, it is futile. I have seen the truth, and I know it', his soul says. And the darkness seizes its' whispering.
And the dagger glows quietly in a place where no light ever shone.
And, knowing it can do nothing with this alien thing trust into its' place of power, darkness goes to look for other ways to re-establish its' supremacy. It goes to search what it knows best – human hearts. And there, naturally, it finds what it wants.
It finds a heart of a woman so bitter and greedy for power that darkness is amazed their paths haven't crossed before – this woman should have been the Dark One, her heart is desperate and malicious enough.
This woman would help the darkness to triumph, again; she'd be the driving force of what darkness has in mind. But this woman alone is not enough – she is too selfish, and a sacrifice is needed so that darkness could reign again.
So darkness searches further, and finds what it wants. Two hearts full of love, hope and pain. Two hearts eager to sacrifice anything to bring back the love they lost.
The very love that glows in the vault, disturbing the order of things.
Darkness smiles. Human hearts – you can always count on them. They never fail to fall for pain and longing.
The rest is easy.
Two loving hearts follow the call of the love they seek to redeem. His son, and the love of his life – what could be better? One evil heart leads them and 'helps' them. A woman who is obsessed with him, and she is a magical being, impossible to defeat – better still.
Finally, the stage is set.
A man desperate, ready to give anything to achieve his aim – just what darkness needs.
He gives his soul, and the dark circle starts again. He gives his soul, and the deal between humans and darkness is renewed.
As the snow on the clearing melts, as the doors of the vault start moving, opening, as the magical forces rage around the stone on which the dagger lays is suddenly flooded with blood – the original blood, brought back by the new sacrifice. The dagger drowns in this blood, its' glow vanquished, and then slowly, menacingly blood changes into the thick dark liquid, and it starts raising up and up, towards the surface of the clearing, and as it goes up, it gradually turns into flesh, and flesh acquires a mind, and mind fills with anguish and pain, with reproofs and regrets, with fear and longing, it fills with love and loss, it fills with a silent complaint: 'Why did you wake me up with your cruel gentleness? I rested in piece'.
And with flesh resurrected and heart full of pain, a new Dark One is born.
Still the same man who fought the darkness and conquered it; his dagger is with him, and it still bears his name. Still just as stubborn, perhaps, but it is of no consequence now: he is vulnerable – the darkness has seen to that.
It does not matter that he robs the darkness of the sacrificed soul it needed, absorbing it into himself. It is temporary, and it is a desperate act of a man full of fear and sorrow – so in itself it is a gift to darkness; another way into a soul that used to be so relentlessly resistant.
It does not matter that his heart is lurching towards the terrified girl whose blind faith helped the darkness so; her heart is full of horror and regrets, her love is tainted – he will not be able to draw strength from it.
His strength, his determination and his commitment to goodness do not matter at all, now, for darkness learned from its' mistakes; ah, that is the best part of the plan – darkness is proud of itself… It could not defeat the man in the past, could not break him completely; battered and bruised, he still went free.
He will not be free now. He will be controlled by the heart purely evil and dark and, resisting and tormented, he would still bend to its' will – he would do what darkness wants.
Serves him right for two centuries of humiliating his master.
If you cannot control the Dark One, give him to a dark-hearted witch to play with.
A perfect plan.
A man on his knees, in the snow, screaming with pain, torn apart by loss and madness; so much better, so much more satisfying for the darkness than that silent, peaceful dagger.
The night grows still, the magical forces stop raging. The clearing is deserted again.
Darkness closes the doors of the vault; its' gloom shall not be disturbed any more.
The Dark One is restored to the world again, and his dagger and his power will not return here, ever.
