45
It was very chilly in the back of the shop; that was not unusual in itself, for he never liked over-warmed rooms and kept everything in the house and in the shop well aired. The air in the places he liked was always fresh. But today, there was something else to this freshness — it felt like a deeper chill, it went beyond clothes and skin right to her bones, freezing her from the inside — gripping her very heart with desolation and gloom. Filling her soul with a sense of dark foreboding, as if something terrible, something irredeemable was about to happen.
She told herself: 'This is silly'. She saw her beloved husband just a minute ago, and he smiled at her brightly and held her in his warm embrace; he was collected and slightly tense, which was only natural in view of the curse falling upon the town again. Yet at the same time he was strangely elated; he looked almost happy in the face of approaching danger, and she guessed he must have some secret plan to fight it; a plan he did not share with her, but that was only natural too: he was a man and a wizard, he had to have his secrets. He kissed her, and held her to his heart, and told her everything would be well — they just had to survive the night. And, though she would have preferred to be with him when the spell of the Shattered Sight came, for she would have preferred to be with him all the time, after all the curses and losses that came upon them, she understood why he had to be away from her. This evil spell was supposed to wake the worst feelings in everyone; it was trying even for the most harmonious of couples, like Charmings, for example. They were not the most harmonious of couples, her husband and she, even at the best times; she remembered her reaction to the enchanted mirror and her attempt to strike him with the dagger. Imagine what she might do under a stronger spell... No, it was wise of him to stay away from her until the spell broke and his plan, whatever it was, was completed.
He smiled so confidently — she was sure his plan is good. It was silly to be afraid. He left her alone, locked in; but that was just because he cared for her — for her safety. He had a tendency to leave her alone and locked for her own good. That was his way of showing his love.
It was silly to be afraid, and it was silly to feel alone. He was here, in the same town, he was safe, and he was busy — she could feel that he was engaged in some magic.
It was strange that he didn't ask her for his dagger, though. She would have thought that he might need it at such grave hour.
If only it wasn't so cold here! It seemed that she never felt a cold like this. Not even in her cell in a madhouse, where she waited for so many years for the curse to break — and she felt very, very cold and alone there.
'Why didn't he come looking for me while I was kept there?', she wondered suddenly. He must have remembered her; why didn't he try to save her? Did he really, really believe her dead? Surely the Dark One would have a way to check such a thing — he had his crystal ball and everything... But he never bothered; he grieved her, yes, and he was very happy when she came back to him, alive. But he never bothered looking for her and sparing her sufferings. It was easier for him to believe her dead. Dead, she didn't threaten his grand plans. Alive, she was an obstacle for him; she stood in the way of what he wanted to do.
It was convenient for him that she was dead.
What kind of a man would leave his beloved in a cell of a madhouse for 28 years just because he needed freedom to act?
She squeezed her eyes shut, and opened them again, trying to get rid of the strange dizziness that came upon her. It must be the cold and the loneliness affecting her; how could she think such a horrid thing about him? Doesn't she know why he had to be free from loving her while he built his curse? He did it for his son. He did everything to bring him back; his son was the first and foremost person in the world for him, always.
His son — his own blood — was always much more important to him than she. If he had to choose, he never hesitated, not once. He always chose Bae. She always had to accept that; he never even asked, never consulted her, never let her help him. At the slightest excuse, he'd turn away from her.
She was always second best for him. He married her only when Bae died; if he couldn't have his son, she'd do all right to sooth his loneliness...
He never thought of asking her to marry him before. Not when she was restored to him alive, and he gave this fine performance, with tears and shaking hands and mutterings of 'You're real, you are alive...' Not when they made love, on this very bed here; made love when she actually forgiven him his terrible, terrible lie — his broken promise to her!.. No, he proceeded to live with her, as if she was a kept woman, assuming that she'd want nothing but just to be at his side! And whatever she did, however much she helped him, he never even thought of asking her to marry him. He never even told her he loved her — 'I love you, too' is not the same thing! All their reunions were her doing: she wished him to come back from Neverland, she brought him back from the dead, she gripped the bars of his cage when he was imprisoned, she made love to him the moment he came through the door... She even asked him on this silly hamburger date, for goodness sake!
He never did a damn thing to be reunited with her. He was always ready to walk away. 'I must go, Belle, and you have to stay here!' 'Run!' 'Get away from here, Belle!' 'I don't want you anymore!' Of course, he had so many stronger ladies to choose from. Like Cora — a woman that tore her heart from her chest so as not to love him, just how romantic is that! Like this green witch — he must have had a thing for her to stay in her power for so long. He is the Dark One, for pity's sake — couldn't he trick her, couldn't he think of something to get himself free, if he really wanted to be free and come back to her?
Come to think of it, he never even expressed any wish to be with her. He assumed she'd always be there for him; every time she'd try to free herself, he'd get angry and scream 'I don't want to lose you', as it that was enough. He was possessive, but ungracious. He treated her as if she was one of his 'things'. Not a person with a heart — not a woman who loved him.
Ah, but he never really needed her love! Her love hindered him. He always refused it. He pushed her away when she kissed him in his castle; he told her his magic was more important to him than she; he was always ready to say good-bye. She always thought these were just words, that his feelings pulled him towards her despite his words. But clearly she was mistaken — her silliness, her naïveté spoke in her when she looked into his closed face, with his flat, dark eyes, time after time, and convinced herself that in reality he wants her with him.
He just tolerated her, really. He wanted a warm body and a compassionate ear; he never wanted her to love him. And he didn't love her.
Oh well, he died to save her, when he stabbed his father. But it wasn't really to save her, right? It was all for Bae; she just happened to be present there, on that street, as well.
The room was very, very cold now, but she seized feeling the chill. She was hot with shame. She threw herself at him all the time, and he never wanted her. She acted a hero, she wanted to save him and help him — and he never needed that! He was completely, perfectly happy without her. He just accepted her presence. He never wanted her. He happened on her by chance — oh God, she brought him to her father's castle herself, as if irrationally wishing to enter into this crazy relationship! He found her by chance, and couldn't get rid of her ever since.
No wonder he treated her as a tiresome pet or a clingy child.
He never chose her. And, given a real choice, he never would.
She circled the room now, tearful and angry — with him, for being such an insensitive beast, and with herself for lacking any dignity. She convinced herself that loving him was the meaning of her existence! She told herself she was born for that! Everything that happened between them was a lie or, at best, a cruel twist of fate — and she believed it was great destiny! True love!.. Really, dearie, as he'd say!..
Her life had purpose before she orchestrated their meeting. She had plans and dreams. She had important mission in life; she had a country to rule, a family to tend to. And he ruined all that — by coming and taking her away and using her silly infatuation with him he ruined all that; he turned her into a weak, submissive, lonely woman who is so desperate for his attention that she's ready to stay with him even when he doesn't want her. She is ready to twist his every cruel word in her mind until it turns in her favor. She is ready to believe his every lie. She is ready to turn a blind eye on every crime he commits...
How could she come to that? How could she allow it? She used to be bright and proud... How did she miss a moment when she lost herself?
She wished she could tear her heart from her body, so as not to suffer this humiliation — this cruel awakening to the truth of her 'love' for her husband, and his 'love' for her.
Didn't she tell herself, back when he send her away (note this, he sent her away, for the first time in many a time to come!) to fetch some straw, that her love for him is an evil spell? She was right then. Oh, if only she'd listen to herself then — she would have been spared so many sufferings, so many futile tears and silly hopes! She would have been herself still.
How, oh how is she to live now? How to gain back her dignity? How to earn her own respect and how to acquire pride again?
Tears were running down her face now — angry frustrated tears. She was mourning her lost youth, her abused love, her broken heart and all the years spent in blindness of the obsession she thought to be love. She looked around her, and every thing her eyes fell on added to her grief and pain and anger, for every thing in this room was his, and every thing in this room was somehow connected with their so-called love.
That bed, on which she gave herself to him — oh, so willingly.
That chipped cup, which brought them together so many times.
That dagger, which he gave her with a promise to belong to her forever.
Her hand grasped the handle almost on its' own volition.
She raised the blade to level of her face, and whispered through her tears: 'I summon thee, Dark One...'
It didn't work.
She knew it wouldn't work. This dagger wasn't real.
How could he give his real dagger to a woman who meant nothing to him?
And, even with this knowledge, even with all her freshly gained conviction of the futility and falsehood of all their love story, it still hurt... The fact that he didn't trust her at all; the fact that he gave her a fake thing and spoke of love, with his lying, cunning face, with his eyes so seemingly warm and gentle... It hurt.
The pain was so sharp that she dropped the dagger; her legs gave way, she had to sit down and ended on the bed, sobbing aloud, gripping his pillow — just as she gripped it when he was gone to Neverland and she believed him dead, just as she gripped it when he was dead, and she prayed for him to be alive and back in her arms, at any price.
All, all just silliness and naïveté and weakness. All her life — a fake, just as this dagger on the floor at her feet.
She did not know for how many hours she sat there, sobbing, her mind clouded with grief and self-pity. Eventually tiredness overcame her; she didn't notice sleep taking hold of her. She fell asleep on the camp bed dumbly, as if losing conciseness.
Her sleep was dark and dreamless.
She woke up to the gentle touch of his fingers on her tear-stained cheek; she opened her eyes to see his smiling face. He looked happy and peaceful; there was great tenderness and love in his eyes, and some mischief — all the things she loved about him.
The room was bright and warm.
Events of last night, all her tears and self-revelations felt like a bad dream — foggy and near forgotten already.
He told her he had a surprise for her — he wanted to take her traveling. To take her away from the town, which somehow survived another curse, and have proper honeymoon with her.
He was a perfect husband — loving, caring. All hers.
By the time she got up and he gave her some tea, all thoughts of the night before were gone. The memories remained, but they were already distanced; she was under evil spell then, the whole town was. It meant nothing.
He went away to make some final arrangement before their journey, and she started packing her things, as he told her to. She was busy with this happy activity when an unexpected thing fell out of the debris collected in one of the corners of the shop. She didn't register its' significance first — her husband was such a hoarder, she wondered if he himself knew just exactly what he had in his possession. But then she had a closer look at the rusty gauntlet that fell on the floor, and she remembered.
She had seen it before at his castle and, considering the frightening episode, which was connected to it, it was a wonder that she forgot about it. She remembered now, very clearly, as if it happened yesterday. It was a foggy, wet day, and he seemed restless — irritated. It was shortly after the day when she fell from the ladder, right into his arms, and he was so stunned by it and looked at her with such intensity; she enjoyed that fall, it felt so nice to be embraced by him. But right after that fall one of his quirky moods came upon him, and he started snapping at her all the time — distancing himself from her. She took her time, not trying to presume upon him: she knew the mood would pass and he'd get friendly again — he couldn't stay away from her for long. That day he brought this gauntlet from some far kingdom — Camelot, was it, and told her of its' qualities. This gauntlet, he said, could show anybody's greatest weakness. 'And our greatest weakness, dearie, is usually someone we love'.
She remembered it well, for her girlish imagination immediately asked: 'I wonder what weakness this gauntlet would show if used against you?..' But she didn't dare to voice the question; he was in a foul mood, after all. So she went about her chores, and went to fetch the clothing that was drying outside, castigating herself for forgetting about it — on such a foggy day it was bound to get wetter than it was before... And then she saw a lovely little dog, and followed it foolishly, and was captured by some evil witches. And then she learned what the gauntlet would show if used on her master; it was her. He came to save her when her life was threatened. He actually gave up the gauntlet to save her life when one of the witches was ready to crush her heart.
She was very impressed. She remembered his outbreak when the thief (so strange to think that this fellow was Regina's fancy man now!) stole the magic wand, and her future husband screamed that 'his things' are untouchable.
She asked him, then: 'Why do you care for me?'
'I don't', he said, and gave her one of his sad, longing looks. And then, as was his habit, he collected himself and continued: 'But if anyone is going to crush your hurt, it would be me'.
She had thought that he was lying when he said he doesn't care for her, then.
She had thought that him breaking her heart was an impossibility.
He loved her — it was so obvious then, even if she didn't say the words, to herself, she knew now she already acted upon this inner knowledge.
But he wasn't lying when he said he doesn't care for her, was he?
It was true.
And he wasn't lying when he said he'd break her heart.
He did.
He broke her heart, many times over. With his rejections. With his coldness. With his choices, that were never in her favor.
With his lies.
As the whole town celebrated its' happy deliverance from the spell of the Shuttered Sight, which made everyone see the worst in their loved ones, as happy couples embraced, laughing at silly accusations they made against each other, wife of the Dark One stood alone in the middle of his shop, looking at the magical object able to reveal his great weakness, and felt her heart, warmed by his gentle smile this very morning, freeze again.
It was easy for other lovers to forget their anger and their mutual accusations, for they were but lies and trifles. It was impossible for her to forgive and forget, for what she accused him of was, actually, true.
The dagger he gave her was fake.
Everything he told her was a lie.
He never chose her when he had a choice. He never really wanted her by his side.
And, in case she was mistaken or hysterical again, there was an easy way to check it.
She picked the gauntlet from the floor, and looked it over. Such an old and rusty thing; yet he took the trouble to get it back from the witches...
Slowly, as in a dream, she raised the gauntlet to her face and whispered: 'Show me his greatest weakness'.
A man's greatest weakness — a thing he loves most...
As she followed the pull of the rusty thing, as it drove her across town from the shop towards the clock tower over the library, she never stopped to consider her actions — to analyze them... She never stopped to check herself, to remember her goodness or her ability to hope, which he praised so much. She never stopped to smile and tell herself: 'Well, of course this gauntlet cannot show me myself — I am using it... It will show me the next best thing'.
The girl who trusted her heart was gone — her husband's wife, she chose to trust magic.
The girl who always believed the best was gone.
She was ready to believe the worst.
He often said that, when you believe the worst, that is exactly what will come to pass.
He was right, as always.
It was twilight, and stars started to show on the sky. It their milky light the scene in the tower was surreal. Heroes, frozen at the bottom of the stairs. The pirate, his face twisted in agony.
She barely noticed them — her eyes were only for her husband.
He looked incredibly majestic as he stood there, bathed in starlight, his face aglow with power, his body electrified, his hand holding a gleaming heart he was about to crush.
She felt as if it was her heart he was holding in his hand.
The gauntlet twitched slightly as it brought her to a long, darkly glowing thing resting on the floor by her husband's feet.
His dagger. His greatest weakness.
A thing he loved most.
Not her. Never her.
His dagger. His power.
He always found an excuse: his son, his freedom, her safety.
He always found an excuse to choose power over her, and he always would.
She wouldn't let him.
Her hand closed on the handle of the dagger, and finally she felt it — its' immense and terrible power, dark and gripping, boundless; power over the most powerful wizard of the world.
Her husband. Completely hers, finally, whenever he wants it or not.
She raised the dagger, and willed him to obey her, and felt a great coldness of power enter her heart.
