Keeping up appearances

Belle found herself back in the dungeon room, unable to resist the heavy blocks of ice that crept down her spine at the command. When she got there, however, she felt the ice melt away. She considered what Rumplestiltskin had said, and found he had told her new-found magic to take her to her dungeon room. He said nothing about her having to stay there. Very experimentally she closed her eyes and focused her mind's eye on the library. Air swirled around her feet, and when she reopened her eyes she was there. Stood on the table in the center, but there. It seemed the commands had to be exact, or she could find ways around them. She hopped down, nimble until her knee buckled, and made her way over to a bookshelf. She might be here awhile, and so might as well make use of the time. It was then she noticed the pages strewn across the cold floor, and the splintered door thrown off its hinges and scattered down the staircase. Tears bit at her eyes as she forced them down and stared at this, her sanctuary now in tatters. She began to peruse the covers on the floor, looking for something about magic, anything. She tried not to focus on the cracked spines, the crumpled pages, and searched for something that might help her clean all this up, or at least understand what was going on.

She carefully heaped the ruined books together, and finally found a book that might be useful (Magical theory, Volume II; Nature's Magic). She lifted it in gentle palms and, by chance, glanced out the window. The first thing she saw was the comforting view that she had gazed at many times while she had been here. Then she saw the dimmer stars she had never managed to pick out before. Then she saw her reflection. It was faded and unclear, but unmistakably her, even with the changes. Her hair was a few shades darker, and more heavily twisted, and her eyes were an even brighter blue, the pupils narrowed into slits. Her skin was mottled but had more gold than Rumple's had, and the scales were more delicate around her eyes and nose. Her teeth were slightly sharper, and stained, but overall not too unpleasant, though there was one missing. She ran her tongue over the soft spot again, and wished she could place her tooth back with magic. Ice danced down her spine; she had been forbidden against such an action. Her hands, now empty since she had dropped the book on the floor at the sight of her own reflection, were taloned and scaled as well (her gloves were missing - she supposed the people at the tavern had taken them, to inspect her hands), and the pads of her fingers as soft as they'd always been. The callouses from her hard labour around the castle were gone. Curious, and hesitant to gaze at her reflection for much longer, she picked the book up off the floor and went to the small cot that had been hers whenever she slept in the library (which was often). She set the book, and herself, down on the feather-filled mattress, and carefully took off her right boot. Her feet, dainty as always, were also scaled, and she was happy to find her toenails were no sharper than before, and only slightly discoloured. She found herself rubbing her thumb over them, willing the discolouration away, as though that would work.

It seemed it did. Her toenails were the right colour again. Perhaps that was how magic worked? She focused on the room around her, and managed to clear up the books without with a thought, reattaching their covers and ordering them back on the shelves. She turned her focus to the door, and pieced it back together and to its correct place. Unfortunately, the exertion made her dizzy, and she remembered what Rumple always used as an excuse for his expensive deals. "Magic always comes with a price!" No wonder he made others pay it. She was exhausted. She lay down, figuring she had nothing better to do, and that book could wait, and closed her eyes. She awoke when the sky was light again, and ice was being poured down her spine again. It seemed she was wanted elsewhere. She directed her magic to follow the command, not liking the way her body got colder when she ignored the instruction in favour of standing up. When the blue smoke cleared the Great Hall was the same as it had been, glass shattered and all over the place, all her hard work undone. Rumplestiltskin, her master again, was pacing with the aid of a staff, and he had a limp she had never noticed before. He seemed worked up about something, but was ignoring her presence.

As she watched him stumble, first this way and then that, she bit her lip in anticipation, forgetting her teeth were sharper than before. She wondered if magic could heal her, and tried, but then remembered Rumplestiltskin's command. "You may not heal any of your injuries without my permission." Dammit. There was another one though, one she hadn't heard but her mind had recorded. "You must heal any injuries I myself receive." Well now that she knew it was there she had to follow the dagger's command. She focused on his leg and, as his left lifted off the floor, she sent her magic to heal it. He stumbled when it came down then, expecting, but not experiencing, pain. As he gazed down in confusion she focused on the hands that had dropped the staff; worn and bloody, the fingernails broken and ragged. She healed those too. It was then that he registered her presence and stalked over, still clad in his leather and dramatic, high-collared shirts. "What are you doing, dearie?" She stared back defiantly, tilting her chin to look him in the eye. "I vaguely recall you instructing me to heal any injuries you receive. I am merely doing what was asked of me." He narrowed his eyes at her, but, sensing no dishonesty, gave an imperceptible nod of thanks. Ah, well. She'd take what she could get.

"We have a problem dearie." He stared at her, still surprised she had healed him. Why would she bother? "My plans are not yet complete, but I can not send you out as the Dark One for people would surely come to kill me. I myself need to negotiate my remaining deals." To be honest, he could just send Belle out looking like him, but he didn't think she would be able to do a good impression of him. And he didn't want her soul to be tainted by the evil his remaining deals required. Perhaps he was just going soft, but he wanted Belle to stay the way she was. She seemed surprised by his definition of a problem, clearly wondering why she couldn't go make the deals, or why they should be done. He expected her to question him, when she opened her mouth but she merely said, "How about this?" And she stepped back (his proximity was clearly making her uncomfortable, and even with her being the scaly one he was still the most monstrous) and waved her arms a little. He was immediately shrouded in magic, swirling and soft and blue, and when it cleared he had scales again. He frowned down at his taloned hands, waved them around a little. He felt the same, but did not look the same. This was the same enchantment he had used on Regina to turn her into a smelly peasant. How in the name of the Gods had Belle managed this advanced feat of magic?

He could hardly tell her he was impressed, though, so he just gave another nod of thanks, and experimented with hand twirls. "Now, dearie, we need to solve the problem of my lack of magic." "Couldn't you just command me with the dagger to do whatever magic you need doing?" "Unfortunately, dearie, the dagger's victim only responds to spoken commands, and I can hardly narrate what I need you to do in front of all those desperate souls now, can I?" His Belle pondered the problem for a moment before she lit up, proclaiming "Perhaps you could command me to respond to the requests that you think?" Dammit, she was good at finding loopholes in the dagger's laws. Had she found the weapon whilst he was still cursed, he would have been doomed. More doomed. Anyway. He lifted the weapon, always close at hand, lest she try to steal it, to test that theory. "Dark One, I command you to respond to all the dagger's instructions, spoken or otherwise." Belle instantly shivered and, to see if it worked, commanded her with his find to tell him why she had. She shivered again, and the words were forced out of her. "The chains the dagger holds over me are cold, and burn through my skin." Her eyes were sad as she gazed at him, and he realised they had been sad since he had first summoned her; he had just been ignoring it.

He regretted, a little, the choice he had made in securing her free will to his, but his son had to be found again, and there was nothing for it. She would have to do as he commanded. "Well now that's sorted, its time we practice your magic!" Belle's shoulders drooped but it had to be done. And so he had her summon all of the books he had on magical theory, and set her to reading. It would be months until she was ready for the more serious deals, the ones more closely linked to the curse where he would need her nearby to use her magic on instinct (with powerful magic and heightened senses, she would see so much more than he would), but that was okay. They had time for that. They had time for everything.

In the following months, about four or so, the two got used to being around one another again. Rumplestiltskin continued to control Belle with the dagger; never asking, always commanding. When she finished each book he had her practice what had been learnt, but ensured she maintained the state of the castle, having her clean it all by hand. He swore her to secrecy and forbade her from using scrying magic, and told her under no circumstances was she to go near her father. In truth, he didn't trust her at all. Whatever Belle had been like, he was sure the version of her under the curse would be very different. Belle, as expected, was exhausted. As the Dark One she needed very little sleep, but Rumple was working her to the bone to learn as much magic as possible, mostly learning how to control and manipulate certain spells. She still had no idea what he was working towards, what it was, this 'Curse' that would find him his son. She was mostly exhausted from all of the fighting, though. Not fighting a physical entity, such as Rumplestiltskin. No, she was fighting herself. Or more to the point, her curse. She saw now why Rumple had been so cruel and mocking all of the time. The magic was a bitter thing, and made her feel sour within her very soul. She feared what was becoming of her, and so each day tried to force the darker urges away from herself. According to the one of the books she had found in the library, the first major thing a person did with their magic (such as stealing or saving a life) would determine what kind of magic would come easiest to them. Belle had used her magic with kindness and good intention, fixing the library and healing Rumplestiltskin, but she was fighting the curse of the Dark One for a grip on her own sanity. At the moment she was losing. She wondered, as she sat in her dungeon (instructed to stay there this time), if a Dark One borne from True Love's kiss had any differing amount of darkness from one borne from the stab of that dagger. Was her magic any different from that which Rumple had had? Or was she doomed to be consumed by it also?