Belle had the strangest feeling ever but she couldn't quite put in words. It was as if something had gone wrong, except that it hadn't. There really wasn't anything she could remember that was off. Just an ordinary day, predictably – and, in truth - enjoyably plain, yet the girl failed to shake off the gloomy feeling of something being out of sorts.
She stretched leisurely beneath the sheets and suppressed a yawn. It did feel early but Rumpelstiltskin wasn't in bed. Perhaps, it was his absence that woke her up. She got alarmingly used to them sleeping together so quickly, considering her mostly strict upbringing, but she didn't regret it one bit. Belle had often heard that happily married women glowed with happiness. Despite the first part not being true for her, she did feel like her body could sing with the pleasure his touch he awoke in her.
Rumpelstiltskin wasn't in the dining room – which could hardly be viewed as unusual either – and Belle hesitated at the doors. She wasn't hungry yet and toyed with the idea of looking for the man and offering to break their fast outside in the gardens when she heard his light steps in the hall.
"Ah, you're awake," he observed and gave her a boyish grin when Belle tilted her chin up for a kiss.
"Something you want?" he inquired playfully and shifted on his feet, wiggling his eyebrows at her, but instead of replying, Belle wetted her parted her lips slightly, hoping she didn't appear too indecent, demanding his affection.
Rumpelstiltskin bent down, his warm breath with a hint of bitter herbs in it tickling against her face before pressing an ever-light kiss in the corner of her mouth. Belle sighed but let him take the lead. Somehow this brief almost chaste touch seemed to work her up harder than if he were to thrust his tongue in her mouth, kissing her hard and long. But there was time for it now; time for it later.
With their eyes locked, she could see her own reflection in his overly large eyes and the tiniest specks of bronze in the swamp green of his irises.
"You're not quite right, as that's not all I wanted, but it'll do for now," Belle couldn't resist a smile as his eyes widened at her artless flirting. "Good morning, Rumpelstiltskin."
"Good morning," he echoed softly.
"What would you think about a picnic?"
"Me? In the sun? That's a horrible idea," Rumpelstiltskin wrinkled his nose and she felt suddenly silly. Of course he'd reject, he must have had other things planned and besides, who would take their breakfast outside?
"...that's precisely why we should do it."
She beamed at him and her smile was enough of a reward to tolerate fresh air for a while. After all, no one would be there to witness his tumbling reputation of the wicked imp giving way when he'd simply take a morning tea with a beautiful woman on his own grounds.
He looked out of place wearing his dark leathers, seated on a cozy blanket with his back against an oak tree. The morning sun shining through the branches of the tree made eerie shades dance on his face and body along the bright patches the rays left. Belle couldn't hold back a smile looking at the man – he tried to seem grumpy but she knew he was pleased to be out. She did notice something when they walked here – he cast no shadow himself, which made her stomach curdle with strange worry but he looked ordinary otherwise. Well, as ordinary as he could be with the odd scaly skin.
"What are you so happy about?" he grumbled, stretching his legs and crossing them at the ankles, but her smile grew even wider.
"Can't a girl be happy?" she enquired, smoothing her pale purple skirts over her knees. Unable to resist, she brushed her fingers on his left cheekbone, where the sun made his skin glitter.
Belle poured the tea in a delicate white and blue china cup and passed it to him. When their fingers touched, his hand seemed to be cool. It was strange but the air felt a bit chilly in the shade and the grass was still slightly damp. But then, she was something else too – his fingers trembled. Not enough to be visible to the eye, but certainly enough to feel and make the cup rattle against the saucer and the surface of the tea ripple when he took hold of the thing. And then something strange happened. The time seemed to slow down – it became thick and gooey like honey about to drip from a spoon and the world is drained of colour. Her eyes were fixed on the cup, crisp white against the hazel fluid. She watched in fascination, her eyes drawn to the tea, as the tremor send little waves right from the center to the rim, one small drop swelling on the edge of the cup, until it became too large to be contained and separated, rolling down the side. Then she blinked and everything snapped back to normal, the things bright once again in the morning sun.
Bell frowned. Somehow this small observation made the hair at the back of her neck prickle unpleasantly. It was nothing, gods, she was most likely just imagining things and yet… His movements always were so elegant, precise, full of subtle grace whether he tiptoed around the castle or made a show of his grand appearance.
They didn't speak, the rustle of wind in the leaves being the only sound for miles around the castle. Belle was trying to figure out the nagging worry she had no reason to feel. The bright morning lost its allure and she was uncomfortable in the opening, shivering at the sudden trill of a bird hidden in the branches.
Rumpelstiltskin sipped his tea quietly, sharply perceptive of her change of mood. Another gust of wind toyed with his hair, lifting it up and letting her catch a glimpse of silver-dusted strands that – Belle was certain – had not been there before.
The girl's worry began coming into shape in the course of the next days. Come Saturday, she was sure what it was about. Something was wrong with Rumpelstiltskin.
The coldness and tremor in his hand had spread. Although they developed gradually, now his right hand seemed to become almost completely numb.
When she noticed him use the utensils with his left hand or switch to stirring the potion with it, Rumpelstiltskin joked that he decided to try something new and challenging to spice things up as mundane tasks got so boring when repeated in the same way for centuries. Belle could pass it off as another of his extravagancies, except for the other alarming sign – he stopped spinning.
Although it meant there was more time for them to spend together to talk or be close in silence, the fact that he stopped spinning was the worst of all. He no longer did it because he simply couldn't – the fingers on his right hand lost their flexibility and one night she watched him (completely unaware of her presence) at his wheel, cursing as the thin gold thread broke or came out in thick knots instead of a smooth, silken line.
Whatever this horrible thing was, it seemed to grip him in its relentless and merciless grasp. Rumpelstiltskin had developed a constant chill – every single fireplace in the Castle now hosted a blazing and roaring fire until Belle felt like she was in a greenhouse, her skin often covered with sheen film of perspiration but the man still felt cold, now wearing his long leather travel cloak even indoors. When she asked him about the heat, he just dismissed her concern by joking he tried to make her wear less clothes. Belle wasn't amused though. He grew distant, even when she reached for him in bed, trying to break the ever present chill with her body heat, he would pull away, turning onto his side and wrapping the blanket around himself up to his ears.
Belle felt like not only was his skin was turning cold but that there was a freezing hand around her heart, tightening its grip on her every day. Rumpelstiltskin was hiding something from her, something dark and dangerous, and she needed to find out what it was before she drove herself mad with fruitless guessing.