As Rumpelstiltskin's power spread, tributes were sent by terrorised kingdoms to secure their safety and swear fealty. The king preened at his success. The storyteller on the other hand, passed her days in her windowless room, unseeing to the outside world. She was kept locked in her chamber by magic where only the king could access. Today was no better than yesterday, full of gloom and doom. The king's grand design was nearly coming to completion and more obstacles were falling at his feet. Such was the king's delight that he invited her to watch the devastation.
Up at the castle's turret the king watched in glee at the scene unfolding before him. His eyes moved wildly about the land as if he was moving chess pieces in his head. At the edge of the horizon, smoke rose into the greying sky. Belle, who observed everything with a wilting heart, could imagine the screams coming from that land. When the king proudly puffed out his chest and boasted of his brilliance, she dared a glance at his face. What she saw frightened her. She had always feared the king but never a deep-rooted terror as she had today. Shadowy wisps of smoke curled around him and his eyes were ablaze with malice; this was the monster everyone feared.
Excusing herself, she headed straight for her room, hoping its familiarity would calm her. For once she was grateful there were no windows. It blinded her, however temporarily, to what was happening outside its walls. Sitting on a settee, she let the tears fall. Her body shook as the waves of reality bore down upon her at the realisation of what she had given the king. She expected this, didn't she? But the magnitude of the ruin was beyond her imagination. Overwhelmed with guilt, she let darkness claim her.
It was midnight when Belle awoke. The lighted hearth gave her room a golden glow. She let herself believe she was back in her tent, the bonfire cackling in the distance. Sound of merriment would hum in her ears and she would join in the festive and dance in the cold night air. There was no black smoke, no ominous figures, or giggling mad king. She would be with her family. They would eat and toast to a life without boundaries and they would... they would...
Sighing, Belle gathered her dress around her as the chilly air seeped into her bones. It became harder and harder to recall her nomadic life as the months went by. She had no activities to occupy her time, only the stories in her head. Eventually she ran out of things to imagine; the stifling gloominess in the castle threatened to drown her in its bosom and steal away the smallest form of happiness. Oh how she would sacrifice an arm for a reading material. Blankly she looked around her extravagant room. She would have admired its beauty had it not been her prison. 'Another room, another prison,' she thought.
Her last master was cruel. Scourges and flaying were part of a monthly routine. Cleansing, he called it. Said it was to wash away the grime of her magic, magic that he wasn't hesitant to use. She was glad he was not creative enough to ask for monsters, a monster like what she had created for the king.
Lying on her back, Belle stared at the ceiling. Others called her magic a gift; to her it was a curse. Fear was a constant in her life—that was before she found her adopted family. She was once asked why she did not take matters into their own hands. That would have been the easiest and obvious choice. Indeed it would, but it was also a cowardice choice. Life was too precious to be thrown away. She should know. Her mother had given up her life for her safety. Committing such act would be to sully her mother's sacrifice. No, she would never go down that path. She would use her wits as she had all those years ago. She escaped her first master; she could do the same with Rumpelstiltskin.
Pushing aside her dark thoughts, she gathered her tattered courage and rose from the settee. But she rose too fast. Coupled with her tiredness and clumsiness, she tripped over her dress. She would have landed on her head had someone not prevented the fall.
"Careful now, dearie, can't have you knock yourself to death," giggled a voice.
Belle whirled to face the king, wondering when he had entered her room. Realising he was still holding her upper arms and standing too close behind her, she cringed at the contact. He quickly let go, sneering at the look of revulsion on her face.
The sneer was still present on him as he looked her over, most probably to see whether she had hurt herself. Not that she could since he forbade her from inflicting self-harm. She could no more ignore his command than the Dark One could ignore the master of her dagger.
"You said you were ill," he said casually, as if he was commenting on the dull weather. 'Ill' was quite an understatement. She was more than ill. Repulsed; terrorised; miserable would aptly describe her state. Belle snorted loudly, causing the king to raise an eyebrow and looked at her in disguised perplexity. "I take it whatever caused the ailment has passed?" His knitted eyebrows and worried eyes drew out her ire. 'How dare he pretends to not know what triggered it?' she thought vehemently.
Months of aloneness and regrets had finally shattered what little patience and sanity she had left. And the reason why she snapped at the king.
"You know what caused it, Your Majesty." She curtsied mockingly and watched the concern melted off his face.
The king's apparent need for supremacy left her with a grimy feeling. Belle wondered if she would be able to wash the red stains off her hands. After all, she was partly responsible for the chaos wrecking the land.
"Was it everything you hoped?" The words tumbled out of her mouth. She hoped it burned his skin with its acidity.
The king was taken aback by her question, lost and confused to what she was referring to. The cloud of confusion dissipated when the meaning sinks in. Pursing his lips, he fixed her with a glare.
"Of course it was. Why would it not?" he said in a clipped tone. "King George is finally squashed like the filthy bug he is and Midas promised me a third of his kingdom's gold. These delight me, dearie." His fingers danced in the air.
Belle liked to think she had learned and knew enough about men to see past their masks. And Rumpelstiltskin was no exception, he just had one too many. Amid the showmanship that he clad himself in and the walls he built, there was no denying his last sentence was a question.
"Do they? I foresee that we'll pay a hefty price at the end." Belle watched him with half-concealed disgust, mindlessly tracing the faint line of a scar on her finger. Her thoughts took her to the day that she escaped her first master... the escape that resulted in his death and left her with more than the scar on her finger. She told herself it was no fault of hers; it was his price for using her magic. Magic always comes with a price as the old saying went.
"What makes you think that?" He forced out a laugh. Belle wondered if he had forgotten the Dark One's warning about magic.
"Because every action has a reaction. Every up has its down." She raised her chin and held his gaze. "Your reign won't last forever, Rumpelstiltskin. Nothing does."
Belle straightened her spine when the king leaned in a hairbreadth away. His eyes threatened to turn into slits and his rotting teeth caused bile to rise up her throat. She mentally congratulated herself for not trembling visibly like a shaken tree. "I'll excuse you for not using my proper title, storyteller," he hissed before spinning on his heels and giggling madly. Belle let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "I'll last forever and so will my reign. You'd do well to fear me."
A scoff was Belle's only answer. Why should she stop her rant once it started? Maybe it'll force the king into a rage and kill her as an outlet. That'll release everyone of this madness that they created.
The king turned to look at her, surprise evident on his face. "I could turn you into a toad, you know. You wouldn't want that." At her lack of fear he added, "No? An annoying critter, then? Oh yes, that would suit you just fine."
"Oh I don't mind being turned into a cockroach. I can leave faecal matter on your food and breed an army to swarm your castle," Belle retorted. Rumpelstiltskin creased his forehead and his fingers fluttered nervously. Baffled by her response, the king did what all men did; he spluttered an inane comment, choosing to ignore the oddity that is the storyteller.
Belle felt triumphant. The menacing king was just a man after all.
Wanting their exchange to be over and done with, Rumpelstiltskin made a beeline for the door. Before he could exit, Belle called out his name. He turned and saw her fidgeting. Such contrast to the sharp woman a few minutes ago. He wondered what happened in the scant seconds that changed her demeanour. Soon he was trying to puzzle together this peculiar storyteller. She had been nothing but an obedient presence, a meek dormouse if you will, and then she surprised him by growing a backbone. Now she was back to being a dormouse. What a weird woman.
"If I were to live here for the rest of my life, could I at least have something to pass the time?"
Oh. He hadn't expected that. Then again, what did he anticipate? An apology? A proper conversation that he never knew he wanted? Such silly thoughts.
"Well, what do you want? Embroidery lessons? Dancing lessons? Pets?"
"Books... just books."
Confounded was probably the right word to describe Rumpelstiltskin's expression. There were not many women who sought enjoyment in reading and he found himself intrigued by her. This woman of no more than twenty-five and small in stature found pleasure in the written words. Her brilliant azure eyes still held that same sad tinge when he first enslaved her, but this time he could see a hint of steel in them. For a moment—like a candle flame doused in water—a twinge of compassion bloomed in his chest for her, a woman who was so unlike the ones that crossed his path. Shaking himself at the sudden feeling, he left with a curt nod and the promise of books.