Author's note: I've been taking liberties with the Lovecraftian critters, as you may have noticed. As for the clerics, the only one we see on screen (as far as I can remember) is the bishop officiating at Snow and David's wedding in the first episode. We never see him again. In Storybrooke, there's only the fairy nuns and the convent. There's not even a church, which is weird for an American town. So the explanations I made up for this story may even be canon-compliant, LOL. Well, except the masks, but those are just there because I have a mask kink or something. :-P
Two masked inquisitor-monks shackled Belle's wrists, fastened to a chain to control her movement. With the magic-blocking cuff on her arm and no chance of physically overpowering three people, she meekly followed as Tiberius led them upstairs to his office. If he wanted to talk, let him talk. Perhaps he would get careless and reveal a weak point in his plans.
He had her sit in a chair across from his desk and made a show of pouring tea for both of them. He set out a plate of pastries as if this was merely a friendly invitation to breakfast. He waved his two subordinates to stand guard outside the door after unhooking her from the chain. The fireplace crackled quietly, its heat almost suffocating after the chill of the dungeon. Belle felt warm for the first time in hours.
Belle didn't touch her cup (or the pastries). She set her hands on the edge of the desk, letting the clank of the shackles speak for her. Now that he was Archbishop, Tiberius no longer needed to hide behind a mask. Easier to face him this way, when she could see the man responsible for all this misery.
"I told Maurice he should have given you to me in the first place," he said conversationally. "Instead he insisted on matching you to that buffoon, Gaston, and now look at you." He eyed her with disapproval. "Running wild in the middle of the night, dressed in rags, marked by the taint of the Beast. Hardly befitting a princess."
Belle slammed the side of her fist into the tea cup, sending it flying straight at his face.
He didn't even blink. A wave of his hand froze the cup in the air. A moment later it was back on the table without a drop spilled. "Temper, temper."
"So it's true," she said in a low voice. "You stole their magic."
"Call it my back wages." Tiberius stood up, face darkening. "Years of loyal service, and they rewarded me with what, abandonment? They moved on to fresh pastures and forgot us. Out of our brethren, I alone was still living when Maurice opened that door."
"You don't seem to be lacking in numbers in this version of the story," Belle noted.
Tiberius circled around the desk to stand behind her. She fought not to flinch. "New recruits. Do you think because we wear the god masks, that those underneath are interchangeable?"
Belle wouldn't be surprised if the Blue Fairy or the Apprentice thought exactly that, finding it easier to replace rather than rescue those left behind by the Dark Curse. They weren't heroes or saviors or royalty, after all. Not people considered important to fate. She murmured, "No, of course not. I'm sorry."
Tiberius ran his fingers lightly through the fringes of her hair, brushing loose strands back from her face. Belle froze at the touch. He said softly, "A kind soul. I've always thought so. I heard you wept even for that demon you were sold to. A pity he didn't stay dead."
"What about your followers? You could have written them back to life," Belle said the first thing that came to mind, desperately needing him to stop talking about Rumple. But the idea, once spoken aloud, stuck in her head. What if she and Baelfire had thrown away the damned key and walked away from the Vault, and looked for the Author, instead? Could Rumple's resurrection have come at a lesser price?
Tiberius stepped back, his hand dropping from her face. "No. Dead is dead. At best, the Author could achieve a close likeness. I would not dishonor their memory with cheap doppelgangers."
"Oh." Belle remembered the echoes and reflections she had glimpsed in the Wood Beyond. Her mother had said that it was possible to find copies of everyone somewhere in the infinity of possible realities. Cheap doppelgangers? Or alternate versions of people? But she understood the Inquisitor's point: she wouldn't have wanted to replace the Rumplestiltskin she knew with one from another story. "But you changed all of our stories to suit you, forcing them through magic. You don't consider that 'cheap'?"
Tiberius smiled indulgently. "My dear, our fates were already distorted by magic. I changed their stories, not their souls. Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire."
"Like giving Zelena, of all people, her own fiefdom to rule?" Belle spat back. "An unrepentently wicked witch, and you made Rumplestiltskin, who sacrificed his life to stop Peter Pan, into her slave!"
Tiberius sighed. He returned to his chair and sipped at his tea before answering her. "The world needs an example. Her damnation inspires us to live in the light and reminds us of what we have to lose."
"And here I thought you made a deal with her for the Dark One's blood." Belle saw from his reaction that she had guessed right.
"Who told you that? Merlin?" Tiberius frowned at his cup. "That hypocritical bastard thinks to weaken me by destroying her and stealing away the Dark One." Belle opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off, holding up an admonishing finger. "Ah, ah. You think you can trust the Sorcerer?"
"More than I can trust you," Belle said hotly. "He helped me. You threw me into a dungeon."
"Rumor has it, that's the way to your heart, princess." Tiberius met her eyes and smirked.
Belle stared at him in disbelief.
"Forgive me my small jest." Tiberius's expression turned grave. "Merlin's intended fate for you is no laughing matter. In his grand plan, you are no more than a human sacrifice. An innocent offered up to the Beast, all in order to lay the great darkness to its final rest..."
"As I recall, you advised my father to offer me up as a human sacrifice," Belle said. "Something about being wed to the gods..."
"Because you deserve better than to be chained to the Dark One for eternity!" said Tiberius. He was on his feet again, leaning forward with his hands on the desk. "As the bride of a god..."
"No, wait." Belle frowned. The bride of their earthly incarnation, they had told her in her other memories. What did that mean? Her other self, more naive, imagined a god descending from Olympus. Her current self knew better. She saw the suggestive glint in the Inquisitor's eyes, the way he assumed an unsettling closeness with her. "Not a god. Just a man behind a god's mask. That's what you really mean, isn't it?"
"So, not such an innocent anymore." Tiberius sat down again. "You're right. As Archbishop of Avonlea, that happy duty is indeed mine."
The idea made her skin crawl. "I thought priests were sworn to celibacy."
Tiberius chuckled, willing to indulge her. "A layman's misconception of our oaths. Our bodies are sworn to the gods. As we wear the mask, so does the god wear our flesh."
"You can't possibly think I'll go along with this," Belle stated flatly. "Besides, the wedding date's already come and gone. How will you explain that one to your flock?"
Tiberius waved off her objection. "Simple enough. At the moment, the people believe that you ascended to the heavens..."
"A belief you fostered?" In this version of the story, Belle knew he wouldn't have been questioned. "And now what, we're back from our honeymoon on Olympus?" The idea was sickening.
He nodded, ignoring her sarcasm. "Ready to assume our earthly duties."
"Never. There's no earthly duty I'll ever assume with you!" Belle couldn't bear to even pretend to betray Rumple that way. "I'm a married woman. I love my husband."
He looked at her in distaste. "Yes, he's left his mark on you. But by the grace of the gods, you may be cleansed of that corruption."
"It's not corruption, it's true love!" Belle shot back. A True Love who abandoned you... She shook her head inwardly at the thought. She replayed the moment of parting again, feeling his hand clutching hers. She hadn't felt him let go: one moment he was there, and then he wasn't. He had run away, but he had meant to bring her with him. Sometimes he gives in to his fear, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love you. She tried not to think, Coward! She had hurt him enough with that insult. He would return for her. Wouldn't he?
Tiberius sighed. "You're young. You think it's romantic to love a monster. It makes you feel special that he makes an exception in his evil for you. The truth is—"
"You have no idea what the truth is!" Belle clenched her hands into fists, forcing herself to swallow her angry arguments. She didn't need to defend herself to Tiberius.
"The truth is," he went on remorselessly, "that he will bring you more pain and heartbreak than any woman should ever be forced to bear. Such is decreed by fate, and by the Dark One's nature. Did Merlin tell you that part?"
"We decide our own fates," Belle said, her voice only shaking a little.
"I agree," Tiberius said. "That's why I've acted as I have. A better future for the people of this realm, that's what we both want, no? I have no wish to cause you misery. As the god's vessel, I can grant you all the pleasures of Olympus."
"No, thank you." She looked away from what she saw in the Inquisitor's face.
"You'll come to appreciate my gifts in time." He spoke with such smug assurance, yet—
Yet Belle was able to sit here and tell him no. "Why bother trying to persuade me at all? You have an Author, why not rewrite my story directly, like you did before? When I was in that chapel, I didn't know any better..."
"That was a mistake. You are worth so much more than that." Tiberius gazed at her intently, speaking with every appearance of sincerity. "Who else can I confide in but my divine consort? I want you to understand..."
It was almost convincing, but he was trying too hard. All of this was a distraction. No. Tiberius hadn't used poor Henry to brainwash her because he couldn't. Belle nodded as if in response to Tiberius, but her thoughts raced furiously. Did he not have control of Henry? No, Regina and Emma's fears for their son had been genuine (or everything was a lie and she had no hope at all, but she refused to believe that). Then why was Belle still herself, despite being captured, rather than an obedient little god-wife?
Rumple had suggested that the presence of Excalibur had kept Camelot's story from being rewritten. And a pentacle was also a sign of protection... was that it? Belle groped mentally for the coin, but it remained inaccessible in a folded bit of reality as long as she was cut off from her magic. Was it able to shield her despite being out of reach? Or was it a dark blessing from Our Grandmother?
Either way, it hadn't been able to stop Tiberius from knocking her out and placing a magic-blocking cuff on her. The flash of hope dimmed again. Belle let out her breath. "Let's agree to disagree. What now?"
Tiberius chuckled. "You don't want to accept it, so you're playing for time. This is futile. No one will come for you."
"Did you kill Merlin?" She had to ask the question, even if she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer.
"What do you take me for? He is alive, though somewhat chastened..." Tiberius nibbled at a croissant. "Missing his breakfast." He nodded at the plate. "Are you sure you won't eat something? Enjoy it while you can."
That sounded ominous. Belle felt her stomach clench, hunger pangs subsumed by the stress of her situation. She had hoped that Merlin had escaped capture, but it seemed not. "What about my father?"
Tiberius raised his eyebrows. He took his time in answering, chewing, swallowing, then taking a sip of tea. "Your father is fine." He looked her up and down. "This small setback in your rehabilitation is nothing to worry him with. He'll be delighted with the end results, I'm sure."
Belle stood up, straining for every bit of height she could manage. "I want to see him. Does he know... does he know what you're doing out here?"
"It's all for the good of the realm. His majesty knows that," Tiberius responded calmly. "You can see him later, after you've been purged of the demon's taint."
A clap of his hands brought his monks back inside. And as quickly and easily as that, Belle found herself dragged away in chains to another room, this one with furnishings somewhere between alchemist's lab and torture chamber. Her attempts to resist and break free were met with stunning slaps that made her ears ring. She had stopped struggling by the time they fastened her to the wooden frame of a rack.
"No!" Was this what Tiberius meant by 'rehabilitation'? Actual torture? Was this even legal in Avonlea? But Belle remembered that the church had its own system for dealing with those suspected of witchcraft or demonic corruption, which ran parallel to the king's justice. "What are you doing?!"
Tiberius patted her gently on the cheek. "Don't worry, princess. You won't be stretched today. This is just to make it easier to administer the cure for what ails you."
"What cure?" Belle asked, even though she already had a strong inkling.
One of the masked monks approached with an earthenware pot, the kind with handles and a lid, commonly used for cooking. At a nod from Tiberius, the monk lifted the lid.
Tiberius, his hand now surrounded by a glowing green aura, reached inside and brought out a long, squirming creature — slimy and eel-like. "I apologize for the unpleasant necessity..."
Belle bit back a scream at all her fears being confirmed. She clamped her jaws as tightly shut as she could.
"The bhole can extract the dark magic from you, drinking it down bit by bit no matter how deeply the darkness is entrenched in your soul," Tiberius explained. "Once it has purified that magic, it can be used again for good."
By him and his minions? Belle scoffed internally. But too many people believed him, including her own father. She closed her eyes, grasping inwards in a last-ditch attempt to reach her magic and teleport away.
Nothing.
The magic that touched her then was not her own. Once again, consciousness slipped away from her.
She dreamed of slugs crawling across her face, leaving trails of slime. It burned against her skin and the scent stung her nostrils. She was paralyzed. Her muscles ached with the need to pick off the slimy intruders and fling them violently away. They slowly crept closer to her mouth. To her eyes. She couldn't move, couldn't shut her slackly open jaw.
Then the sharp pain of the shackles biting into her wrists woke her up. In the dream, she had been fighting to free her hands. Awake, she was still struggling against the shackles, but it was useless. The skin on her face felt damp, prickling as if bitten by a swarm of tiny insects. Her jaws ached slightly. She ran her tongue around inside her mouth. Nothing there except her own teeth, thank heaven, but there was a faint taste of mud.
"Put her in the southwest tower," ordered Tiberius.
Before she was fully awake, she was already being dragged away again. "What... what's going on? Hey!"
"Didn't take, did it," muttered the monk to her left.
"Enough," snapped Tiberius. "It seems the corruption runs deeper than we knew. The bhole finds you not to its taste. I suspect demon blood recognizes its own."
"Demon blood?" Belle echoed faintly. The monks hauled her up a spiral staircase, not waiting when she lost her balance and stumbled.
"Your accursed mother." Tiberius waited until they reached the chamber at the top before answering.
The monks dropped her onto the cot in the corner and freed her from the chains. It was a step up from the dungeon. Daylight came in from the narrow vertical arrow slits that pierced the walls. Glowing coals in a brazier provided the luxury of warmth.
Belle gritted her teeth. It wouldn't do any good to shout. She forced out her next question as politely as she could. "Another part of the story you couldn't rewrite?"
"It was rewritten." Tiberius narrowed his eyes as he studied her. "But now, now the stain of the original has bled through. But not to worry. I will find a way to expunge that stain."
"It's not a stain," Belle muttered rebelliously. "It's part of the pattern. Part of me. My mother is part of me, and I won't let you change that."
Instead of rebuking her, Tiberius looked suddenly thoughtful. "Part of you? Yes, you have a point. Thank you, princess, for your insight." With that, he spun on his heel and hurried out.
Belle gaped after him. What did I say?
The two monk-inquisitors followed, locking the door behind them as they left.
Belle sighed and slumped back on the cot. A reprieve, then, but for how long?
Long enough to check the tower for loose stones and secret passages, long enough to try to pry up the wooden floorboards and ceiling with her fingers (a tricky maneuver with her wrists shackled together). Long enough for her guards to bring her food and water twice.
She was all too familiar with the routine. At this point, she would have welcomed even a pirate, as long as he had his proper memories. She promised herself this time, she would lie and pretend whatever she had to until she was free. She was deep in the fantasy when she actually heard footsteps coming up the stairs. She went to stand flush against the wall next to the door, raising her arms, ready to bash her visitor with the metal shackles around her wrists. She held her breath as the door creaked open.
Her father stepped in.
Belle's eyes went wide. She dropped her hands and staggered back along the wall. "Father..."
Maurice turned his head to find her. A smile lifted his troubled expression. "Belle! Thank the gods, you're safe."
Belle gaped at him, a rush of conflicting feelings rendering her speechless. She backed away even as he spread his arms to embrace her.
His face fell again. "I'm so sorry. What an ordeal it must have been..."
And continues to be, thought Belle, but his words were simultaneously too sincere and too wrong, a disorienting clash of realities that choked her protests in her throat.
He caught her hand and patted it tentatively. "Archbishop Tiberius told me the truth about what happened. How the Dark One stole you away, but was struck down along with his wicked mistress by Merlin, who thankfully returned you to us."
Belle pulled her hands back, the shackles clashing angrily. "Stole? Returned? Rumple wasn't the one who chained me up!"
Maurice sighed heavily. "My darling Belle, it's only a precaution for your own safety, until you can be cleansed of the darkness." His eyes flickered over her face, then away, the corner of his mouth turning down in disgust. "Whatever that monster's done to you, we can undo it."
"I don't want it undone." Belle took a step back, a useless gesture where there was no retreat to be had. "He's my true love."
He followed. "Of course he isn't, or you wouldn't be cursed like this. Just look at yourself!"
Belle froze. "Is that all you care about? If someone doesn't look human enough to you, you kill them? Even someone you've promised your life to, someone you loved for half a lifetime?"
"Belle..." Maurice stopped, too, his face falling at the verbal onslaught. "I did what I had to do. You were innocent. It should have ended there, but that beast had to drag you down with him..."
"Rumple helped me remember." Belle's voice dropped to a whisper. So her father remembered both realities. Isaac had told the truth, then, about Maurice being complicit in the rewriting of their stories. She drew breath, her anger bubbling up again. "But you made me forget. Twice!"
"I made it better, this time! Yes, it was a tragedy, what happened, but the ogres are monsters in every world, while your mother is not." Maurice gave her a pleading look. "The gods gave us this gift, a second chance. Your humanity restored..."
"A gift from the gods? Is that what you think?" scoffed Belle.
"For saving their holy representative from the cursed realm," Maurice said.
"It's not a gift, it's theft! Do you know how Tiberius is maintaining this false reality?" Belle demanded. At the blank look in her father's eyes, she told him, "He's holding an innocent boy prisoner, forcing him to write Tiberius's story."
"It's better this way," he repeated. "His Grace won't harm the boy. He's better off with a man of the gods than an Evil Queen who should have died for her crimes long ago. Once you've been cleansed and exalted, you can take the lad into your care."
"What about Emma? She's the Savior!"
"In name only." Maurice waved a hand in dismissal. "At first I thought she would save you, but when she proved useless, I had to take matters into my own hands."
"You're worse than Snow and David! They tried to 'cleanse' their child, too. But at least Emma was too young to know better, and it was only one other innocent they sacrificed." Belle thought she had gotten through to her father after the incident in the mines, at least enough that he had been at her wedding, but no. She had been wrong. "I'm a grown woman. And you changed the fates of everyone in the Enchanted Forest!"
"For the better," Maurice said, as if repetition would make it true. "Don't you understand? This was the only way to save your mother and to save you."
"To save you, you mean?" Belle muttered, seeing something furtive and guilty in her father's eyes. Perhaps he did regret what he had done, somewhere deep inside. "My mother died!"
"Please, Belle. The gods hold death as a sacred boundary, but at least in this world, she died a hero, as a human." He looked at Belle sadly, again with that infuriating sincerity. "We need to let her go. Can't we just remember the years we shared as a family and honor her memory?"
"A lie! You want to remember a lie. You want to forget what you did to her." She saw him flinch, but he looked unrepentant.
"It's true now," he said. "Or it will be once you have been purified. I'm your father, Belle. I only want what's best for you."
Belle bit back a hysterical laugh. If that was true, well... If she couldn't get him to change his mind for his wife's sake, maybe he would for her, if she could make him see, really see, what he was doing to her. "Purified? Do you even know what that means to Tiberius? Do you know what a bhole is?"
Maurice shrugged. "A holy relic of some kind. His Grace tells me it has power to banish demonic influences. But I'm no expert, so if you want chapter and verse or the theology behind the efficacy of the baptismal rite, you'll have to ask the Archbishop."
It was tradition she was fighting, not just one stubborn, misguided man. The people of Avonlea had long entrusted their spiritual welfare to the Church and its enforcers, the Inquisition. This revision of reality had only made them more trusting, and the Inquisition more bold. Belle took a deep breath, telling herself to stay calm. "It's not a 'holy relic'. The bhole is a parasitic creature excavated from the borderlands of our reality. It's a big, poisonous slug that Tiberius wants to stuff down my throat so that it can drain away any magic in my body, dark or light..."
"Belle..." Maurice was already shaking his head. "You must have misunderstood."
"Tell me, how did I 'misunderstand' the half-drowned prisoners we found submerged in Salvador Lake?" Belle's voice rose despite herself. "Locked in a crate, dropped in icy water, to be nibbled on by a slimy great leech! That's what he wants to do to me, Father!"
It took some doing, but eventually she convinced him she wasn't lying or delusional.
"Perhaps there is some other way," he acknowledged heavily. "The Inquisition's methods can be rigorous. Ugly. They are accustomed to dealing with commoners, you know. For someone of more refined blood..."
"It has nothing to do with the refinement of anyone's blood," Belle said through gritted teeth. "Tiberius wants..." She couldn't bear to speak of it openly with her father. "You must know what he means to do to me, by anointing me as the bride of the Incarnate."
"It's ceremonial," Maurice said. "His Grace is a holy man. He's forsworn earthly desires and devoted himself to the gods."
Belle scoffed. "Is that what he told you?"
"He promised to treat you with all respect. He wouldn't touch you except as the living vessel of a divine spirit." His brows furrowed with a trace of doubt. "But what you say of this bhole creature... it's not right, not for my little girl."
"None of this is right! Not for anyone!" She might as well have been arguing with a brick wall. "He will destroy me. That's what it comes down to. I'm sorry I wasn't the perfect, obedient daughter you wanted, Father, but this is who I am."
Maurice sighed glumly. "Headstrong. I shouldn't have let you run wild so much as a child. I'm sorry I failed you."
"I wish you could trust me."
"I do, Belle—"
"No, you don't. You don't trust me to know what I want, to make my own choices."
"That demon got into your head—"
"Father! You don't have to like him, but please, believe me when I tell you that he loves me, I love him, and our love is true." Belle held her father's gaze, hoping that this time the truth would penetrate. "Yes, there is magic, magic that he shares with me as we share our hearts, and yes, it has marked us in this realm."
"How can you choose a monster over your own people?" He broke away, pacing unhappily. "Over your father?"
"How can you choose an illusion of your daughter over the person she really is?" Belle countered. "I'll always love you. You are the father who was there for me for so much of my life. All those years, I don't want to think they were nothing."
"No, of course not," Maurice assured her quickly. "I love you, sweetling."
Belle nodded. "Then if those years aren't meaningless to you, don't let me, the real me, die here. Please, Father. It's too late to regret what happened to Mother, but my fate is still to be decided. Help me."
Another heavy silence hung between them. Then, an answering nod. He reached out for her hands. "I will, Belle. Come home with me, and we'll find another way."
A wave of relief washed through her. Feeling as if she could breathe again, she managed a whispered, "Thank you."
He led her down the stairs to the guard post where two monk-inquisitors were stationed. At his command, they unshackled Belle and made no protest when she left with her father.
Belle caught his arm, bringing him to a halt before they could leave the abbey. She needed to get the magic-blocking cuff off, too. The Inquisition would never remove it, not even for a royal command, but perhaps there was something she could do. "They must have fairy dust here, in their stores. Please, I need some. Not much, just a tiny vial will do. If you ask, I'm sure they'll give it to you."
Maurice frowned at her. "Belle, you can have a fresh start without magic. You have a place in Avonlea. Whatever you felt for the Dark One, it's over now. He's not coming for you."
"That's not true!" Belle's voice hitched as she fought back the fear that it was true. No, Rumple wouldn't abandon her. Never. Only if he was tricked, or dead. And he wasn't—
"If you won't take my word for it, believe the Inquisition's divination," Maurice continued harshly. "The beast is nowhere in this or any other realm."
Belle took a careful breath before responding. "Whether that is true or not, I still need the fairy dust. Please, Father. It's light magic. It can't be used for harm."
Finally, he sighed. "All right."
"Thank you!" She hugged him impulsively. He was still the father she remembered. Maybe, maybe, there was hope... not to return to the innocence of delusion or ignorance, but a road to acceptance and forgiveness.
He patted her awkwardly on the back before releasing her. "I just want you to be safe and happy, darling."
Belle nodded, her mind already planning her next steps. First to free herself, then Regina and Emma. With the three of them working together, they could surely rescue Henry, then undo this nightmare of a story.
"A touching affirmation of family bonds." The unwelcome voice instantly dispelled Belle's optimistic plans. Tiberius. Out of nowhere, he stood at Maurice's back. He dropped to a whisper. "Don't move. Don't speak."
"You!" Belle leaped back in shock.
Maurice stared at her, eyes wide and aghast. His jaw hung slack, but he didn't speak.
A blink and a step, and Tiberius now stood between father and daughter. In his hand pulsed the red gem of a magically extracted heart. "I'm afraid you must endure our hospitality a while longer, princess."
"Let him go!" Belle clenched her fists, but dared not provoke Tiberius. One squeeze and her father would die. She had never imagined that the Inquisitor would turn so viciously on the man who had saved him — but here they were. She had misjudged Tiberius. She couldn't let her father die for her mistake. "Please, whatever you want, I'll do it, it's nothing to do with my father. He trusted you!"
"Trust is not trust that hasn't been tested," said Tiberius. "A test he failed. So easily swayed by soft words..."
"Because he's my father, and he loves me." Belle glanced behind her, and saw with dismay that more monk-inquisitors had arrived, blocking her retreat. For a moment, she hoped that their loyalty to Avonlea would keep Tiberius from going too far — from outright murder, from treason and regicide — but then she remembered that this was the story according to the Inquisitor. There's no one else to stop him. My father was the last. Her blood ran cold. The last who could say no to him.
"And you love him," Tiberius said, glancing at the heart in his hand. A wave of his other hand sent a wave of blue light washing over Belle, leaving her paralyzed in its wake.
Of course I love him, you monster. Beneath the paralysis, Belle's heart thudded in terror. She felt as helpless as she had been the day Peter Pan had frozen them in the middle of Main Street. She dreaded what came next.
Tiberius gave her a thin, knowing smile. "Then consider your last moments with him well spent." He closed the distance between them. She could only stare uselessly when he pressed her father's heart against her chest.
A moment of agonizing pain shot through her. She couldn't breathe. A huge weight lay heavy in her heart, and it felt like an explosion pressing against her ribs. Her vision went black.
Tiberius caught her as she collapsed. He said softly into her ear, "The old generation passes. Time to make way for the new. We shall mourn him together... once you have been cleansed."
This time she did not see the /bhole/. She felt it on her face, in her mouth. It oozed its way down her throat, its invasion no longer troubled by the scent of outsider blood. Her magic returned to her, too late. She could see where her father's heart, broken and scattered inside her own, laid a trail for the bhole to follow. Its secretions, injected by tiny spines into her blood, kept her numb, unable to gather power for even the simplest spell.
She hung in darkness, immobile. Eternally drowning. No longer a person. Just food.