Chapter Text
He taught you what it was, for one glorious moment, to be the best. Just as swiftly, he taught you what it was to be second best. And second best you have been, and always will remain. The girl was almost too good of an opportunity. Snow White, mine of information that she is, mentioned that she was the paramour of a Mr. Gold. Upon pushing, she so easily pushed, you learned that Mr. Gold was the identity of one Rumplestiltskin, currently unhinged and indisposed in his cage. A plan hatches, a glorious and unstoppable plan, to squeeze out as much hurt from Rumplestiltskin as you can. To make him second best. You’re wicked, and maybe vengeance is more suited to your sister, but that doesn’t stop you.
“Belle, isn’t it?” you ask, pasting on the humble smile that you’ve been wearing for everyone in this pitiful town.
“Yes, can I help you?” she asks, and each word comes out like a question. No wonder Rumplestiltskin liked this one; she’ll be easy to manipulate.
“I don’t know if we’ve met yet. My name’s Zelena, I came through with the second curse,” you begin, and you’re losing her polite-but-uninterested interest, she looking around the library, clearly a bit of a wanderer. “I’m Snow White’s midwife,” you continue, and her focus snaps to you with recognition.
“Oh! I’m so excited about the baby,” she smiles, genuine, and you can see why Rumplestiltskin chose her, again; she’s beautiful, and her blue eyes are so, so clear. “Did you need something from the library?” she asks, warm.
“You see,” you begin your well-crafted explanation, “libraries were never so complex where I come from. I’m afraid I could use a little assistance?” You manipulate your eyes wide and open, hoping that you’re not overdoing it. You have a habit, sometimes, of overdoing it.
“Yes, of course! What were you looking for?” she asks, all enthusiasm now, and so willing to help. If you didn’t hate her for loving Rumplestiltskin, you could almost fall for it.
“I have much in the way of practical experience to assist Snow in her pregnancy,” you begin, offering more casualness to your relationship with Snow White than you have. It works; she seems even more relaxed. “What I don’t have is knowledge of these machines, of modern medicine, of what it means to give birth in Storybrooke, Maine. Snow is my charge - I feel a duty to give her, and her baby, the best care possible.”
“We have a section of medical books, and we have a less technical section for books on pregnancy. I’m happy to show you,” she says, and your choice of outfit is paying off, because she definitely peeked down into your cleavage. You temper your triumphant expression; try to play it off as pleasure for her assistance.
“Lead the way, oh curator of knowledge,” you say, and it is strange, such a strange thing to say, but you’ve always been misunderstood. She seems not to notice. You follow her, close but not too close, you don’t want to arouse suspicion. Your aims are higher - you want her interested, not afraid. If the inhabitants of the town hadn’t already been so easy to dupe, you might be concerned. You “accidentally” bump your chest into her back when she stops in front of a section of thick, tattered books. They look unbearably boring. “Is this it?” you play with such eagerness that you fight terribly hard not to laugh in her face.
“Sorry about the abrupt stop,” she says, coloring, and you’re pleased she’s not brushing it off. “Anyway, this is the area for the medical texts.”
“They’re very large,” you observe, wanting to see what her reaction would be.
“They are! But there is so much fascinating information to be had, it’s really amazing to me the type of books they have in this world. There’s something for everything you could imagine,” she sighs, pleasurably, “Being librarian in this town is… a dream.” And you have just found your angle.
“I can’t wait to read them all! I suppose I’ll be seeing a good amount more of you? I have such a thirst for knowledge,” you say, leaning into her space and plucking out a dusty, plain-looking book. You step back from her, looking at the book and smiling as you’ve wanted to smile the instant she responded so well to you.
“That sounds good,” she says, pulling at her lips with her teeth, cheeks holding back a smile. Is she truly so desperate for friendship? “Would you like to see the other section? So you can really see all the books available to you here.”
“I would. I can’t believe I haven’t been utilizing the resources of this world more! To imagine, there was a building entirely filled with books, full of entire worlds!” and you laugh inside, because you’ve been to other worlds, and they aren’t in books. She walks you over to another section, filled with more color and pictures, soft-cover books with alarming questions about pregnancy on them. “It’s no surprise you enjoy yourself here, Belle,” you continue, and the smile you give her is prompted by how you imagine Rumplestiltskin’s face will turn when he sees you’ve bedded his true love, “It is an exceedingly lovely place to be.”
“It is!” she says, and you can feel it, you’ve got her now. She matches you, smile for smile, and if you want to touch her fair cheek, it’s only because one day you will need to in order to complete your vengeance. You allow the stupid smiling to continue for as long as she wishes, knowing your face is pretty enough to be pleasing, that it is enough to entice her without you doing a damn thing. She shakes herself out of it after a moment, eyes darting around the library quickly. “I, uh, have got some shelving to do. So I better go do it. Let me know if you need anymore help,” she says, and you look at her like the divine vengeance she is and nod, hoping you come off as smitten. She skirts off quickly, ducking her head and turning the nearest corner. You lean back against the shelf of books for expectant mothers and allow the full breadth of your satisfaction to crawl across your face. Checking the clock on your cellular phone (such a convenient, tiny thing), you turn around and grab three books, taking them to a table in view of the front desk and pretending to read for another two hours. Some of the best plans always take time.
The clock tower strikes, and you know now that it is the time she takes her lunch. You’re not stupid - every plan needs preparation. She’s been glancing over at you while you read, you pretending not to notice. You’re honestly a bit surprised - while you noticed that she was isolated during your preparations, you hadn’t figured it would translate to such a need for contact. You approach the desk, four books in hand.
“I’d like to check these books out. Is that how it works?” you ask, injecting confusion into your voice.
“Yes, absolutely. Unfortunately, the medical text is on reserve and has to stay here. But the other three I can lend you, no problem.” she says helpfully.
“I’ll just have to come back in to read it then?” you ask, tilting your head so your hair slides over your shoulder. You’ve seen that work, in seductions. Glinda used to--
“We open at 10:00 and close at 5:00. You’re welcome to come by any time,” she says, her eyes straying on your hair. You lick your lips, and she goes there, too. She really is the most charming creature.
“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but as you know people talk,” you say, and she instantly looks guarded, defensive. She stamps a card on the inside of a pregnancy book especially hard. She’s got more bite to her than you had pegged. “I’m new to this world, and I had heard that you had to learn about it as well.” Her features soften, clearly expecting something about her reputation as Rumplestiltskin’s girl. “Would you mind, terribly, as one transplant to another, to join me for lunch? I am still trying to understand much of this world,” you say, over exaggerating your girlish shrug, but it seems she’s used to a flair for dramatics. In retrospect, it is a trait that surprises you not at all. You, too, were once taken by Rumplestiltskin’s flamboyant charms.
“Have you ever had a cheeseburger?” she asks, and now she’s leaning into you, and her eyes are bright and her smile utterly enthralling. At least vengeance will be pleasurable.
“I haven’t. What is it?” you ask, having already seen Snow White cram one in her mouth during a craving.
“You have to come with me to Granny’s. You can have it with french fries, and you can put on ketchup or, they’re great just with the burger!” she enthuses, and you feel a hint of pleasure that has very little to do with winning.
“How can I say no? Please, take me to lunch,” you flirt, and there’s no escaping the fact that you are. She whirls around to grab her bag and her coat, running ahead to open the library door, practically dancing at the thought of introducing you to a cheeseburger.
“Can I leave the books here, while we have lunch? I might as well do some more reading here afterward,” you say, and you hope that’s not pushing it, that it’s not too much for her at once.
“Yes!” she says, delighted. “I always get more reading done at the library. I think of it as a second home. Now, come on! I’m starving, and I have to show you the best thing about this new world.” Even if you didn’t want to, there is no stopping your feet as they hasten to catch up with her.