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Chapter Text

When the door thudded behind her, Belle huffed and then pulled herself off the ground. Straw stuck to the skirts of her golden dress and scraped against her palms. 

The cell surrounding her was familiar to the ones she visited so frequently back on Avonlea; a wooden platform hung by chains on the stone brick wall, musty straw covered the floor, and a small, barred window let in a fraction of light. It smelled inexplicably of sweets and citrus, and her stomach growled. 

Whirling around, she banged on the thick wood of the door. “You can’t just leave me in here! Hello! Hello?” 

No response. She pounded harder, until her hands stung so badly that she backed away. 

She wove around the sunbeam and settled on the bench. It creaked under her weight, making her wince. 

In truth, Belle had always imagined herself to end up in a place like this. The idea haunted her in nearly every nightmare. It simply hadn’t occurred to her that it would be under the order of the Dark One. But perhaps she had been too worried about betrayals so close that she failed to consider an attack from afar. Frowning, she tossed some straw onto the floor.  

“Act brave,” she mumbled to herself, “and bravery will follow.”

And so she stayed, marveling at the sunlight streaking across the cell while she mulled over the deal.

***

There was perhaps one saving grace about the Dark Castle: the Dark One apparently hated natural lighting. 

He had summoned her some hours later and given her a list of tasks to work through. Still a little shaky, but determined nonetheless, she had set to work cleaning room by room. Originally, she expected the obstacle of working around the sun -- somehow dropping the curtains without immediately getting burned -- but once she saw that they had all been drawn, she moved with more confidence. The name ‘Dark Castle’ was far more literal than she expected. 

She relished the newness of this place. The spark of curiosity burned bright within her, and she moved through each room at a pace that allowed her to inspect every corner of it. The cleaning wasn’t particularly difficult, which made exploration an easy distraction. Mostly, the place was just dusty. The floors had to be swept too, and she adjusted a few pillows. She spent long moments staring inside glass cabinets before cleaning them, too. 

What proved to be a challenge began that evening. 

Somehow, the Dark One had found her. He stood in the doorway of the parlor she had been working on, and when she smelled him -- roasted chestnuts and something ancient and earthy, almost like wine --, she jumped up from staring at the carvings in the fireplace. 

He cocked his head to the side. After she drew near, he pointed her towards a flight of stairs down the hall. “It’s getting late, dearie,” he said, watching her with that smug look he had only dropped when he seemed confused about her care for a chipped cup earlier that day. “Better start working on dinner. You have an hour to meet me in the great hall.” 

“Dinner,” Belle repeated. She leaned the broom against the wall. “Dinner. Yes, of course.” Nodding, she curtsied to him. “Um, is there something you had in mind, Dark One?” 

He waved a dismissive hand at that, which sent a jolt of panic coursing through her. (Be brave, she thought.) Then he stalked in the opposite direction to attend to whatever business he had. 

Belle watched him leave for half a moment before turning her own way. She ran through a list of all the meals she had ever read about in books or seen laid out at her palace’s dining table. She had a few solid ideas by the time she discovered the kitchen tucked away in some remote corner of the estate. 

The good news was that the kitchen had clearly been used before. Dust-free and smelling of herbs, she made her way around, familiarizing herself with the icebox, dried plants hanging off ropes, and the placements of pots, pans, and silverware. There seemed to be everything she might need to make a meal. 

Uncertain, she picked up one of the pots and placed it on an iron-cast stove in the corner. It was a small mercy that there were already embers inside, so all she had to do was throw in a few more logs. Ash spurted out. White flakes streaked her dress no matter how instantly she swatted at them.  

Giving up, she spun around and clasped her hands together. “Alright,” she mused out loud. “The… steak, first?”

She pulled a large slab out of the ice box and set it into the pot. It immediately started sizzling, something she was certain had to be good. Right? The cuts of meat she had seen were brown on the outside and sometimes pink in the middle. The piece she had removed was entirely too fresh. 

But while she searched for onions and some caramel, she remembered the way the meat had been presented. There had been bits of green on top, along with a smattering of black flakes. She chewed on her lip as she withdrew a bag of caramels from the cupboard. She’d look for that once the meat stopped cooking. 

Speaking of, how long was that supposed to take? She peeked at the pot. The outside was still firmly pink. Hmm. She really hoped it would be done in time. 

Belle approached a basket of bulbous plants. She had, thankfully, studied some books about foraging before, and knew which of them should be an onion. But the closer she got, the more her stomach churned and throat burned. She swallowed a gag, held her breath, and dug through it as quickly as she could. 

Garlic rolled out when she withdrew a purple onion. She reached to put it away. The sensation worsened when she wrapped her fingers around it, and Belle recoiled as she tossed it inside the basket. 

Peculiar. She didn’t know it would have that sort of effect on her. She made a note to get rid of them all later. 

She moved on to cutting the onion, which gave her some very thick slices, and tossed them and the entire bag of caramels into another pot and onto the stove. She watched in wonder as the caramel began to bubble fiercely.

The meat seemed to be doing well -- it was still pink, but when she flipped it over, it had started to brown -- yet she wasn’t entirely sure if this would be enough to fill one person. Diets seemed to vary remarkably between humans. Just how much would the Dark One want? So she cracked a couple of eggs and let them sizzle with the steak. When her nose started to wrinkle at the faint smell of burning, she pulled off the onions and set the pot on the counter. 

They seemed good enough. She used a spoon to help distribute the caramel properly, and once the slices were all coated, she fished out a plate and carefully scooped them on. Some of the caramel, turned pitch black, stuck to the bottom. 

Likely, she had only a fraction of the hour left. She shoved it aside (and paused to question the new darkened mark on the counter) before taking off the meat and eggs to place it beside the onions. Belle inhaled deeply. 

It smelled… off. She plucked a couple green leaves from a plant, placed it on top of the steak, and drizzled a healthy handful of salt across the whole thing. There. That looked much better. The smell hadn’t changed much. Surely it had to be right, though? 

At least setting the table was significantly easier; it had simply been a matter of locating everything she needed. Years of etiquette had taught her exactly where to place the many silverware and a napkin. She grabbed a pitcher of water, a fresh glass, and stood waiting beside the table. 

A clock somewhere in the Dark Castle chimed seven. She stiffened in surprise and peeked over her shoulder. When she saw nothing, she turned back. The Dark One had simply appeared in the seat she laid out for him. 

“Oh!” Flustered, she ducked into a curtsy to hide her surprise. “Good evening.” 

“Only one serving?” He clicked his tongue and waggled a fork. “You already ate? Didn’t poison my food, did you?” 

“No, no of course not,” she said hurriedly. “I-- yes, I ate beforehand.” A little lie, but it was far, far simpler than the truth. However brave she thought she needed to be, she understood that some secrets could protect. 

The Dark One shot her a dubious look, but cut into the meat with a remarkably sharp knife. Red oozed across the white plate. The smell of blood -- even animal blood -- made her fangs slide out of their sockets. She covered her mouth with her hand and ignored the way her stomach growled. 

If he noticed, he didn’t make a remark. “Sloppy presentation.” 

“With all due respect,” Belle managed, and thankfully her fangs didn’t mess with her speech much this time, “I wasn’t anticipating a grade.” 

He hummed and stuck the cut of meat into his mouth. Not a second later, he coughed it back up into his napkin. His gaze slid to her, icy cold. “Well,” he spat, “I can say there’s no poison in that, but I think it nearly killed me regardless.” 

Heat filled her face. She needed to find a cookbook. This Dark Castle couldn’t be so big and be without a library. “I’m so sorry, this won’t happen again--”

“Raw eggs?” The edge to his tone gave way to utter befuddlement as he prodded white sludge. “Let me guess, you used actual caramel for the caramelized onions?” 

She gripped the skirts of her dress, silently praying for strength as she nodded. 

That actually got him to laugh. No, that wasn’t quite the right word. Cackle? The sound erupted from him as he leaned back in his seat. 

Mortified, she stood there until he gained enough composure to wave her off. “Get rid of this, then return to your room. I have calls to make.”

***

Quite to her own embarrassment, Belle sucked whatever blood was left in the steak the Dark One deemed unfit to eat. Animal blood never quite satiated her stomach. Still, it would be enough to keep her mind from returning again and again to the topic of food. She scrubbed the kitchen clean quickly. 

Belle stalled on her way back to her ‘room.’ She had to pass a long hall with windows every few feet, though they of course were all covered. Pursing her lips, she approached. She hadn’t ever gotten a good look at the world outside the Dark Castle. Did the Dark One perhaps live in a wasteland? A vast, open field? Her thirst for knowledge urged her on.

The rich red and gold curtains felt soft to the touch as she pushed them aside. Her breath caught. 

Mountains curled around the high walls of the Dark Castle. Their snowy peaks caught the light of the moon, and the entire world seemed to be bathed in a silvery glow. Despite what must have been a rather cold climate, greenery flourished in carefully cut topiaries. 

Her hand pressed against the glass. A deep ache pulled at her heart.

It was impossible to see it all in the light of noon. And yet, she promised herself that one day, she would.  

***

Belle knelt on her hands and knees while she worked to scrub the floors of the grand hall. The wheel turned while the Dark One spun… Well, it didn’t quite make sense. She peeked up from the floor, just to make sure she hadn’t been seeing things before. 

He had a basket of straw beside him. She had been right. 

She ducked her head and scrubbed. Her shoulder ached from doing it for so long, yet still she pressed on. It would get easier with time, she told herself. But a question sat heavy on her tongue, until it fell out. 

“Why do you spin so much?” She sat up. The Dark One had paused to side eye her. “I’m sorry, it’s just… you must have spun more gold than you could ever spend.” 

There was a pause. “I like to watch the wheel. Helps me forget.” 

“Forget what?” 

He glanced upwards, brow scrunching. “Ah, I guess it worked.” 

She laughed at that, and he joined her, the sharp sound softening. Belle watched him, then realized she had frankly no idea what else to say, and turned back to the sponge in hand. 

Footsteps approached. She caught his shoes stopping beside her. “Can you see your reflection yet?” It didn’t sound so much as jeering as it did… teasing, perhaps? 

She only saw the glossy wood, hints of the high, painted ceiling, and him. The Dark One. His loose sleeves created a contrast to the tight, scaly vest and pants. His hair hung in messy (and somehow almost charming) curls. “Not yet.” 

“I can see mine.” He pointed to it. 

“You have far more of a presence, Dark One. I suspect even your flooring knows to show its best to you.” 

That elicited another laugh. “Mmm, perhaps.”

He lingered there a moment while she scrubbed, then left, heading somewhere deeper into the endless house. Her heart sank. Alone, again. 

***

A few days later, Belle pushed hard against one of the Dark Castle’s many doors. It groaned as it moved, and once it had parted just enough, Belle dragged her feather duster and broom inside the room. She could just make out several candelabras on a table, and after finding a box of matches beside them, lit them each one by one. While she didn't need the light to see, she liked the warmth of the glow.

When she looked up, her breath caught. 

Bookshelves. Lots of them. Each had been stuffed to the brim with bound books that held hundreds of promises and mysteries. She itched to take them off the shelf one by one and read through them all. 

Her mind flashed back to the possibility of a cookbook. 

She took one of the candelabras with her as she headed down what felt like an endless row. She scanned spine after spine for something that might relate to food. 

After all, she began to notice that each of the Dark One’s ‘calls’ fit perfectly within human eating schedules. She didn’t particularly mind the separation. After all, he began to poke his head into whatever room she had been working on, almost as if surprised to find another person still here. They occasionally struck up light conversation. 

Still, sometimes, she thought this Dark Castle was the real beast, ready to swallow her whole. 

The comparison made her stomach gurgle. She’d been staving off a growing hunger for days. Raiding the kitchen icebox for animal blood was both inconvenient and unorderly, but she had done it anyway just to keep herself together. Asking the Dark One for blood had to create more questions than she would like to answer.

Sighing, she smoothed out the folds on her pale blue dress. She had simply found it waiting for her in the cell. The Dark One must’ve given it to her, and while she didn’t believe he could give anything without strings attached, she gladly took the substitute. It was much easier to move and clean and in this dress. 

Golden foil glimmered by her hand. Curious, she crouched and read the title.

‘ Vampires, Werewolves, and other Creatures of the Night .’

Her fingers curled around the spine before she realized what she had been doing. 

***

Her home had been a cage. 

All of her life, Belle lived within its walls. She knew every placement of stone brick, every chip in the stairs, every covered stain. She spent most of her days confined to her rooms, devouring every book she could get her hands on. Her parents let her roam at night. Always, several guards trailed her, and often her mother or father with them. 

Whenever she did leave the confines of her prison, it was at the side of her father, who kept a close eye on her during the few foreign visits they had made. Once, when she was young, she kept asking him why she had to stay indoors all day. Why she could only be allowed in darkness or firelight. 

He sighed, and in their darkened carriage, squeezed her knee. For what felt like the hundredth time, he answered, “Oh, my Belle… you… you were born with a condition. The sunlight burns you too easily.”

“Oh.” She picked at a ribbon bow attached to her pastel pink dress. She had been only about six at the time. “Does anyone else have my condition?” 

“None you should meet. They are…” He trailed off. “They are cruel.”

Belle frowned at that. 

A beat later, Maurice continued, “You had your juice yesterday?”

“Mhm!” She straightened. “It smelled like cheese! Did you try some, papa?” 

“No, no. It’s just for you, my dear. Adults… adults need to eat food, not just drink it.”

It wasn’t until her mother’s deathbed a year later that she learned the truth. 

Belle held her mother’s hand. The curtains had all been drawn just for her, and the light of the candles danced across the sweat on Colette’s forehead. The woman smelled floral and sour. She gave her daughter’s hand a squeeze. 

“You and I both know I’m not getting any better,” she muttered. She stared down at her middle. Bandages hid beneath a layer of loose clothes. An Ogre, somehow, had found them in their own home and attacked the two of them. The queen had thrown herself in front of Belle and suffered a deep wound. 

She swallowed. (Be brave. Just like the heroes.) “I’m right here, mother. I always will be.” 

The ghost of a smile played on the older woman’s lips. “Thank you, ma chère.” Grunting, she fought to prop herself up further against the pillows. Belle helped her mother up -- if she wasn’t much longer for this world, then she should have a choice in how she sees the last of it. “There is something I must tell you.” 

 “Of course, I’m right here.” Belle smiled at her sweetly, fighting back tears that threatened to spill.  

“You are a smart girl. Your thirst for knowledge is a treasure.” Her mother paused and took a deep breath. “You must know what you are by now.” 

Belle looked away. Her stomach churned, but still, she nodded. “I… yes.” 

“And I know you have asked yourself many times how you came to be a vampire.” 

This time, she only nodded. 

“You were born that way. When your father and I were expecting, we were young, and stupid, and selfish. An elderly woman came to our door and asked for an audience. She came to Maurice and I to beg for a loan just big enough for a horse, tack, and provisions. We could only wonder at why such an old woman would need them at all. Your father dismissed her quickly.”

Her voice broke, tinged with regret, as if the memory were repeating itself in front of her. “She became furious, Belle. She shouted and snapped her fingers and our guards fell over. Then she cursed you. She said my daughter would never see the light of day. She told me that I would never bear children again. I--” She broke off, coughing heavily into her elbow. Belle passed her a glass of water. She accepted it and drank in gulps like a starving woman. 

“Thank you,” her mother said. She squeezed the cup in her hand. “Belle, look at me, please.”

She did, but had to blink to keep the tears away. They already blurred her vision. 

“I want you to know two things. The first is to have the bravery to be kind even when it sounds nothing short of stupid. The second is to know that I have always loved you. I thought the witch meant you would die shortly after you were born, or might not ever breathe. So when I held you in my arms day after day…” She choked up. Shudders began to wrack her body. “You burned horribly when I tried to take you outside. You kept crying like you were hungry even after you were fed. It was then that your father and I began to understand. But you have been my greatest joy. I couldn’t have asked for anything more in a child.”

Belle tried to smile. It hurt. There was such a weight to her mother’s voice that she couldn’t help but accept it as final. “I love you too,” she whispered.  

And that had been it. 

Not an hour later, her mother passed. Belle kept by her side until her father pulled her away from the body. The sourness rolled off of it in waves. Gently, albeit hurriedly, he led her away from the room. He kept watching Belle like she might run back at any minute. 

“She-- she told me,” Belle hiccupped. “The truth about me.” 

He stopped suddenly. Stared at her. He put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Those touches were the closest he ever got to hugging her. “Belle…”

“How many people? I-- I’m a monster! A beast!” 

“No, no!” He held her other shoulder too now. “You are my daughter. And you are more deserving of life than those who keep you fed.”

“I am not!” She shrugged him away, then bolted back to her room. 

Belle collapsed in on herself. She locked herself away. She vowed to herself never to eat again. Never to feel happy. Perhaps this cruel penance would return her mother back to her. Maybe a fairy would take pity on her soul and cure her. 

Neither happened. Hunger gnawed at her until she felt there was no more life in her, and her father pleaded with her to stay with him.

And so, seven days after her mother’s death, Belle and her father began their weekly visits to the dungeons.  

***

The candles had long since burned out, and still, Belle sat in the library, reading through the book she had found. She had been so enraptured, she almost missed it. 

The smell of the Dark One’s blood wafted towards her, heavier than usual. He must’ve cut himself.

Immediately, she snapped the book shut and darted towards the duster in the corner. She brushed it over a short table as he entered, hoping that he somehow wouldn’t think it too odd that she worked in the dark. She had come to learn that she could see perfectly when others fumbled around. 

“Still awake, dearie?” he remarked, stride towards her. 

Mindful to hide her fangs, Belle lifted a hand and faked a yawn. She was tired, just a little, but more emotionally than anything. The pages of that book had taught her little more than she already knew about herself. Learning about the other monsters -- werewolves forced to turn and satisfy their hunger through terrifying means, ghosts and ghouls forever trapped wandering their abodes -- made her feel a bit of comfort. Her situation no longer seemed so bad. 

But what really caught her attention was the theorized cure. It had been nothing more than a suggested idea. She’d never seen anything like that before; every mention of a vampire told her how to kill one with a stake through the heart. She clung to the new theory like a lifeline. 

She could be truly free. Explore the world and witness it in the glory of the sun. Talk to people without wondering what they might think if they knew the truth.

“I wanted to finish this before I retired for the evening,” she lied. 

The Dark One snapped his fingers. Fresh candles replaced the burnt out ones, and flames licked at their wicks. 

“Looks like you have the entire library ahead of you.” He raised an eyebrow. 

Caught in her lie, Belle flushed. “I… got distracted,” she admitted. She hoped he didn’t see the title of the book she shoved awkwardly between two pillows. “I’m sorry. I meant to look for a cookbook.”  

He considered her with dark eyes. Then: “I asked for a maid, not a chef. Don’t let cooking take up much of your time.”

“Yes, of course.” She bowed her head. She silently cheered that miniscule success. She would rather not test her skills in the kitchen again. 

“You’ll still be expected to make tea when I request it.” 

That was even more fortunate. She had actually had some before -- it did little beyond soothe a sore throat when she was ill -- but she knew how it needed to taste. “I understand.” 

He hummed. “The hedges need trimming. You’ll do that tomorrow.” 

At that, she froze, and met his gaze with a pair of wide eyes. “Dark One, I… I fear that is something I cannot do. I have a condition -- my skin burns too easily in the sun. My mother was cursed while carrying me. I would be in too much pain to do anything else afterwards.” 

He regarded her silently for a moment. She could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind. “...Fine. Then finish this library tonight.” With that, he spun on his heels and headed off. 

“Wait,” she said. 

She was a little surprised to actually see him pause. He glanced at her over his shoulder. 

“I… Please, call me Belle. Is there something I can call you?”

“...Rumplestiltskin.” The darkness of the hall swallowed him in an instance. 

“Good night,” she called after him. 

He gave no response. 

Belle didn’t breathe easy until the sound of his footsteps retreated down the hall. She half expected to hear the word “Vampire” fall from his lips. And then, if he knew…

Well, she was too dangerous to keep around, wasn’t she? She needed blood to survive. He would assume she would take his. (It was not entirely unwarranted; she had considered it, however briefly. She only wasn’t sure if the spell protecting her home would hold if he died.)

If he knew what kind of a monster she was, wouldn’t he kill her? For his own safety? Out of fear? Paranoia? She bit into her lip, cringing when her fangs pierced the skin. They slid back into her gums after that. 

Troubled, Belle flicked the feather duster across the table with renewed vigor. 

***

A commotion woke Belle sometime in the early hours of the morning. Crashing. Shouting. Begging. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she approached the thick door. 

Two pairs of footsteps approached her, one steady, the other frantic and uneven. A door slammed shut. Then, dead silence. The sharp smell of mushrooms and onions made her mouth water. 

***

Another day had passed. She had gotten a little bit of sleep the night before. Between books -- this time grand fictional epics -- and the noise, she had been thoroughly distracted once again. But the library had been finished, and she didn’t have to cook meals, so she had much more time to clean. 

She had been working down each hall. The end of the day finally led her to the room Rumplestiltskin typically conducted business in. The Dark One sat at the wheel with baskets of straw and gold beside him. He didn’t shoo her off when she first poked her head in, and so, assuming it would be fine, she began cleaning the pedestals. 

She walked slowly. The room pitched slightly; a lightheadedness had haunted her all day. She knew it came from a lack of food, but, well, where could she get any from?

Swaying, she gripped the back of a chair and breathed in heavily. Rumplestiltskin glanced up from his wheel. A faint, inexplicable frown crossed his features. 

“Belle,” he called. “Why are you standing like that?”

“I’m… I’m alright,” she managed. She hardly realized the words fell from her lips. “I’m just… I’m so hungry. And tired. I was up… the noise…”

He stood and crossed the room. “Sit.”

She collapsed into the chair. Although that only steadied the room a fraction, it gave her the chance to lean back and close her eyes. She heard him leaving, the door creaking behind him. 

But when it opened, it let in a smell. 

The mushrooms and cooked onions. Her fangs slid out again. She gripped the chair with both hands. 

No, she couldn’t. He would know. He would--

A wave of hunger hit her so strong that she nearly bent over and dry heaved. 

It no longer mattered what he knew. She would die either way. 

She felt like a ghost. She blinked. In the hall. Blinked again. Holding the railing as she descended the steps. Blinked once more. She stood in front of the other cell door. Her hands pushed against it. The lock held. 

She shoved. 

Something snapped. The door swung inward.  

A man blinked sleep from his terrified eyes. Brown stubble lined his jaw, and a dark green cloak swallowed his body. She gasped -- not out of shock or fear, but a sudden stab of uncontrollable desire. She licked at her lips.

“Wait--”

Belle lunged. 

The man jolted backwards a second too late. Her fangs punctured the artery on his neck. Blood spurted from it. With all the determination of a starving woman, she pinned him by the shoulders against the ground. She vaguely felt his nails scraping against her skin and fists pounding against her middle. With every swallow, his strength fled him a little more. 

Then he was limp, and she ate in peace. 

***

Rumpelstiltskin was terrified of the worry that had wormed its way into his heart when she saw the state of Belle in the hall. But, his fear of something happening to her, of her wasting away and leaving him all alone again, outweighed the other. 

He was surprised to find the kitchen untouched; fruit he had bought for her had begun to shrivel and rot. Every pot and every pan was exactly in place. Had she been scared off of cooking because of his earlier comments? Or simply forgotten the need to eat? 

He soon returned to the hall with a plate of cooked eggs and the freshest orange he could find. 

But Belle wasn’t sitting at the table. 

And the door on the other side had been left cracked open. 

He followed the trail, using some of his magic to sense the exact way she had gone. By the time he reached the steps into the dungeon, he heard giddy, relieved laughter, and puzzled over it. A flicker of fury shot burned in his chest. 

Did she know the thief that broke in last night? 

The laughter turned into ugly sobs. He moved off the final step, scowled at the opened door, and stepped inside the cell of the thief. 

“You--” 

He broke off. Belle tilted her head back to stare at him. She froze. Tears mixed with the blood dribbling down her chin and onto her neck. Bright red stained the front of her dress. The body of the thief lay crumbled in front of her. The man’s face was fixed in a mixture of shock and fear. Two small puncture wounds sat on the side of his neck. 

It took much to shock the Dark One. Even with all the clues staring him in the face, this happened to be enough. 

“I-- Rumplestiltskin--” 

“No wonder your father gave you up so easily,” he said. He stepped closer to her. Even with paranoia running circles in his brain, he knew she’d have a hell of a time trying to actually kill him. Besides, curiosity had taken a firm hold on him now. “You are a beast.” 

Like me. 

That subtle ache of loneliness softened slightly. 

“I’m sorry,” she blubbered, standing up and smearing reddened hands over the skirts of her dress. “I-”

“Perhaps you were cursed before you were born,” he went on. “You had a magical aura to you. But now I see it was because you are a vampire.” 

She flinched as if he had slapped her. He frankly didn’t understand the fuss. Instead, he lifted a shoulder and let it drop. 

“I planned to deal with the thief today anyway. I’m only offended you beat me to it.” 

***

“What?” Belle breathed. She replayed the sentence over again and again in her mind, and still it didn’t make sense. 

He didn’t care. He didn’t care what she was. How? Why ?

The weight of another dead man on her hands slammed into her again, and she couldn’t fight the onslaught of tears that spilled over. Even after all these years, it still hadn’t gotten easier. It didn’t matter that they were thieves or killers or rapists. It was a life she traded in for her own. “I… I killed him.”

He nodded. “If you had only told me your situation earlier, dearie, I would’ve given him to you right away.”  

“I don’t want to kill.” She backed away, wiping at tears with the back of her hands. “I want to see the sun. I want to walk among people and see the world through something other than books. I want-- I--” 

I want not to be feared . 

She had seen girls hugged properly by their fathers. She had heard of grand engagements and witnessed couples sneaking off during balls. And always, she had been on the outside, treated just a little differently, as if everyone still somehow knew. Her father hadn’t even let her look for friends. Her experiences with suitors had gone so disastrously that she wished she’d never looked for a husband in the first place. Instead, her only companions were the prisoners soon to be corpses. 

He hesitated, then waved her back through the door. “Come on out, then. Get cleaned up.”

She followed him through the castle until they reached a room with an adjourning washroom. He told her how to twist the handles just right so that the magic activated and warm water filled a porcelain tub. 

“Clothes are in the wardrobe,” he told her, one hand on the doorhandle to the room. “I’ll be at my wheel.” The door clicked softly into place behind him, and she heard no turn of a lock.  

He hadn’t added a ‘do not disturb me,’ which she took to mean that she could speak to him if she wished. 

His kindness confused her -- by all means, he should have kicked her out, or at least been more mad. But she gladly sank into the tub. She scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed on her hands until they felt raw. She splashed water over her neck and rubbed at her chin. 

Tension fled her bit by bit as the heat seeped into her body. The fangs retracted. She tried to tell herself that this was okay, that this was how it worked, but some part of her still rejected it. 

Her hands still shook by the time she got up. She dried herself off and did her hair the best she could. As she fumbled with a bun, she wished for the assistance of a maid. Her lack of a reflection in a mirror made doing her hair deeply frustrating, even without the shock of another death on her hands. Or, teeth. 

She moved on to the wardrobe, where she found an entire closet’s worth of clothes. She cocked her head to the side. Where did these come from? She found clothes of a child a while back, though had yet to ask him about it. Perhaps these once belonged to the boy’s mother? But once she slipped on another simple blue dress, she realized it was just her size. He must’ve waved a hand and made them all appear. 

Belle gave herself five minutes to sit in one of the plush -- yet dusty -- chairs and process it all. Then, she got back to her feet and headed to the hall.

***

Rumplestiltskin rose from his wheel when she entered the room. In an instant, he took his place at the head of the table, back straight and fingertips pressed together.

She hugged a book closer to her chest. She had purposefully taken the long way -- the way that led her past the library -- to get here, all for one particular book. 

“Hello, dearie,” he said, nodding slightly in acknowledgement. 

She returned the gesture as she sat on the other end of the table. The book thumped softly when she placed it in front of her. “You are a businessman,” she said, eyeing him warily. “A cunning one.”

He flashed a grin. “Well, I’ll never deny a compliment.” 

“Why did you spare me?”

“I thought it was rather obvious. You’re the help. I’d hate to see the place fall back in disarray.” 

She chewed her lip. “You could have hired a maid or butler at any time prior. Why the change of heart now? Why did you make me the price in the first place?”

“I told you. The place was filthy before you arrived. Figured, why not?” 

Silence passed between them for a moment. Belle pulled the book closer to her, a little anxious as she said, “I think you were lonely. Like… me?” 

“Ah, trying to learn my weaknesses, are you?” He shook a finger and clicked his tongue. “Sorry to disappoint you, dearie.” 

Avoidance. She must’ve struck a cord. Perhaps he thought himself to be as much of a monster as she believed herself to be. She reeled at the thought that perhaps they could find companionship in that. 

“You know mine. And I won’t kill you,” she said quickly. “I intend to honor our deal.” 

“You wouldn’t be able to even if you tried,” he singsonged. 

Despite everything, that put a smile to her lips. She wasn’t sure if it was simply the abruptness of the comment, the relief in knowing someone was immune, or just the way he was so casually unafraid. 

Belle sat a little straighter. “I… I want to make a deal. There’s supposed to be a cure to my curse.” It took her no time at all to flip to the correct page and pass the book -- Vampires, Werewolves, and Other Creatures of the Night -- to him. “I’m not sure what else I have to give, but I will offer anything.” 

Anything for a chance to stand in the sun. Anything for the approval of her father. Anything to be seen as something other than an evil monster. 

His brow furrowed in concentration as he read over the passage. “Ah, it’s only a theory . And curses are not so easily undone.” For a moment, his inky eyes took a glassy quality. A smile then tugged at the corner of his lip. “ But, I can make you free of it one day.” 

Her heart leapt into her throat. If she hadn’t spent the last hour sobbing her eyes out, she would’ve burst into tears again right then in there. “Truly?” 

“You will have to wait years for it.” 

“Is that the price? A few more years?”  

“Not quite. You have a sharp mind.” He pointed to her. “I think I’d like to put it to use.” 

 A chance to do something more challenging beyond cleaning certainly had an appeal. 

“There are many books in the library. Study them. I suppose I could have use for a personal librarian alongside a maid. ”

Excitement coursed through her body. “I’ll do it.”

“Oh,” he added, “and I doubt the dungeon is any good for a vampire. Take the room I showed you to.” 

***

He left a corpse for her every one to two weeks. 

She found the first one in the library. Her appetite heightened at the sight of it. A note had been left beside the still-warm body. 

‘ So you don’t have to kill .’ 

She felt unexpectedly flattered. Her father had always made her pin the prisoner down -- although a few had been chained to the walls already -- and drain them of all their blood while they thrashed. 

Mindful even of a corpse, Belle tilted back their neck and drank. 

***

  Weeks went by. Belle had gone through a healthy section of the library -- being a Vampire certainly saved her hours spent eating every day -- although she still had dozens of shelves left to go. It felt like a wonder every day she woke up to learn.

Cleaning had gotten more maintainable once she’d gone through the entire Castle. Now, every room became a quick check up rather than a deep scrubbing and investigation of its contents (although the latter still sometimes caught her attention). 

They had grown into a steady rhythm. Cleaning in the morning. Tea shortly in the afternoon. Then, she would spend her afternoons and evenings in the libraries. He liked to sporadically pop by to strike up conversation. 

So it had been odd when an entire day had gone by and she hadn’t seen him. He mentioned a dealing -- they weren’t unusual to her -- and left to attend to it. 

That said, nearly a full day had passed. 

She stuck a bookmark into an atlas and got up to search for him. “Rumplestiltskin?” she called. “Rumplestiltskin?”

She caught a whiff of his blood. That sent worry fluttering in her chest, and she hurried down the halls, following the smell. Belle hardly noticed her fangs had extended. 

Hearing uneven, shallow breaths, Belle burst into a small office. Rumplestiltskin had his back to her, his hands gripping a desk to keep himself standing. A sour note had overtaken the smell of chestnuts and that ancient, unknowable thing. Then her eyes fell on the gash in his arm. 

Blood crusted the area around the wound. It hadn’t been deep, but her nose told her that something about the attack had been… off. Some sort of poison had been involved. 

“Rumplestiltskin?” She took a half step forward. “Are you alright?” 

Sluggishly, he turned to face her. His eyes were distant and darted around as if seeing something she could not. “Belle?” 

“What…” She shook her head. She did her best to clutch to the strand of courage she felt in an onslaught of terror. Slowly, Belle approached him. “You made a deal with me. Promise you’ll fix me.” 

His brow furrowed. Then, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed. 

Belle swallowed and knelt beside him. Shaking him frantically, she called out his name again. “Rumplestiltskin! Rumple!” 

Nothing. 

She really hoped he wouldn’t despise her after this. 

Grabbing hold of his forearm, she bit down near the wound and sucked on the blood. 

It coated her tongue, far thicker and slower than it should have been. Overwhelming sourness filled every nook and cranny of her mouth. Her stomach churned. She fought back the urge to gag.

Still, the Dark One didn’t struggle. Her sole relief was his pulse moving -- even if it did so lethargically beneath her tongue. 

She just had to take out the infected blood. Then it would return to normal. Then he could cure her, both of this poison and the monster. 

Colorful spots appeared in front of her. Breathing heavily, Belle released her hold on him. She gagged. Her stomach burned . Purples danced around her like fireflies, pulsing with a glow that hurt her eyes. Faintly, she was aware of falling back against the carpet. The purple followed her. Colors didn’t laugh, did they? Because it felt an awful lot like they were mocking her. 

“I’m sorry,” she tried to say. Her tongue felt too heavy to lift. Pain rocketed through her body.   

Her eyes drew inspiration from that. They drifted downwards. The purple remained. It grew brighter in the darkness.  

She thought she felt hands on her shoulders. Someone called her name. 

The world went silent. 

***

Sounds hit her first. Breathing. Shoes against carpet. Then a heavy ‘snip’ of something thick being cut. 

She forced her eyes open. On the other side of the room, a blurry figure dressed in dark apparel twirled something red between their fingers. They dropped it into a small glass vase and headed towards her. After blinking a few times, Belle realized with a start that it had been Rumplesiltskin.

He set the vase on a nightstand beside the bed. Grunting, Belle sat up. A wave of nausea made her head spin, and she leaned heavily against the headboard. 

Rumplestiltskin waved a finger at her. “Ah ah, dearie. You need your rest.” 

“I will sleep,” she promised. “Just…” She looked down at her hands. If there had been any of his blood on them, it was gone now. “You’re well?” 

He nodded. “Clever thinking on your part. An ambush attempted to kill me.” He seemed rather smug at the fact that he would live another day to surprise them. The Dark One lifted his arm to show Belle that whatever traces of the injury had been erased completely. “You’re fixed up too. Some recovery time is needed on your behalf.” 

Belle inclined her head, which turned out to be a bad idea. She took a deep breath and let the room steady itself. Her eyes slid over to the bright red rose. “Brought that as a thank you, did you?” She smiled warmly at him. 

“Best not to be left in someone’s debt. Consider this payment for extracting the poison.” 

But the Dark One had saved her in turn -- a life for a life seemed like a fair bargain. Hoping she had guessed there was more to it than that alone, she raised an eyebrow. He didn’t meet her eyes. Belle’s spirits lifted a little. Was the Dark One… embarrassed? “I think it looks lovely. Thank you.”  

He hummed slightly. “Get some sleep. You have work tomorrow.” 

A change in conversation. Ah, so she had guessed right. She chuckled. “You’re welcome to visit me. Bring a book next time you do?”

“You’ll have to pay a price for that.” He sounded almost teasing. 

She shouldn’t be doing this. She shouldn’t have even thought it. Even so, she waved him forward. “Then come here.” 

His eyes widened a fraction. He approached her with just a little too much nonchalance -- that performative bounce to his step and emotions hidden behind a mask of confidence. When Rumplestiltskin stopped beside her, she hesitated. 

She really, truly hoped she wasn’t making a huge mistake. 

Be brave.  

Her hand reached up and cupped his face. He stiffened beneath her touch, and yet leaned in. Belle turned his head and kissed his cheek. 

She heard his breath catch. Butterflies fluttered madly in her stomach, and heat filled her face. 

“I’ll… be back shortly,” he mumbled. 

“Yes. Okay.” She brought her hands back to rest on the blanket. Wordlessly, she watched him go. A warmth resided in her chest. 

Belle found herself staring at the rose until he returned. 

***

Mr. Gold had very few friends in Storybrooke. No, ‘friends’ was far too generous. He, in fact, only had one: Lacey. She lived next door to him, and once a week, he would join her at her house for tea and to talk about books. 

After all, despite his request for a comfortable life beside Belle, the Curse still had a way of tearing everyone of their happy endings. 

***

Lacey didn’t know it yet, but one of her dreams had come true. The other would shortly follow. (So long as you considered nearly three decades ‘short’.) 

With the curtains tied back and a sunroof overhead, Lacey wandered around the library in her home. The ankle monitor at her feet blinked every few seconds, but she had grown so used to it that it no longer bothered her. Only the identity of the real murderer left her frustrated. 

  For the first time in what would be a string of ‘first times’ (endless days repeating the same actions, a limbo she couldn’t escape any more than her own home), she pulled out the  newspaper that reported the death of one Hunter Smith and puzzled over who possibly could’ve been his real killer. 

Chapter Text

Rumplestiltskin returned shortly with three different books. Belle shot him a thankful smile. It frankly still amazed her that he didn’t care what she was. Turning his head slightly, he set them all on the nightstand beside the bed. 

Belle tried not to linger on the wording of their previous deal. She had asked him for one book in exchange for a kiss on the cheek. Was this his way of asking for two more? Perhaps he had simply been feeling generous. She fought back the growing heat in her face, instead plucking the first from the pile. 

“Life After Death: The Underworld,” Belle read aloud. The topic caught her so off guard that she checked the other two. One was a study on magic and the body, while the other a short novel revolving around a field mouse preparing for the winter. “Have you read these yourself?”

“Ah, only the one you mentioned.” The Dark One settled in a chair on the fair side of the room. “Didn’t know what you liked.” 

“All of these sound wonderful,” she assured. He didn’t seem to notice; his eyes had taken on that glassy quality again. She puzzled briefly over it, then flipped to the first page and began reading. 

***

The matter of an engagement was particularly difficult. King Maurice had no other family to his name, and Colette had a brother who no one knew quite how to contact. He hadn’t even shown up at her funeral. And while it was certainly possible to name someone other than his own daughter the heir to Avonlea merchant kingdom, it would certainly prompt people to question what Belle had done to deserve it. 

If, perhaps, the elusive princess had anything to do with the rumoured bloodless corpses that guards dropped in unmarked graves. 

King Maurice decided it would be best to find his daughter a husband. With the threat of Ogres on the horizon, the kingdom needed some stability. They would never have to touch each other -- they could pass on the line to his next of kin. (That way, Maurice hoped the vampire blood would die with his daughter.) 

It wasn’t hard to draw in suitors. Most of the rumors had actually worked in her favor. Belle watched from a shadowed alcove as a dozen carriages rolled through the gates. She was well aware that over half of them simply wanted to see her face. She was even more aware that she would likely not find love among these men. 

And yet, excitement bloomed in her chest at the thought. 

Perhaps she could be loved. And if not loved, then accepted. And if not accepted, then tolerated. She would take any of it, as long as it meant she remained her own person. 

If nothing else, any of these men would likely help Avonlea form alliances, which they would desperately need if an Ogre war came into fruition. 

“Your Highness,” a servant said. She turned to see the maid standing several feet away. “We need to ready you for your first meeting.” 

Belle involuntarily stiffened. If any of the men found out what she was--

Be brave. 

“Of course.” The princess nodded, and the other woman led her back to her chambers. 

***

Rumplestiltskin left eventually. She glanced up from a section about the Furies to see him go, but this time, she didn’t feel quite so… empty at his leaving. He came and went a few times over the course of the day. Each time, he checked on her condition. 

“The antidote is hard to come by,” he explained. With all the authority of a doctor checking in on a sick patient, he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. “But it’s effective. Any lingering nausea?” 

“No, I feel just fine.” Belle straightened a little. She made a note to study that antidote he mentioned. It might be useful for them both to know it. “What sort of poison was that?”

His eyebrow lifted. A second later, he launched into an explanation. “Atlantean rat snake venom. A single bite is enough to kill anyone in a day. However,” he wrinkled his nose, “I suspect that arrow had much more than a single bite’s worth.” 

“They really wanted you dead,” she muttered. That struck a chord with her. If he had really died, if she had been left alone, scrambling to survive-- And what about her home? That prison she felt too at ease with? Would the Ogres finally launch a successful attack? “I’m glad to see you’re alright.” 

The Dark one simply watched her for a moment, then retreated towards the door. 

“Wait.” Belle put the book about the Underworld on her nightstand. “Do you have time? Just to… sit?” It sounded weak coming out of her mouth. She tried not to cringe, instead forcing herself to stay firm and brave. “Talk?”

“There isn’t anything to say, dearie.”

“I have more questions for you.” 

That did get him to pause. A few long moments passed before he waved his hand. Dark smoke enveloped one of the chairs on the far side of the room, and in the blink of an eye, it appeared at her bedside. The Dark One sat down and crossed one leg over the other. “I might have time for one or two.” 

A smile tugged at her lips. “I was wondering… there’s clothes I found while cleaning. Meant for a child?”

Surprise, shame, grief, and a flicker of pride played across his features. “...There was a son.”

Belle paused. She didn’t want to reopen a sore wound, but sharing what she was with him had taken off such a weight that she wondered if speaking might help him, too. “What happened?” she tried gently. 

“He…” Rumplestiltskin trailed off. “Ah ah. Knowledge is power. And all power comes at a price. So, let’s trade information. I tell you what happened to my son, you tell me about the annual balls in Avonlea.” 

The change in topic caught her so off guard, she simply gaped at him. Then she cleared her throat. “There’s the usual, like the day Avonlea was founded, and my father throws a party each year for his birthday. There’s another two on the summer and winter solstice. They’re much older traditions -- masquerades meant to appease the Fae for the next part of the year. They used to steal away livestock and people.” 

He rolled his eyes at that. “You’ve given the Fairy Godmothers too much praise to stuff their empty heads with.”

“Well, after the incident with King Stepfan and Queen Briar’s daughter, we’ve made sure to invite every one of them each year…”

He made a grunt that might have been some sort of approval. 

“But this ball is mostly reserved to appease the High Fae. Why do you ask?”

“Winter solstice…” He drummed his fingers on the air. “Just a week away, isn’t it, dearie? Excellent. We’ll pop by, you can say hello to your papa, collect anything else you left behind, and maybe have some fun along the way.” 

Belle smiled at the idea. “I think that sounds lovely. Now, your part of the deal?” 

“You really should be more careful before you sign off on an agreement. I never specified when I would tell you.” He let out that odd cackle of his. 

She shot him a teasing glare, although she didn’t really mind. It seemed to her that he simply needed more time. He would tell her when he was ready.

***

Dozens of new scents filled the throne room. Belle couldn’t distinguish any of them, even from her spot beside her father’s throne. It all sort of collected together in one gut-churning mass of conflicting notes that made her already fluttering stomach begin to churn. She hid her panic behind a mask of practiced calm. 

She recognized none of the faces standing before her. Still, she could easily pin who each man should be based on the crests they bore. Lord LeGume from the neighboring kingdom and his son, the noble knight Sir Sinclair, eccentric Duke Hartwick from halfway across the Enchanted Forest, and even one Lord Medici, a newly constructed house.

 They introduced themselves one by one. None of them commented on her abnormally pale complexion, and she smelled no fresh blood, so her fangs remained hidden. Belle memorized most of the names in a matter of seconds. Only one gave her trouble.

The short man bowed so quickly that he nearly fell flat. Only his bodyguard dressed in red caught him by the collar in time. Huffing and mumbling under his breath, he adjusted the lapels of his gray coat and cleared his throat. 

“Your Majesty,” he said, grinning at the king. His words had a faint slur to them. Who drank before a meeting like this? “I’m, mmmm, looking forward to taking your daughter to the wedding bed.”

Belle turned her head to one side, barely concealing a gag in time. She knew not to judge a book by its cover. She also knew that ‘Raoul’ was supposed to be mean wise. 

However, every single choice he made in the fraction of a minute screamed ‘fool.’ Perhaps Le Fou would be the more appropriate name to associate him with. 

Maurice cringed. “It would do you well to speak kindly of my daughter. Another comment like that and I’ll send you packing.” 

A few members of the crowd murmured. Belle caught the eye of Le Fou’s bodyguard -- he didn’t seem offended on his charge’s behalf at all.

“Apologies, Your Majesty,” the uniformed man said. “He’s taken to drinking to ease his nerves. I’ll slap some sense into him when he’s present enough to feel it.” 

Maurice waved him off. “Take him to his rooms and see to it then, Sir…?”

He flashed a charming smile of perfect teeth and thin lips. “Sir Gaston.”

***

Belle recovered from the poison after a day of full rest. Even still, Rumplestilskin advised her not to work much, so she focused on her secondary role as the Dark Castle’s librarian. She put a pause on researching the Underworld to instead track down every study or novel the library had about Fae.

She had never met one before -- not even one of the Fairy Godmothers that were traditionally invited. Or perhaps, she mused while pulling down a thick tome, she simply hadn’t recognized any. All the masks worn were to prevent Fae from identifying a human properly should any actually attend. But masks weren’t lies, just a less magical glamor, so she imagined they would get alone fine with wearing them. 

Between referencing dozens of books and recontextualizing the memories of each ball, Belle spent the rest of the day trying to figure out whether or not she had ever met a Fae. 

“Busy, busy,” Rumplestiltskin remarked. 

Belle glanced up from her work to see the Dark One taking a seat across from her. He held a teacup in one hand. “I’m just doing some light reading.” 

He gave a pointed look at the thick book under her fingers. 

“Relatively light,” she amended. “And what are you doing? You rarely bother me unless there’s something you want.” 

The Dark One smiled faintly. She didn’t quite understand why he was glad to be caught. “It’s a masquerade, and you don’t have a costume.” 

Belle glanced up at the ceiling while she thought. “I suppose… I could go as a rose. Or maybe an angel. I’m not sure. Have you figured your costume out, or does the Dark One not stoop to hiding his presence around Fae?” 

“I hardly see why I’d need to.” He gestured to himself. Perhaps he did have a point. 

Still… “But that’s half the fun of parties!” She leaned forward. “At least wear something a little different. Lean into your whole ‘Dark One’ title. Maybe something black -- oh! -- and a cape!” 

“No capes. I have enough magicians trying to step on my heels already.” 

She snorted a laugh at that. “Fine. I’ll come up with something else in time.” 

***

In the very early morning before the winter solstice, Rumplestiltskin and Belle gathered their things and stood together in the grand hall. It only took a wave of the Dark One’s hand to make them and their luggage appear in Belle’s home. 

She recognized the place in an instant. The arm of one of the thrones pressed against her arm. The rest of the room stretched before them. It was empty, save for a poor maid who had the fright of her life. Shrieking, she dropped the broom she’d been using. 

“Dark One, princess, I-- oh, please don’t kill me--” She curtsied quickly, shaking so badly she barely kept her balance. 

“Of course not,” Belle soothed. She took a step forward and smiled. The skirts of her golden dress -- not the one Rumplestiltskin made her for that evening -- swished around her. “If you please, tell my father that I’m back for the day.” 

“Yes, Your Highness, right away.” And with that, the maid rushed off. 

A few servants came in after the girl had left. They took their chests and led them into King Maurice’s study until he could attend to them. While Rumplestiltskin preferred to pace, Belle took a seat in one of the chairs. She’d only been in here with her father a few times, but the familiarity haunted her. It was perhaps half an hour later -- a very long half hour in which Belle wished desperately she hadn’t tucked all her books away -- that the man eased through the door, wide eyed and a bit red in the face. 

“Dark One,” he said quickly, bowing at the waist. His eyes darted nervously between his daughter and Rumplestiltskin. 

Belle noticed the butler who had dressed the king had forgotten a button on his doublet. She shifted, sinking deeper into her seat. A part of her loathed seeing her father again (the man who had never fully loved her, not like her mother did) while the other wanted to leap up and hug him (the man who had raised her, gotten her through her mother’s death, kept her alive at the cost of his own people’s lives). 

“Charming place, dearie. Just a little… cramped. You’d think a man as rich as you would have thought to buy more space.” He paused to glance in the King’s direction, a wicked grin on his lips. 

The King paused. Belle could tell he was trying to figure out how to interpret the statement and just how would be the right way to respond. “You brought my daughter back. Is the deal… broken?” 

She hoped she didn’t mistake the faintest relief in his voice. “We’re just here for the solstice,” Belle assured him. “And I’d like to take some of my things with me to the Dark Castle. Visit mother’s grave, too.”

He relaxed at that. Still, he kept his distance from both of them, circling around the long way to reach his desk. “Oh. Yes, of course. All just today?” 

She nodded quickly. The less time she spent in this prison, the better she would feel. 

“Then I’ll have a room prepared for the Dark One. Please, make yourselves at home.” 

***

Suitors, along with a few of the local nobility, filled the ballroom. Belle swam among them, her dress golden shimmering like sunlight under the candles in the chandelier -- a sun destined only to appear in the night. She gently refused the glasses of wine and platters of food they offered her. She had nothing against their suggestions, except for the fact that she would rather stay alert, and food never did well with her stomach. Even still, her mouth watered at the idea of eating again. It had been several days since her last meal.

Most of the men were cordial. She made polite conversation with them, and she had to admit, spending time among so many people was elating. However, if she had a piece of gold for every man who boasted his feats of swordplay or hunting, Belle would have more than enough to pay for all of the refreshments served. 

They were admirable traits, to be sure. But she yearned -- even knowing how impossible it would be to fulfill her wants -- for someone who would sit with her in a library for hours. Someone to challenge her intellect.  

Among them, she had found none. 

Outside of noble titles, however… 

Le Fou had thrown himself entirely into the available drinks. Sir Sinclair laughed with a few other men as the man in a gray coat stumbled around, leering hungrily at passing serving girls. Belle grimaced. 

“I can’t force my lord’s hand, as much as I’d like to.” Sir Gaston paused beside Belle, one hand resting on the pommel of the sword at his side. So close, Belle picked out the smell of blackberries and fresh bread. “His father would throw me out. I’ve pushed as many limits as I can. Now, I get to watch him make a fool of himself everywhere he goes. It would be cathartic if I wasn’t worried about keeping him alive.” 

“It’s…” Belle paused. ‘Alright’ wasn’t the right word; she did despise Le Fou’s every action. “I understand your struggle,” she amended. “Though, I find most men revert to their truest desires when their thoughts are clouded. Better now than later.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” he mumbled. A moment later, he bowed to her. “Your Highness.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Sir Gaston.” 

“I am enjoying myself otherwise. Your family certainly has no shortage of wealth.”

“My father is a bold businessman. He knows which risks are worth taking.” 

“He could have made a fine soldier, then.” Gaston nodded to himself. “Strength of the mind is important. Not quite as important as strength of the body, of course.” He flexed an arm, showing off a bulge of muscle at his bicep. 

“You assume every battle is physical,” she said, but laughed goodnaturedly all the same. “That it must be fought with swords. I think that the most difficult and rewarding are the ones we cannot run from. The ones we fight in our minds and hearts.” 

“Please, no one is around to witness those. How important could they be?” 

Belle glanced over at him, her smile faltering a fraction. At least he had more to say than the other guests. His opposing ideas expressed so openly were almost refreshing. She admired his boldness for speaking so freely; too many people were afraid to say much. 

“Say,” he said, so softly she nearly missed it, “I’ve heard… rumors about this castle. A beast lurks in its walls. Do you need a strong man to save you, princess?” 

Belle took a practiced breath and shook her head. The panic surged, and she shoved it down as she gulped in air. “I’m afraid those are only rumors, Sir Gaston.” 

The crowd broke up into groups as the orchestra began another song. Belle took that as her cue to leave. She had pushed her luck anyway. How much longer could she last in the spotlight before her secret came tumbling out of the shadows?

She ducked through a servant’s passage and took a flight of stairs up to the next floor. The ballroom technically had two levels, although the higher one was really just a series of balconies for people to look down below. She cast one final glance at the glow and warmth of humanity, then turned and retreated for her tower. 

But another pair of uneven footsteps joined hers not long after, breaking the too-heavy silence. With them came the heavy smell of alcohol. She paused, stiffening, and looked around. If a servant had been drinking so heavily, she should probably help them back to their quarters and tell the head of staff. 

A man stumbled around a corner and into the moonlight of an open widow. He wore a gray coat and slicked his brown hair back. The red wine in his glass sloshed dangerously close to the rim. “Belle,” Le Fou hiccuped. “Belle, means beautiful, doesn’t it?” 

Belle continued onwards. 

“Hey!” he shouted. “I was -- hic -- talking to you!” 

Glass shattered. Belle lurched to a stop, heart in her throat, and turned. 

The wineglass Le Fou had been carrying now littered the floor in a dozen pieces. It crunched beneath his feet when he took another step forward. 

“I am not willing to have a conversation with you,” she said coldly. Terror clawed at her chest, but a streak of courage kept it at bay. She had seen men like these before, although usually, she only met them in the dungeons. “You may leave.” 

“Awww, don’t be like -- hic -- like that! Come on, smile a bit, I just want to talk.” He darted forward with surprising speed, and his fingers wrapped firmly around her upper arm. “A few minutes--” He yanked. 

Instinct took over. 

Belle seized his arm and threw him against a stony pillar. His head snapped back, eyes going wide. Someone shouted “Raoul!” seconds before her fangs pierced the skin on his neck. 

The man’s blood tasted of cheap beer and eggs. She gagged right as someone grabbed her by the back of her dress and pulled her away. Stumbling back, Belle wiped at her chin, smearing red across her face and arm. Her chest heaved as she panted, torn between panic, shock, a gut-wrenching desire for more, and a flicker of guilt. 

But this was the type of man she killed. 

The type of man her father told her to slaughter in their cells. 

She could almost feel the cold of the room, the stinking smell of sweat and refuge. 

“You monster!”

The shout snapped her back to the present. 

Gaston stood in front of a crumpled Le Fou. He lay on his stomach while blood gushed from a torn neck. It collected like a crimson lake on the floor, staining the hem of her dress. The scrape of metal sang through the air when the soldier drew his sword. Its tip angled straight at her heart. Moonlight bounced off the surface. 

“I-- he--” She stammered for words. How did one explain this? Bile burned her throat. And yet, a hunger that hadn’t been entirely satisfied made her mouth water. Belle clutched the folds of her skirts. “He’s the monster here!”

He considered her for a moment, then gestured to the blood with his sword. “Monsters make people bleed. So, out of the kindness of my heart, I will let you live.” He slid the weapon back in its sheath. “Marry me. Give me the kingdom. Isn’t that what a man deserves for saving a woman?”

“Deserves?” Her entire body shook (if it was with shock or fury, she wasn’t sure). “I don’t owe you anything!” 

It happened. He hated her. She couldn’t escape who she was, even for just one night. 

“Really? So if I ran back to that ballroom with you in tow, no one would think anything of the dead man in the hall and the woman covered in his blood?” 

She opened her mouth to fight back. No. He had a point. She might be able to overpower him, but she had seen his muscles earlier. If she died, then her father would be alone, and there would be no heir to his kingdom. 

Be brave, she told herself again. 

How could she be when there was no way out? She remembered her mother’s words -- to have the bravery to be kind even when it seemed stupid -- and struggled to see its merit in that instance. 

Maybe it meant being kind to herself and trusting she would find a solution in the future.

“My father,” she said slowly, struggling to keep her tone even, “will return to his study before he retires for the night. We can wait for him there.” 

Grinning, Gaston spun on his heel and offered Belle his arm. She glanced back at Raoul’s body. How could he turn his back so easily? It made her skin crawl. Monster. Perhaps that label belonged to all three of them. She wrapped her sticky arms around his muscled forearm. Together, they made their way through the darkened halls. 

***

“How much do you know about the Fae?” Rumplestiltskin cast her a sideways glance as they passed through the halls. The curtains had all been drawn again -- in preparation for her, no doubt. For now, Belle was trapped inside the castle until the sun faded. 

“Much, I should hope. The power of names, their food, inability to create art and fascination with humans because of it, their weakness to iron, the two Courts, their deals, and the fact that, while they cannot lie, they often twist or omit the truth.” Realization dawned on her, and she laughed. “How do you feel about sweets, Rumplestiltskin?”

He frowned a little. “I fail to see how that relates, but I like them well enough. You have gaps in your knowledge.” 

“And you in yours.” Her eyes lingered on a section of the hall seared into her mind. Had Gaston stayed? She hadn’t asked her father, and she hadn’t heard any of the news. “You’re practically one step away from being Fae.” 

He stuck his nose in the air. “I am not.” 

“I’ve never seen you touch iron.”

“I’m rich enough that I don’t need it. I dine with silver cutlery and plates. Besides, they make it easier to find poison.” 

“Does it really?” Her eyes lit up. She’d never given much thought to poisons -- after all, why would she need to worry about it? She rarely drank anything that wasn’t blood, and no one knew to drink some themselves if they hoped to kill her. 

“Even catches magical poisons. The kinds that force out truth, drain power, that sort of thing.” 

“Fascinating,” she mused. They walked in silence a moment longer with nothing except the padding of their own feet to fill the air. Then, “Speaking of magic… our deal. Are you any closer to a cure? I haven’t found anything in my studies.” 

“I’m not the one who will lift you of your burden. But it will happen.” 

“You can’t give me more details?” she pressed. 

“Telling the future is tricky business.” He waved a dismissive hand. “There’s more possibilities than I could share.”

“You can see what’s to come?” Belle’s mind raced with a dozen thoughts. She’d read of oracles before, just hadn’t imagined that the Dark One would be one himself. That probably explained the far-away look he got sometimes. It also accounted for the way he simply knew things -- how he would conveniently have just the right thing a customer wanted. “Is it very useful? I imagine it becomes difficult to navigate.” 

“It is -- and yes.”

She peppered him with questions (How far ahead could he see? It varied. Did he know any other oracles? A few. All of them sacrificed a part of themselves for the second sight. Did he know about her?) until he eventually waved her off, saying something about needing to do more business before the ball that evening. 

***

Maurice hadn’t taken news of the young lord’s death well. In fact, he paced restlessly for the better part of an hour. He snapped at Belle, saying she should’ve been more careful and asked others for help instead of acting for herself. She simply held her tongue. Her stomach growled.  

Gaston, however, said it was entirely reasonable of her to act like that -- but that such a secret could only be contained if he was allowed to stay by her side. It was for the good of all. His strength would prevent another incident like this. Belle bitterly wondered just who he would be protecting: herself, or everyone else.

But her father agreed in a heartbeat. An engagement to Raoul was announced the very next morning. They needed a healthy alliance with Lord LeGume, after all. When word got out that the poor fool had drunkenly stumbled out into the night and gotten lost, then likely kidnapped by some Fae, Lord LeGume named Gaston his heir. The engagement went forward with him instead. 

The truth, of course, was that the body had been burned. Belle hadn’t been allowed near it. She wasn’t particularly inclined to see the man again anyway, so didn’t mind.

Although, she did find it most odd how little Lord LeGume cared about his son’s death. He brought Gaston under his wing with frightening ease. Had Gaston known about her identity all along? Had she been made the scapegoat for a conspiracy she knew nothing about? 

She didn’t get answers. Oh, she tried. Belle treated Gaston with far more respect than he frankly deserved, hoping he might open up. She listened to him ramble, until she realized his statements meant little more than vapid selfishness designed to ensnare the hearts of everyone around him. In the evenings, she joined him in gardens, only for him to brazenly remind her the kind of monster she was and how she needed to be cowed. She kept to the promise of her engagement, even while hearing of his dallyings with several maids. Her father waved it all off. 

Through it all, she held her head high. 

Even when the Dark One named the price of protection to be Belle. 

Leaving felt like breathing again. 

***

Belle lingered in the shadows outside the castle until the sun began to dip beneath the horizon. The thorn of a rose pricked her finger but drew no blood -- she had none, after all -- as she shifted it in her grasp. 

Colette’s grave wasn’t hard to find. Perhaps it was because Belle used to stare out windows to study the graveyard. Perhaps it was all the visits she made. Or, perhaps it was because the woman had been buried beneath a mausoleum. Snow crunched beneath her feet. Swallowing the lump growing in her throat, she paused in front of the structure. 

“I wish you were still here,” she whispered to the stone. “Thank you for everything.” 

Belle reached out and placed the rose on a small shelf. A breeze blew through the air, shifting the clouds aside, and a streak of golden light fell across her arm. Fire coursed along her skin. Crying out, she jerked back. 

Where the ray had touched her, the skin turned bright red. An ugly blister bubbled up. She glared up at the sky, half hoping just to catch one more glimpse of the light that hurt her so badly. 

Trumpets sounded from the castle. 

The ball. 

Rumplestiltskin was probably wondering where she had run off to. Cursing under her breath, she picked up the skirts of her simple blue dress and hurried back. The servants -- most of whom still recognized her -- parted as she bustled past them in the servants corridor. It was the fastest way to her chambers. 

She brushed aside a tapestry and stepped into a main hall on the third floor. The distant calls of an orchestra wove through the darkened floor. Memories of wandering this place, alone on a night just like this, replayed in her mind. Clinging to whatever sort of companionship she had with the Dark One, she pushed the thoughts aside. 

A door clicked shut nearby. Belle faltered mid stride when her gaze fell on a man. A simplistic black mask covered the top half of his face, yet Belle would’ve recognized that bulky build and slicked back hair anywhere. 

“You.” His voice cut through the silence like a sword. 

She straightened her shoulders and lifted her head. “Sir Gaston. You’re still here?” 

He barked a laugh. “Oh, don’t you know? You’re ineligible as an heir now. King Maurice has named me his successor. I told him he didn’t have to and I could share the truth about what you are, what he did to protect you, but, well, he didn’t seem too taken by that idea.” 

“What I am is not who I am, Gaston,” she said stiffly. She’d seen that with the Dark One -- he was simply Rumplestiltskin, a man, and not a nightmare waiting to strike. “You’ll realize that, when you’re king, you’re not really anyone at all.” 

His lip lifted in a sneer. “You beast, I’ll--”

“You’ll what?” the Dark One demanded, suddenly appearing beside Belle, who nearly jumped at his voice. Instead, she shifted closer. “Who are you again? Leave.” Rolling his eyes, he waved a dismissive hand. 

Gaston’s eyes widened and then narrowed. He pulled the sword out of its sheath. “Oh Belle, has the Dark One been telling you all that nonsense? Has he told you you’re innocent?” 

“Gaston.” Belle held out a hand half in warning. “You’re late to the ball.” 

He studied the two of them for a long moment. Slowly, he lowed his weapon. “I’ll do the honors of letting everyone know you’re here.” With that, he turned on his heels and headed down the hall, hand still resting on the pommel. 

Belle watched him go, wondering why he hadn’t put up much of a fight. Maybe he hoped to rally the partygoers into a makeshift army and hunt down the Dark One. It didn’t feel out of the question. It wasn’t until after he had turned a corner that she began to relax. 

“Thank you.” Belle turned back to face Rumplestiltskin. She rubbed at her arm. “He is a… difficult man.” 

He inclined his head slightly. “I’ve dealt with my fair share of arrogant men. Now where have you been? I had half a mind to believe you’d been kidnapped by a Fae, even if you’d been clever. I--” His eyes dropped to her arm, to where the red burn stood out sharply against an otherwise pale complexion. 

“Oh, the sun caught me by surprise. It’s nothing,” Belle explained, tucking her arm behind her back. 

But Rumplestiltskin caught her elbow. “You have a funny definition of ‘nothing’ for such a learned woman. Come with me.”

She let him guide her in the direction of her rooms. Along the way, she noticed the shift in his attire; his vest still gleamed of scales, as did his sleeves, shoulderpads, and even pant legs. Golden thread shimmered around some finer details. While she wouldn’t call the attire blocky, per say, they seemed more shaped than before. The only part of his costume missing was the mask. Or rather, helmet. 

“You’re… a knight?” she guessed, deeply amused at the notion. “What inspired this?”

“Prophetic visions and the alignment of the stars with the moon.” He shrugged. “Nothing in particular.” 

“I think you look nice.” 

He seemed to stand a little straighter at that. 

Within the next few strides, they had reached the door to the room Maurice loaned Rumplestiltskin. He held it open for her and then followed inside, and immediately crossed the floor to one of the chests he had brought. He knelt and rummaged through it. 

“Vampirism is often considered a curse by sorcerers,” he began. “The bite is just part of the casting. In your case, there was no bite, but you were cursed.” 

“That’s true.” She paused beside him to watch. She didn’t quite understand why he carried a plethora of things when he had the ability to teleport at will. Perhaps this was just more convenient. “Why is this important?”

“Because a curse cannot be undone with another spell.” He paused to point at the burn on her forearm. “I can’t just wave a hand and undo the consequences.”

That stung a little. She had hoped a cure to her vampirism might be easier to find. However, it did explain why he hadn’t simply cured her already. Who, then, could? Doubt settled in the back of her mind. 

“Ah.” Rumplestiltskin pulled out a small vial of gooey green liquid and passed it to her. “Rub it on the burn.”

She studied what must’ve been a completely nonmagical substance for a moment. How ironic that the Dark One’s cure was so plain. Smiling slightly to herself, she uncorked the bottle and smeared it over her arm. She hissed out a wince at the biting cold that seeped into her arm.

Rumplestiltskin gently took her arm. Heat surged stronger where his fingers cradled her. So close, the smell of chestnuts and wine grew stronger, easing a tension she didn’t know remained. He carefully began wrapping white bandages over the burn. “What were you doing so close to the sun?” 

“My mother’s grave is outside.” She watched him, unexpectedly warmed by the look of utter concentration playing across his features. “She died when I was still a child. I thought dusk had fallen enough for me to visit.” 

His movements slowed. “...I lost my son.” He said it so quietly that she almost missed it. “He went somewhere I cannot go.” 

Belle reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. He seemed to shift slightly, almost moving closer. “I’m sorry. You can talk to me about him if you want.” 

“I had a maid take your dress to your room,” he said instead. He tucked the loose strand into the rest of the bandage. Yet, despite his deflection, he didn’t step away from her. “Meet me here when you’re ready.” 

“Alright. And thank you.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze before leaving. 

***

She found her dress hanging on the changing partition, with a pair of shoes, gloves, and a mask sitting on or beside her vanity. Cursing her lack of forethought, she summoned  a maid to help her get ready. 

The fabric fell over her body in waves of soft silk. She brushed a hand over the thick skirts, relishing in the way the gold shifted in the light, turning copper and sometimes white. The bodice, largely white, had probably been stitched through with some of the gold that Rumplestiltskin spun. They formed into what she assumed were rays of light -- she couldn’t exactly look in the mirror and get a clear look. She pulled on the elbow-length gloves while the maid finished tying off her hair. 

“There you are, Your Highness.” She stepped back and curtsied. “You look beautiful.” 

Beaming, Belle tried to imagine herself wearing the ensemble. The mask -- also white with speckles of gold -- covered just her eyes and the bridge of her nose, and of course, she could look down to inspect the dress. Her hair was a different matter, but she didn’t dare touch it in case she accidentally ruined the other woman’s hard work.

Just what, exactly, was her costume supposed to be? 

“Thank you,” she said. “Don’t worry about cleaning up. I can take care of it after the ball.” 

The maid regarded her skeptically a moment, then began picking up the makeup and brushes anyway. “It’s alright, Your Highness. Please, go enjoy yourself.” 

Reluctantly, Belle left her room and went to find Rumplestiltskin. Her heels clicked loudly on the marble floors, a fraction too fast to be considered a walk. 

“Hello there,” a voice said, so smooth it took Belle aback. A new smell wafted around her, one she couldn’t quite place. It was so fresh and rich that her closest connection might be a fresh apple cocooned by chocolate or honey. In the blink of an eye, a woman stepped around a corner at the end of the hall. 

Soft pink coils cascaded over her shoulders, a sharp contrast to the pale green dress she wore over lightly tanned skin. A mask that looked as if it had been built with leaves curled around the upper half of her face. She smiled at her with lips the same shade as her hair, every tooth white and in a straight row. Something about her made Belle squirm. She looked…

Perfect. 

Too perfect.

“Hello,” Belle said, returning her smile.

The woman extended her hand, as if offering the princess to join her on the way to the party. “Can I have your name?” 

The Fae had to be comparatively young if she decided to cause trouble so far from the party. Perhaps she had not learned the finer touches of deception yet. She puzzled over just what type of Fae the woman might be. 

After a moment, Belle responded. “You cannot. But you can call me Lacey.”

The woman huffed impatiently. “You’re no fun. And you -- oooh, you’re a Vampire, aren’t you?” The irritation vanished, replaced by fascination. She crept forward as if watching a deer that might bolt in an instant. “I can feel it! How funny!”

Belle glanced around, praying no one else was around to hear the woman’s statement. Thankfully, the staff had other places to be, and the third floor had always been restricted to average guests. 

“I am.” She inclined her head. “Is there… Can you change that?”

“Nope!” The Fae popped the ‘p’ loudly. She circled Belle now, and now that she had placed what made the woman seem so unnerving, she found herself charmed by the Fae’s curiosity. 

Still, she couldn’t help the disappointment creeping in. She thought a moment longer. Rumplestiltskin had said the cure wouldn’t come from him, so maybe she’d find a clue here. But Fae worked favor for favor, question for question. What could she possibly offer?

Perhaps… 

Was it revenge? Or due justice? She replayed every moment they had spent together, revisited the night she had killed Le Fou and he had manipulated her and her father. She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorily, “You like deals. I’ll give you the name of someone at the party. In exchange, you will immediately give me all the information you have on a subject.” 

Gone was the control in her smile. It curled with a feral edge, eyes lighting with mischief. “Deal, vampire.” 

“His name is Gaston. He’s an important man -- everyone would be impressed that you got his name.” She gave the woman the best description she could offer. Technically speaking, the Fae wouldn’t need it now that she had his name. Still, it would give the woman more to work with. 

The Fae listened intently. She seemed more than delighted to have caught such a big quarry so easily and early into the night. When Belle had finished, she motioned for her to ask her question.

“I want to know if there are any alternative foods for vampires to eat. More specifically, if the alternatives work just as well as human blood.” She tried to keep her racing heart until control while she watched the Fae pause to think.  

“...In Wonderland, there is the Bloodfruit. A vampire crossed realms once and lived off it for several years. However, he had to keep a constant supply -- one fruit a day was the only way to keep the hunger at bay.” She caught her own rhyme and chuckled. “He starved himself when it went out of season. Okay, that’s all I know! Deal’s done!” 

“Wait, is there someone--”

She blinked, and the Fae vanished. 

***

Torn between giddiness at the knowledge and frustration and its incompleteness, Belle walked rather moodily with Rumplestiltskin towards the ball. She was so close! She itched to return to the Dark Castle and scour texts for the mention of the fruit. 

“If I had known you’d be so gloomy, I would’ve made you a dress for a rain cloud,” he quipped. He turned his head sideways to check on her. He wore a black mask that only covered the right side of his face, although anyone could easily identify the Dark One. 

“I’m sorry.” Belle drew herself back to the present. She adjusted her hold on his arm. “I’ve been preoccupied lately.” 

“It’s rather obvious.” 

She flushed, a little embarrassed. The chatter of voices began to fill the hall. Soon, they were passing dozens of other attendees dressed in their finest. Faces turned as they walked by, and a wave of whispers crashed behind them. 

“The Dark One?”

“Why is he here?”

“Who in their right mind would accompany the Dark One?”

“Shh! He saved the kingdom! You should be thanking him.” 

She did her best to ignore them all. Rumplestiltskin even pulled her a little closer, which certainly drew her focus elsewhere.

They stepped foot into the ballroom right as the orchestra on the far end lifted their instruments. Belle perked up and tugged him towards the dance floor. Despite his shifting gaze, he complied. He placed one hand on her waist, she put one on his shoulder, and their free hands clasped together. 

She felt dozens of eyes staring into her back. Some small part of her was jealous that they simply got to see what she looked like. Her mother had described her features when she was young, and there were outdated portraits. Nothing else. 

“Rumplestiltskin,” she said, looking over his shoulder instead of at his face, “what is my costume?” 

“The sun.” They did a turn. She caught a glimpse of the Fae woman scurrying through the crowd. “Gold for the rays, white for the clouds, and your eyes are the exact same shade of the sky at noon.” 

She glanced back at him. “They… are?” 

He held her gaze for a fraction of a second. “Yes.” 

“Describe my hair?”

He seemed welcome for the excuse to keep his eyes trained just above her. She felt a faint tug at the back of her scalp. “In loose curls. Long, soft, the same shade as my spinning wheel.” 

If she hadn’t known how often he spent time at it, she would’ve taken it as the strangest comparison she’d ever heard. However, she also happened to know that the wheel was well loved. She felt her face warm. 

“And--” 

A beastly roar consumed the playing of the strings, who all broke up in sharp, squeaking notes. Screaming, people ran to the other end of the ballroom, leaving a singular man and woman in plain sight. 

Gaston knelt on the floor, doubled over and screaming. His entire body swelled. Fabric tore. Brown fur poked through the broken patches. His arms elongated, fingers grabbing at the floor as if it would steady him. Nails became claws scraping against the marble. 

Standing behind him, the Fae woman clapped her hands in glee. 

“Oh,” Belle mumbled, staring. She lifted a hand to her lips. The smell of his blood had drawn her fangs out again. She struggled to speak around them. “I didn’t realize she would go so far.” 

She almost didn’t feel bad about it; he well and truly deserved it. 

The man finally collapsed, although the transformation continued even while unconscious. New skin and fur grew around his mask. Gaston’s face stretched, drawing into a point like a wolf’s snout.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for a new pet!” the Fae shouted to no one in particular. She stalked around Gaston.  

“You-- what?” Rumplestiltskin whipped around to face her. 

“I might have traded a Fae his name for information on vampirism. There’s a Wonderlandian fruit I need to research.” 

His cackle filled the air between them, and he swept her back into a waltz. Smoke engulfed them, and suddenly they were back in his guest room, safe to finish their dance in peace.

***

After a month of research and following trails, Belle and Rumplestiltskin finally found it: a bloodfruit tree. Its bark was bone-white and the leaves a startling green. Breathless from the hike, Belle reached up and plucked a crimson, bulbous fruit from its branches. She took a tentative bite. Juice spilled into her mouth and trickled along her hands. 

It tasted like heaven -- sweet without being overbearing, thin like water, and finished with a tart afternote. She sucked the fruit dry, amazed at the way her stomach growled, begging for more. 

The hatter sat back on a large, flat rock with a soft grunt. “The tree wouldn’t count as a fourth person. Good luck getting it through, though.” 

Rumplestiltskin shot him a look that seemed to say ‘really?’ as he drew out a jar. Belle moved back so he could set it beside the trunk. With a dramatic wave, the entire tree became vaporous and drifted into the container. The gas condensed into a miniature version of the plant. He stuck on the lid. 

“...Alright.” Grimacing from his stolen rest, the hatter stood back up.  “On we go, back to the Forest.”  

***

Lacey -- no, Belle -- dropped the tea cup she had been holding. It hit the floor, spilling brown liquid across the carpeted floor. Tears sprung into her eyes. But her focus remained solely on the man sitting across from her. 

He looked… different. His skin was no longer so scaly, hair straightened and graying, and he held onto a cane that he’d never needed before. Still, she knew him. 

He avoided her gaze, instead picking up the teacup. “You chipped your cup, dearie.” 

She stood up. The way he stiffened didn’t escape her. She put a hand under his chin and tilted it up so he met her gaze. “Rumplestiltskin.” 

“Belle,” he whispered. 

And she kissed him. 

The cane clattered to the ground. His hands -- oh so delightfully warm -- held her face. She put one hand on his shoulder and held the back of his head with the other. 

Dozens of memories came into startling focus. She didn’t realize she had been crying until Rumplestiltskin wiped at her tears with his thumbs. She pulled back enough to press her forehead to his. 

“I--”

“I do too,” he said. 

She laughed breathlessly. Had he seen this moment all those years ago, or simply grown to know her well enough to guess what she said? 

“I can leave,” she realized, eyes widening. Belle stepped back, eyes scanning the room with renewed vigor. She hadn’t really committed the crime, she could spend her days outside in the sun, she could--

Her eyes fell on the newspaper clipping pinned to the wall. On the picture of the man. 

She--

She did kill him. In the Dark Castle. 

“I killed him.”

He didn’t deny it. Simply stood up and put a grounding hand on her shoulder. “You and I are the only ones who know the truth of that.” 

She gasped, practically choking on air as she tried to drink it in. “But I still did it.” 

“And you found a way to never do it again. As long as magic doesn’t return, you can continue to eat like I do. Please, Belle, sit down.” 

He guided her to a couch and eased her into it. He joined her, one arm tucked around her while she tried to understand it all. 

“Never again,” Belle finally said. She opened her mouth and pressed fingers against her teeth. None were too irregularly pointed. 

No more blood. No more prisons. 

The world lay at her fingertips.