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At first, Belle didn’t have time to acclimate to her surroundings. In other words, her mind couldn’t process the chaos fast enough. This was because her Dark One was all business, business, business. He wasn’t a man of words unless they were sharp and quick-witted. He was a man of action, and currently that action was pulling Belle behind him as he gleefully skipped along to where he needed go. This left Belle stumbling over uneven cobblestone in what looked like a city center, trying not to trip or break a heel.
Neither would do her any good, if it happened. This she knew from experience-the Dark One would simply look at her unamused, snap a finger, and the next thing she knew, Belle would be floating after him-and not in a peaceful, relaxing manor either. It would be more as if she had become encased in zero gravity, which meant constantly fighting to stay upright or even stay low enough to the ground. The very first time this happened-and it wasn’t her fault that the mountain terrain was really rough and steep and she, as a last minute addition to the travel roster, was ill-prepared to keep up in her only item of clothing-a dress thankyouverymuchforyourforesightRumplestiltskin>:(! Nor were the only shoes she owned conducive to roughing it, no thanks to Mr. No-I-Cannot-Just-Magic-You-Work-Boots-Dearie, so she had wound up upside-down nearly the entire journey to the summit. At least when she floated too high it had been her feet hitting the branches and not her head.
Alas, Rumplestiltskin had a lot of business to attend to and had zero to no inclination to leave Belle alone in the castle after the Laboratory Incident. To be fair, some of the chemical reactions that were caused were pretty nasty. And colorful. And a major setback for the Dark One’s more deranged deals.
So, it took a while for Belle to process what her senses were absorbing because it took a while until Rumplestiltskin stopped pulling her forward and around. Even surrounded by the evidence, Belle still couldn’t fathom the destruction around her.
It was hard to see, first of all. She coughed as the smog finally penetrated her conscious senses, tasting ash-like on her tongue and coating her lungs thickly. It smelled more than just heavy and smokey-it felt like her nasal passage was inhaling small chunks, roughing her passages up-and, to be fair, maybe she was. She was certainly coughing like she was. Through all this, her sense of sight was impeded as well. It was almost like looking through fog. The visibility around her was maybe 45-70% in any given area. The concentration of patches of particle debris were random, as were the physical debris left over on the ground.
Immediately surrounding her were leaflets-some in perfect condition, others torn as if dismantled in a hurry, and still more bore marks of being trodden upon. Strewn about were masks, dropped and abandoned as the horror of what had happened sunk into the minds of its’ once supportive owners. These, too, were worse for wear. A couple looked untouched, a sense of being gentle deposited on the ground. Most masks were not so lucky. Including the one that lay just beside her foot.
Curious, a little sickened, she picked it up slowly, as if it would bite her. Maybe it would, she wasn’t sure. It looked like it could, because of where it came from. But the mask was just a mask, if also a sad reminder. Something inside Belle crumpled a little as she took in the stoic façade that now looked like it wanted to cry, due to a crack that ran from its’ corner to just below its eye. This inanimate object looked to Belle as if it were in pain. Which would be silly, but the place Belle now called home was filled with inanimate objects that weren’t so inanimate. Would this mask be screaming or sobbing or a horrifying mixture of both if the Dark One gave it a voice? Would it make echoes that would haunt Belle for years? It certainly looked like it could, but if it did not then this Hell Belle now found herself in definitely would.
So absorbed was Belle in her forgotten mask, so overpowered were her sensory neurons, that she did not immediately hear the shouts of men yards away. When they finally did penetrate her attention, the quiet amid the solitude she found herself in while examining her mask and the strewn litter was suddenly, blaringly gone. Though her world was still coming to her through a haze, she could now hear shouting that quite clearly was not. Orders were being barked, one fireman to another, chief to subordinate, competent to incompetent. All hands on deck, men were working together to put out the last of the blazing inferno that had consumed their location not an hour before. Still it raged on, as angry as the protestors who had helped breathe it life. The firemen were having little success suffocating that which was caused by hatred and fear.
Before her eyes, entire buildings were being eaten alive by a monster with an insatiable apetite. Blackened monoliths stood in place of once revered, pristine towers and with each minute the wind carried the receipt of the meal towards Belle and her companion. If she squinted and blinked a bunch of times to clear her eyes, she could just barely make out the church-still, oddly, the most intact structure in this ravaging. It, too, looked as if it would be screaming in agony or desolation if only Rumplestiltskin would grant it with voice. Belle shivered, suddenly cold although the fire was large and close enough to offer at least a little warmth and the air around Belle was a stale, oppressive blanket, coating her in an insulation of soot.
As soon as she felt her stomach bubble in consensus that she had gotten her fill, her senses widened to her periphery and she allowed Rumplestiltskin to distract her. She could not understand her observations, although she wasn’t particularly surprised. Here she was, devastated by a violence of a life she does not have a part in, humbled by pain and the teamwork to quiet the monster, overwhelmed by the smells and the taste and the sound and the sight all around her. But the man she was with, he was a gleeful imp. While she had been horrified, he had been gazing around like a proud grandfather. While she had trouble wrapping her mind around the sight before her, he had been reveling in it. To him, this was another day at the office. To Belle…
“What happened?” she could barely bring herself to speak, and when she did her voice came out as a mere whisper. Maybe the smog had gotten to her lungs so heavily they created a barrier, but the words could barely be forced out.
“Why, what always happens, Dearie. Humans.” He giggled, finally bringing his attention back to Belle. She said nothing, just stared at him like she couldn’t fathom what was going on, and he felt unsettled. Belle was too innocent sometimes-he hadn’t yet decided if this was endearing or annoying. But her expression would eat away at him-and more importantly, his happiness-if he didn’t do something fast. His hands dropped from their expressive gestures, as he sobered up. “Don’t tell me you expected anything else. You should know by now, Dearie. Humans thrive on drama!” he gave another wave of his hands, revived his smile. This was his show, blast it.
“But why?” At that moment, Belle realized she was still holding the broken mask and she held it up to shake in Rumplestiltskins face. “Why would anyone do this? This chaos? This… this destruction.” She wailed.
“Because, Dearie,” he gestured around magnificently, “that is all humans know. They do not follow hope, they do not follow the light, they do not prance around like the hero in one of your books. They seek power and they destroy to get it.” With each word, Rumplestiltskin grew more upset, more passionate. “They don’t know when to stop, they don’t know when they’ve gone too far, and they refuse to believe they’ve done anything wrong. Human. Nature.” He lectured.
“But why did this happen?” Belle asked again, pointing at the ground in frustration. “What happened here?”
The two stared at each other in a stand-off, the Dark One humbled into silence by the sight of Belle in near tears.
“Power.” Belle opened her mouth to interrupt, but Rumplestiltskin waved a hand up to silence her. “A charming man in a charming mask.” He spit. “A mystery, he remained. But his words. His words were the ticket.” He giggled and gestured to the roaring inferno, still going despite minutes under the tutelage of the firemen. “People were sick, starving, in great pain. Humanity was suffering, as humanity does. Then in comes this Prince Charming” he laughs at his own little joke, “with promises to make Them pay. So he uses his words to enchant his listeners into followers and they follow him blindly. Plans are laid, a seed germinates, no one asks the important questions-who is he, what does he want, what is he willing to sacrifice to get there. But his words sound so much more promising, a fairy tale escape.”
With quick prestidigitation he creates a projection of vivid scenes of the chaos for Belle to bear witness to. She hears a man speak, but she sees the reaction in the thousands he reaches. She sees them strengthen with rage of perceived injustice, she watches them as a couple become a couple dozen become a couple hundred become more. She watches the anger grow in their faces, their resolve strengthens with a dark task. She sees the masks that they don, though most have no idea what they’re really fighting for. Following the crowd, the shared trauma turns into shared visions of vigilantism. Each man, woman, child wants to be a hero. Wants to fight the oppression, eagerly exchanging one noose for another. But then his magic crystal ball grows dark as chaos descends. Surprise and astonishment light the faces behind the mask as their once great crowd all hesitate, questioning if they did the right thing. They were so sure they were fighting for the right cause, following a strong leader, and yet in front of them the world is exploding and they don’t know why. Masks fall in limp hands, faces fall in surprise, blankness or fear because-what have they done? There’s so much destruction when there was supposed to be unity. The only voices were supposed to in jubilee or in synchronized chants or, better yet, in the defeat of their opposition, yet all around the only sound is discordant, jarring, deafening terror. Like a chess board, each piece gets knocked down as each person looks out for themselves while they flee in terror. This is not what they wanted! The voice of V had promised them something better than this. People are shoved, feet are trampled, voices screamed hoarse.
Majestically, the Dark One ends his video lesson. Belle blinks. The scene has ended, but the screams are still in her head.
“Prince Charming enchanted his listeners, yes, and gave them a fairytale full of hope and happy endings to escape their miserable lives.” He summed up. “But Dearie. Magic always comes with a price.” From deep within him, laughter bubbled out-as if nothing was better than the suffering of others. And maybe, for the Dark One, nothing was.
Without missing another beat, he skipped off like an excited child on Christmas to get closer to the action, to examine and revel in it more thoroughly. This was a job well done, in his mind.
Logically, she knew. The unseen humans had just put their faith in the wrong person. They were struggling and starving and desperate. They were given an out that sounded perfect, and it turned out too good to be true. They believed the words they were fed to fill their empty bellies instead of food. But their desperation for protection and justice had resulted in them blindly following someone they knew little about which led to consequences they weren’t even aware they should fathom and that they were ill-prepared to handle. That they couldn’t handle. A monster had successfully used their desperation to hoodwink them for his own gain, his own agenda. Leaving them at square 0.
But as Belle surveyed the destruction around her, as she once again paid attention to the bitter dry taste on her tongue as she swallowed the lack of moisture in the air around her. She tried to suck in a full breath and found she could not-less so as they got closer to ground zero. Her eyes watered no matter how many times she tried to blink them clear. The tallest building had already crumbled despite the devoted attention it received, and as she watched the church, too, started to concave. In slow motion, the largest gargoyle on the highest point fell. Where it stood, flames now lapped, as if to coat it with digestive enzymes to make inhaling the sacred building easier. Her ears knew nothing but the roar and crackle of the fire and the desperate shouts of the men trying fruitlessly to find something to save. No one noticed the duo in the chaos, and this allowed Rumplestiltskin to lead her as close as impishly possible, much to her chagrin. Heat wave after heat wave made her skin feel like it was on fire too.
There would be nothing left.
Things would be different. V had made his point. He’d outed the people he needed, he destroyed what his vision hadn’t calculated to retain. He’d set back a lot of lives, but he’d also made sure nothing could be the same.
And she had to wonder, was it worth the price?
