"'If you knew Time as well as I do,' said the Hatter, 'you wouldn't talk about wasting IT. It's HIM.'

'I don't know what you mean,' said Alice.

'Of course you don't!' the Hatter said, tossing his head contemptuously. 'I dare say you never spoke to Time!'

'Perhaps not,' Alice cautiously replied: 'but I know I have to beat time when I learn music.'

'Ah! That accounts for it,' said the Hatter. 'He won't stand beating. Now, if you only keep on good terms with him, he'd do almost anything you liked with the clock.'"

- Chapter Seven: A Mad Tea-Party, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll

Eight months into her stay at the Dark Castle, Rumpelstiltskin gave Belle a library.

To say that she'd been overwhelmed was a vast understatement. When Rumpelstiltskin had eased her through the doors Belle believed, for the first time in her life, that she might actually faint. She'd have been more than happy to, for the towering spiral of books laid before her deserved nothing less than her complete and utter devotion. Belle did manage to retain her feet, but only with the help of the doorjamb and some very deep breathing. When she'd finally recovered enough to start making appreciative whimpers she found Rumpelstiltskin far ahead, waving his arms expansively to clear away the dust.

Belle had wanted to clean all parts of the Dark Castle herself, as she'd been told was her duty, but perhaps, in this case, a bit of magic could be forgive. After all, how could she ever be expected to wait? She had an entire wing of books to delve into; more books than her entire village owned, more books than she knew existed in the world! So secretly she was glad, thrilled even, when at her first violent sneeze Rumpelstiltskin had t'sked and impatiently tossed his head to rid them of the worst filth. He'd continued to clean as the tour began, often slashing his arms as if he held a rapier and the dust had agreed to a duel. Belle walked in conflict, torn between gasping at the beauty his cleaning revealed and fury that he'd ever let the library be neglected in the first place.

"Now, dearie," he said, skipping along before her, "let's see… We've got your histories—top left!—your biographies—booooooring!—and look!" He knelt, highlighting a row of thinner, colorful volumes. "Legends, dearie! Myths. Fables. Stories that haunt the dreams of children and the consciences of adults. If they're wise, that is." He snatched a book seemingly at random, flipping it open to present to her. Belle peered wonderingly at the illustration that covered both pages: a creature, half man and half fox, sitting against the trunk of an oak. He was wreathing flowers into a woman's hair and she, blissful, did not seem to realize that her tresses slowly grew shriveled and grey at his touch. Underneath, the image was captioned with the simple word, "TRICKSTER."

"Want to read of the Deceivers, dearie?" Rumpelstiltskin asked, hopping from foot to foot. "Maidens stolen by nightfall? Children tumbling from one world to the next? You can find the story of Perina here, I'm sure. She made a deal, you know. Traded her beauty for a fertile womb and became the ugliest crone to bear the fairest child." He giggled, clapping happily at that little trick of fate. "And you know what?" He leaned in, whispering against her ear. "You know who made that deal, dearie. But I won't be saying his name!" Rumpelstiltskin danced away, the book in his hands disappearing in a cloud of purple smoke. Belle found herself laughing, half at his good humor and half at her growing awe.

"That is quite the story," she said, trailing fingers along the books' spines. "I suppose that this… deal maker… must have stored the beauty somewhere safe, hmm?"

"Oh yes. Bottled away for a rainy day!"

"Perhaps in a gold decanter." Belle's eyes drifted up, towards the topmost tower where she knew Rumpelstiltskin's workroom resided. "Sitting on a dragon skin chest? Next to the collection of beans?"

"Maaaaay-hap." He grinned and skipped. "An observant one, aren't you?"

"And what, exactly, would this deal maker do with such a thing?" Belle tried to dart forward to catch a glimpse of his expression, but Rumpelstiltskin was having none of that. He turned dizzyingly amongst the shelves, leading them further down the seemingly endless halls. "Would he cloak himself in its properties, I wonder? Certainly he'd be deserving of such a reward, if he wished it. To trade the miracle of a child for mere beauty is hardly a trade at all. Most generous, I'd say."

"Generous?" he scoffed.

Rumpelstiltskin finally stopped dancing. Belle watched as he turned slowly, cocking his head at her in disbelief. To tease him was a rare and wonderful thing, but Belle often found that doing so lead to more melancholy moods. Teasing, and the times when she referred to his humanity.

"I fear it would be just that, dearie." he said, words suddenly soft amongst the books. "Only a cloak. No matter how fine the material, it will eventually wear thin and he who donned it would shed the beauty to reveal only ugliness underneath." Rumpelstiltskin shrugged and, despite the bitterness of his words, Belle was relieved to see that his mouth still twisted with a bit of mischief. "Although, I know one thing he would not need such a prize for," he sang.

"Oh, and what is that?"

"Why, should he possess, say, a caretaker, she would never need such magic. Pretty as a picture she'd be, her natural beauty outshining anything that could be brewed, bottled, or drunk." As Belle's cheeks stained red Rumpelstiltskin gleefully offered her his arm. "Wouldn't you say?"

"Well, I suppose I must bow to your wisdom in this matter," she murmured. For just a moment she forgot the books and linked her arm with his.

"Clever girl!" and he tugged her along, deeper into his maze of knowledge.

They passed the whole day in this manner, alternating between learning about the library and, hesitantly, learning more about each other. Rumpelstiltskin's good mood returned as Belle lost herself in each new row of books, always expressing her amazement fervently. Happily, he showed her the scrolls he'd collected from religious men, many of their seals still unbroken. Belle spent long minutes trailing her thumbs along the spines of volumes no thicker than her pinkie, priceless artifacts taken as payment for countless deals.

"That," he said, pointing to a book in gray, "was in a king's family for longer than I've been alive, dearie. Amazing what we'll part with, for the right price."

Belle didn't often like to think of Rumpelstiltskin's work, nor the fact that her own life here at the castle was a result of his business. But she knew that there were times—rare though they were—when his bargains truly favored both parties. Rumpelstiltskin hadn't lied when he'd told her father that he looked for offers more precious than gold; it was just that what he deemed precious was not always so devastating a loss to the desperate souls who'd called him. To a woman longing for a child, surely beauty was not so terrible a price to pay; and a singular text did not seem quite so important when its loss could save an entire village from sickness. Belle gave Rumpelstiltskin's arm a squeeze. She was learning that although the stories about him had not been exaggerated, they had been a bit misleading. Sometimes, things did turn out for the best. Rumpelstiltskin spoke freely of what he wanted, whatever it was, and Belle need only pity those who lost something truly irreplaceable.

Like her father, losing her.

They rounded a corner, slipping from shadows into the torch's reach, and Belle took the time to study Rumpelstiltskin's face. Yes, after months in the Dark Castle she understood his business better, though she did wish that he would use his magic without compensation, if only a little. The good he might do outside of deals was truly staggering.

Even if Rumpelstiltskin only did little things, like cleaning a library for a mortal girl, his magic could influence the world in ways that took Belle's breath away. Good, merely for the sake of good. But she shook her head, imagining what he would say to that suggestion and what it would do to his fearsome reputation.

"Feeling drowsy, dearie?" he asked.

"Not in the least." Belle pulled them into a more brightly lit room, determined to push away her dark thoughts and enjoy his rare contentment. "I believe you promised to show me maps?"

So maps she was given, maps with terrain fantastical to her eyes and warnings inked into the corners. "Be wary now," Rumpelstiltskin giggled, "here be monsters!" They passed another hour amongst those scrolls, Rumpelstiltskin answering her questions as quickly as she could voice them. One map in particular was a beautiful composition of blues and greens, depicting an island that, supposedly, no one could get to.

"Well if no one can get to it, then how was the map drawn?"

"How remise of me. I should have been more specific. No one can get to it… except me."

"You." Belle gazed open mouthed at the drawing. "You drew this?"

"I am a monster of many talents, dearie," and he gave a little bow. She was so engrossed in the map that she didn't even correct him for the 'monster' quip. He eventually had to drag her away.

"Come! Out of all my library's treasures there's one more you must see. Then I will leave you to," he fluttered his hands distastefully, "read and such."

"Really, Rumpelstiltskin. You cannot expect me to believe that a man with such an astounding library doesn't like to read!"

"Oh, it's quite alright to wile away the hours. I've read them all of course." He tried to shrug indifferently but ended up smirking at Belle's stunned expression. "Multiple lifetimes will allow that, dearie. But really it's such a stationary activity." He scrunched his face like a child tasting lemons.

Despite her complaints, Belle could understand that reasoning, as she'd never actually seen him keep still. He was always pacing, twirling, expressing, playing with trinkets, dancing to music only he could hear. Sitting still with a book would be torture.

"If it's not your preferred form of leisure," she asked, "then why do you devote such space and luxury to it?"

"Because I can!"

Belle huffed, arching an eyebrow at the gold laces of his boots and his ostentatious silk shirt. Yes, she could understand that too.

"But didn't you read as a child?" she insisted, unable to comprehend someone who had a library like this at their disposal and not the enthusiasm to go with it. "Surely you enjoyed stories when you were a boy."

Rumpelstiltskin paused, one foot hovering in the air. His face had taken on a peculiar expression; one of befuddlement mixed with unease and… longing? Something hot coiled in Belle's stomach.

"You… were a child once, weren't you?" she whispered.

"Oh yes," he said, and she breathed again. Rumpelstiltskin's eyes darted, catching her gaze, but he quickly looked away. Belle noted that he nervously twiddled with the cuff of his shirt. "I was a man, dearie, once upon a time. A child once too." He gazed off into the distance, looking as if he hoped for confirmation of that. "I couldn't read though."

"No?" Belle edged closer, placing one hand upon his arm. "You were poor?"

"Yes, not all of us were daddy's little princesses." The tone was clipped but his eyes jumped back to her hand. He didn't push it away. "It is a funny thing though. I can't recall when I learned to read."

"Perhaps you taught yourself at some point?" Belle suggested.

"Yes…" Rumplestiltskin didn't look convinced but then, almost violently, he brightened. "Yes! That must have been it. Silly of me to forget. These things do happen though, when one is as old as I am."

"And when one spends so much time at that spinning wheel." Belle shook her head at his chuckle. "Well, I for one could never forget my lessons. They are some of my fondest memories as a child. Although, there is something to be said for teaching oneself how to read. You truly are a man of many talents."

"Of course…" Rumpelstiltskin missed Belle's correction, starring off again as he was. Yet in a moment he shook his head vigorously, as if clearing it of cobwebs. He gave her a grin and ushered them further down the hall.

"Here we are." With an excited squeal Rumpelstiltskin pushed open a door nestled between two shelves. The wood was nearly the same color as the wall and had he not been there to guide her, Belle may never have found it. He bowed her inside, giving gentle, eager pushes against her back.

"I'm going!" Belle laughed, but her amusement caught in her throat and what came back out was only a stuttering sigh.

"Rumple," she breathed, "what is this place?"

'What' was certainly the correct word, for Belle felt as if she had entered another realm entirely; one where the natural laws of her world no longer applied. There were certainly books, but ones unlike any she had seen before. They glowed in the relative darkness of the room, their colors strangely vibrant. Some of the colors… she didn't even have names for them. Her eyes skirted across the volumes, flicking away one moment as her mind realized it couldn't process what it saw, but then drawing back again in fascination. Unbidden she reached a hand out, not knowing what she meant to touch or if she even could.

"Rumple…"

There was movement. Everywhere. From her earliest moments Belle knew that libraries were places of stillness, heavy air, and silence. But this room… it hummed with energy. The flames of the torches danced without wind and the smoke twisted itself into fabulous patterns along the ceiling. The shelves creaked, the wood straining and settling in hypnotic rhythms. And the books… they vibrated with life. Belle watched their spines closely, waiting for them to actually move—fly off the shelves or open their pages. She didn't see this, but she knew, somehow, that they could. This, this was definitely a place she could see the great Rumpelstiltskin reading in: a place of power

It was a long time before Belle could tear her eyes away and when she did she found Rumpelstiltskin leaning comfortably against the wall. He arched a grin at her expression.

"This, dearie, is where I keep my special collection." He said 'special' the way Belle had heard him use it for her, back when he claimed her as compensation for their deal. The implication, that she could be compared to this room of marvels, made her blush.

"Here," he said, waving a hand, "I keep my most important books. Those I hold most dear. Can you guess?"

"Magic," Belle whispered.

"Ehe! S-o-o clever." Rumpelstiltskin pulled a volume from the nearest shelf and presented it to her. Belle, shaking with longing, made to touch, but the book was immediately pulled out of her reach.

"Ah, ah, ah. You'll need to do better than that." He stroked the spine of his book and it seemed to purr, falling open to reveal words in a language she did not know. Yet Belle did know, instinctively, that these were spells. The ink quivered as if it wanted to leap off the page and work wonders in their world.

"You see magic is a finicky mistress," Rumpelstiltskin said. "It demands so much time and attention. Almost more than I can spare! But above all," he held out a warning finger, wagging it under her nose, "magic demands respect. Curtsey, Belle."

"Curtsey?" She was getting used to the room now. Some of the awe was waning and Belle found herself capable of laughter. "To a book?"

"Oh yes," as if to demonstrate his point Rumpelstiltskin gave a deep bow before replacing the volume. "It's only polite, dearie. I don't jest," he cast her a stern look, noting that her lips still quivered. Belle quickly grew somber under his reproach. "I've been incredibly kind to a mere maid, haven't I?" His words were again sharp but his tone lacked its usual bite. If anything, he sounded defensive. "Given you much? Lessons, gowns, sweets, permission to write to that oaf of a father," his lips curled "and now a library! I am most certainly generous."

"You are." Belle said it strongly, determined to reassure the man who was hiding behind the beast.

"Yes. But this, I didn't need to give. You would have never found this room without my help." True enough. "So heed my warning: always be courteous, always be polite. Speak no ill will in this room and none shall befall you. Be respectful, dearie. Magic demands nothing less."

"Very well," and feeling only slightly foolish Belle turned to a shelf, dropping into a deep curtsey. "Though I must ask," she said to the floor, "does 'speaking no ill will' extend to calling my father an oaf?"

"Humph." Rumpelstiltskin turned away but she could have sworn she heard him mutter something about magic also demanding truth. "Well there you have it! The jewel atop the crown. I assure you, you will find no finer library in this realm. Are you pleased?"

"Oh yes!" Belle couldn't help herself. Rushing forward she danced on tiptoes to kiss his cheek, immediately feeling as if she had acted too wildly in such a reverent place. Yet she did not regret it, not when Rumpelstiltskin was lifting a hand to his face with an expression that resembled shock.

"Though I admit," Belle said, looking about, "I do not know how much use I will have for magic books." She'd seen first hand how magic could corrupt or, just as frightening, become a crutch for its user. She was happy to allow Rumpelstiltskin to summon their tea or keep her dry from the rain, but she, personally, wanted no more part in wielding magic. She'd done enough already.

"Well, it's here if you want it, dearie." Rumpelstiltskin still had a hand to his cheek, his voice rougher than she was used to hearing. Edging towards the door he nearly stumbled over air. "I'll, uh, let you get to your reading, yes?"

"Rumple!"

He stopped but didn't turn. On hand fluttered against the doorjamb.

"Thank you. Really. This… it means a great deal to me. More than I think you can imagine. My mother…" Belle paused, smiling sadly at his back. "I'm told my mother was very fond of books. I enjoy reading for more reasons than entertainment or knowledge. And you are right. I was given to you as a maid but you've treated me like a princess." His shoulders straightened a bit at that. "This library…it's wonderful."

They stood in silence together—a beauty and a beast breathing in synch.

"… You're welcome," he said and then he was gone. Rumpelstiltskin forwent the doorway for a puff of smoke.

Belle shook her head, smiling. Really, what would her village think? She imagined the conversations, assuring her people that the feared Dark One could be made as uncomfortable as any man, awkward under a woman's gaze and fleeing at kind words. No doubt they would think her mad.

Yet she had seen that emotion, then, now, and time and again as her days with him piled up. Belle recalled clearly his mercy towards Robin Hood, the beautiful chamber he gave her when the dungeon was deemed too drafty ("Need to keep you healthy, dearie!"), his arms frantic to catch her as she fell from the ladder, his back relaxing moments ago as Belle assured him of her contentment. These were soft moments, fleeting amidst his giggling recollections of the horrors he'd committed, but for now they were enough. Belle also recalled sitting beside him on the hall's grand table, barely breathing lest she scare him off. He'd spoken of a son. More importantly, she'd seen that Rumpelstiltskin had kept the boy's things; treasured in a room that bore the air of a shrine. That was not the action of a monster. No man could treasure a child so deeply, not without some light left in his heart. And light, though fragile, could always grow into brilliance.

Now this.

Belle spun, taking in the magic room and the hundreds of books that waited outside. She'd have to be careful. The world no doubt mourned her, the sacrificial princess, condemned to eternity with the Dark One, yet here she was, in danger only of being spoiled rotten.

"I fear that I spoke the truth earlier," she said to the room, telling herself firmly that this was not foolishness. Rather, Belle would swear that things settled, that the books were listening to her. "I would never shun any knowledge, but I really have no use for magical books. I prefer the more boring variety." A sudden gust blew about, ruffling her dress and tossing her curls. Instinctively, Belle knew the room to be pouting.

"Please don't be upset," she said. "I meant no offence. But I really think I'll be starting with those biographies." Belle laughed freely as another gust blew through. It was a harsh wind, but it did urge her gently towards the door. "Don't worry. I'm sure I'll be back!" she called, dropping a courtesy before slipping outside.

In the end, Belle hadn't started with the biographies, but rather with a dark corner devoted to the domestic arts. Although, "devoted" was perhaps a bit of a stretch. There were all of five volumes, three of which were on the proper care of leathers and silks (Belle was learning quickly that for all his uneasiness about his appearance, Rumpelstiltskin took great pride in his wardrobe. Perhaps a bit too much pride.) The other two books covered sewing, but not in a manner that was useful to her. One book Belle was convinced came from another realm, what with its discussion of mushrooms and their size changing properties. The second, she was positively horrified to find, dealt with the preparation of certain meats she would never be partaking of.

Less than a day after being given her library Belle stormed into the great hall. Rumpelstiltskin was seated at the table and, unrepentantly, she threw The Slow Cooked Child into his lap.

"What is this?" She hissed the words at him, gesturing wildly at the volume.

Rumpelstiltskin had the good grace to flinch, though whether it was due to shame or at her out of character treatment of a book, she couldn't be sure.

"Why, it's a cookbook, dearie. I thought you could read." He'd recovered nicely, reclining in a supposedly indifferent manner. Belle noted that he wouldn't meet her eyes though.

"A cookbook on preparing children?"

"Well, not just children…" he trailed off.

Belle shook her head, fisting one trembling hand against her mouth. "I cannot believe that you would own such a thing," she whispered.

Which was surely the wrong thing to say. Instantly Rumpelstiltskin was out of his chair, an inch from her face, and wearing an aura of power so great it blanketed them both. He was every bit the imp, arms held loftily as he graced her with a mocking bow.

"You can't believe, my lady? Oh ho! Believe it! Tell me, who exactly do you think I am that I wouldn't have such a treasure in my collection?"

He slithered even closer, breath harsh against her face, and Belle found herself trembling. She was sure, consciously, that he would not harm her but her body had yet to be convinced.

"You forget yourself." Rumpelstiltskin growled. "What? Did you think everything in that library would be fairy tales and happy endings? I'm no prince, dearie. No hero." He actually ran a blackened nail across his tongue, as if the word held a terrible aftertaste. "Did I save your insignificant village out of the goodness of my heart? No. You were the price, my dear! And I was in a good mood that day. Oh yes I was so generous! I've done things that would fill your pretty little head with such nightmares, you'd go mad within one night. I'm the Dark One, or have you forgotten?"

"It sounds as if you're trying to convince yourself as much as me," Belle said, but nevertheless her voice shook. She squeaked as one hand clawed against her arm. "You're not evil!"

"Really?" The hated book disappeared from the table and reappeared in his hand. Holding one edge, Rumpelstiltskin dangled it under her nose. "Have you read it?

"Gods, no!"

"So many recipes, my dear. There's one for every morsel: boiling the bones to make stock, strips of thigh in stew, a wonderful little tip about salting a girl's—"

"Stop it!"

Rumpelstiltskin's grin was nothing but malicious. "You say I'm not evil, dearie? Are you suuuure? The evidence says otherwise!"

"Well have you used it?"

Rumpelstiltskin reared back, just for a moment, and as he did he lost his grip on the book. He snatched it from the air quickly enough, his giggling grin barely slipping… but that was enough for Belle. She straightened, high on adrenaline and daring to take a step forward.

"You haven't, have you?" she snapped. It wasn't a question. The fear leeched out of Belle's voice and was replaced with a sarcasm that she'd realize, belatedly, she'd picked up from him. "This is just another one of your 'quips,' isn't it? To scare me? Well it's not going to work. There is a world of difference between playing at monsters and actively being one, Rumple, and so help me, you won't convince me that I can't tell the difference!"

He really did pull back at that, uncertainty clouding his features. It encouraged Belle to soften her voice even as she crowded him, determined to make herself heard.

"Skinning children would never be one of my duties" she insisted, "because you would never harm a child. Would you deny that?" Rumpelstiltskin looked away. "No. I know you wouldn't. Not when you showed Robin Hood mercy when you realized he was a father." Belle edged even closer, noting the warmth of his skin even though it looked so cold. "Not when you yourself have a son."

With that said, Belle wanted to take back her earlier accusation and offer him comfort, but Rumpelstiltskin held himself coiled, looking just as ready to bite her as to fall against her. They stood for long minutes, doing nothing but breathing until he finally turned fully away.

"Had, dearie." It was so quiet Belle nearly missed it. "I had a son. But you're quite right," his voice strengthened with false cheer and Rumpelstiltskin looked back, determinedly wearing his grin like armor. "I've never feasted on a child. They're too… stringy." He wrinkled his nose and a breathy chuckle escaped Belle's lips, due entirely to relief and exhaustion.

"Then why…?"

"Why? Deals of course. I may not wish to sample a child's supple flesh but I can assure you, many do. Your ogres for one, dearie. Imagine the scene, had I not saved your precious village." Belle shivered, the muscles of her stomach clenching at the images that flooded her mind.

"If I remember correctly, I saved my village." She moved to stand beside him once more. "You were going to abandon us, had we not agreed on a price."

"Eh. Quibbles."

"And," Belle forged ahead, "if there's one thing I've learned about your deals since then, it's that words, and the absence of words, hold great power." Rumpelstiltskin eyed her warily. "You say that you keep this book for deals and that many creatures would find use for it, I don't doubt either statement, but you have said nothing about ever having made such a deal or actually using the book."

Rumpelstiltskin glared. He did look a bit impressed though—grudgingly.

"You're an annoying child," he snapped. Belle's lip twitched.

"You going to eat me?"

He rolled his eyes, throwing the book at her. Belle yelped exaggeratedly, hoping to further lighten the mood. Even so, she was only just able to keep hold of the book and once it was in her arms she kept it from her body, adopting a faint expression of disgust.

"I could do far worse than eat you, dearie. I have done far worse. Buuuuuut…"

Rumpelstiltskin turned, pointing between Belle and the cookbook. His neck stretched to peer at them both. "A better question" he said, "is what were you doing, poking around where that fascinating volume was stashed? Hmm? What are you up to, dearie?"

"You gave me the library."

His eyes narrowed. "I showed you the library. And I thought you'd be reading your happy endings! This isn't happy!" He fluttered his hands at the text. Honestly. As if she couldn't see that.

"Well," Belle said, eternally patient. "I was looking for a cookbook."

Rumpelstiltskin blinked. Once.

Twice.

A couple more times.

"… Why?"

"You did say something about serving your meals," Belle drawled. "I only thought to make something more elaborate than eggs, porridge, or stew. Surly you must be sick of my feeble attempts by now? As a woman of noble birth, I didn't exactly learn skills that would be useful to you." Belle blushed, averting his gaze. "I had hoped to find a simple text on cookery and perhaps surprise you with something tastier than what you've been given these past few months."

She peeked up and was relieved to find that Rumpelstiltskin didn't seem mad at her initiative. If anything, he looked a bit stunned. After an awkward moment Belle felt the need to prompt him: "Do you know where I might find such a book?

"… Oh.–I mean no!" Rumplestiltskin scowled, but the expression was flimsy at best. "How should I know where cookbooks are?"

"It's your library."

He shook his head like that was the stupidest argument in existence. "I don't have time for cataloguing, dearie. Besides, I gave the blasted library to you!" Rumpelstiltskin winced at the impassioned admission, so close on the heels of his previous denial. But forged ahead, shooing Belle towards the door. "There we are then, a new duty for you. Go organize my library. I'm sure the books will appreciate your attentions more than I do right now. I would have never gotten a maid had I known it would deny me all rest! Do what you please, just leave me alone, yes? You may even burn this one," he poked at the volume still cradled in her arms, "if it makes you happy. Or shred it. Or eat it! Oh yes, that would be appropriate. An early lunch!"

Belle was nearly out the door, tripping over her gown as Rumpelstiltskin herded her backwards.

"But, Rumple," she gasped, "the library is huge! If it's not with the other domestic books I—really, Rumple. Don't you have some idea where—"

"No. I don't. Imagine that. Look everywhere!" and magic poured from his fingers, slamming the door in her face.

Belle stood, swaying. Briefly overcome by Rumpelstiltskin's mercurial nature, she could only breathe. To witness horror, denial, banter, and embarrassment all within a scant few minutes had left her with a tightness in her chest. It was the second time in as many days that Rumpelstiltskin had fled from her and, simply put, Belle did not know how to deal with him. There was no guidebook for this. Truly, how was she to connect with the "monster," let alone the man he kept hidden underneath? Rumpelstiltskin was a contradiction in countless ways, pushing her back… yet seeking her attention, sweetly gifting her with a library, only to deny it in the same breath. And for her to find such horrifying texts within it…

But Belle was learning.

So she retreated back to the library and quickly consoled herself that such an action could never be a hardship. She stepped among the books and her smile returned.

Rumpelstiltskin avoided her for the next two weeks and, although displeased, Belle put the time to good use. She didn't burn The Slow Cooked Child (her love of the written word simply wouldn't allow it)but she did stuff it into the darkest corner she could find in the hopes that it would never come to light again. Then, she didn't exactly look everywhere, but she made a good stab at it. Working her way from one room to another, Belle trailed her fingers along spines—noting what she wanted to take back to her room, what she'd put aside for later, which books were reminiscent of things she'd already read, which were written in tongues she couldn't hope to decipher. Every once in a while she'd pluck up a volume and move it to another shelf. Rumpelstiltskin had done a decent enough job of separating by genre, but she could discover no clear order within each section. Most likely, he'd simply tossed the books together as he obtained them; centuries worth of knowledge collected as indifferently as the marbles her village's children played with each spring. It would take a lifetime and an incredible amount of patience to truly catalogue it all, so for now, Belle contented herself with making small changes here and there.

Two weeks of exploration in between her duties to Rumpelstiltskin. Two weeks of palming thousands of books. Two weeks of almost nothing but the written word and still, Belle had yet to find a single text on cooking (minus the scholarship on cannibalism, of course.)

"Do you even know if there are any here?" She finally asked in exasperation, withholding his tea until he gave an answer.

"Damn the gods, child, you're like a rat chasing its tail." Rumpelstiltskin snatched the cup, glaring at her over the rim. "How many times must I say it? I don't know! Haven't stepped foot in that place since your ancestors were rounding their wives' bellies. If I'd known how annoying it would make you I never would have given you the damn thing!"

Belle smiled. He kept slipping about the "giving" bit.

"Well do you at least remember obtaining any cookbooks?" she pressed. Really, it was getting ridiculous. The man must have at least some knowledge of the things he owned!

"Maaaaybe. Maybe not! It's not as if I ever needed one, dearie." He twiddled his fingers and two lumps of sugar appeared to drop into his tea. Rumpelstiltskin smirked. "Cooking is for peasants, mortals, and odd little maids. Certainly not the Dark One."

"Huh" Belle murmured, ignoring his arrogance. "Well then. Maybe that's the way to go about this."

Which was how, seventeen days after receiving her library, Belle found herself once again in the magical room, despite her intentions to avoid it. She had thought to perhaps find cookery books in here–of a sort: how to summon or magically create sustenance, like what Rumpelstiltskin had done with his sugar. Not that Belle would ever use those books, but their existence would suggest that her library well and truly lacked the more traditional texts and, with that question settled, she could turn her attention to convincing Rumplestiltskin to purchase her a cookbook. She would obtain something for her use. Belle was nothing if not determined.

Five minutes in she was curtseying as she'd been taught, watching a red volume flutter in response to her politeness, pulling it from the shelf. Belle didn't know why she'd started here, with this book. It wasn't even on the first shelf, hidden away as it was three rows down. But upon entering the room she'd gravitated in this direction, inclined to trust her instincts in a magical environment where, quite frankly, she was woefully out of place. Coming to this book had felt… natural. She had to start somewhere.

"Mistress Lina's Book of Household Management."

Belle whispered the title, frowning. Surprised.

She knew of this book, had seen her late mother's handmaid pouring over it by candlelight. It was, astoundingly, exactly what she was looking for: a guide to both managing an estate and conquering the smaller, more intimate domesticities that were expected of a woman. This would help her become a maid for Rumpelstiltskin and uphold her deal, an exercise that was proving difficult when her father had taught her other than to marry and, when he was particularly doting, to indulge her love of reading.

Yet Belle hesitated to open the book, half-expecting that the words would morph into something else upon being exposed to the air. This was too much a convenience, and Belle was no fool. What were the chances that she would immediately stumble across this text, the very thing she'd been looking for? But no. That was the wrong way to think about this. She'd been drawn to the book, gravitating towards it despite the countless other volumes that demanded her attention. Had some tiny part of her recognized it from her childhood? Or had the magic in the room somehow sense what she needed?

Regardless of these questions, what was it doing here?

Belle looked to her left and her right. She saw a book whose spine was encased entirely in gold, another that was so old it may very well crumple if she touched it. Rumpelstiltskin had said that this sanctuary was for the rare, the powerful, and the precious. Mistress Lina's Book of Household Management fit none of those requirements. It was, Belle knew, a rather dull read, though admittedly one that was useful. If one was a servant, that is. What use had the Dark One for a woman's guide hidden amongst his magical treasures?

Belle was still frowning at the book when she heard steps rushing down the hall.

Rumpelstiltskin flew into the room, almost literally. His feet hit the ground with a crack and in the same moment his coat—the most formal and intimidating piece of his attire— appeared out of thin air to wrap about his shoulders. His eyes, wider than usual, searched and locked onto Belle.

"You must come," he breathed.

"What—?"

"Come!"

He snapped his fingers, the sound like steel on steel, and Belle gasped as she felt magic wash over her. She looked down to find that her simple cloth dress had been cleaned of the day's exertions. It had also been mended of all miniscule tears, looking even better now than it had when she'd first sewn it.

"We have a visitor, dearie. Need you looking your best. Or, as good as you can be looking." Rumpelstiltskin tried to be mocking but his eyes kept flitting nervously towards the door. There was a fine tremor about his whole person.

"We need to go," he repeated, striding forward and tugging at her sleeve. "He'll be here soon. Very soon. Or maybe he's already arrived. Damn it all, it's impossible to know with him!" He gave a final yank and Belle found herself stumbling along, leaving the library abandoned behind her.

"Rumple!" His hand tightened on her as they flew through the corridors. He must have added a bit of magic to their step because they reached the main staircase with inhuman speed.

"Who is this man?" Belle demanded, voice rising above their hurry. "Hey! Wouldn't you know if he'd arrived?" Rumpelstiltskin always knew when someone entered or left his territory. It was a talent he'd gleefully reminded Belle of during her entire, first month here. It was clear that if she chose to run Rumpelstiltskin would immediately know and he would find her.

"Not this one, dearie," he panted and Belle was shocked to see sweat beading at the back of his neck. "Can't know when he's here unless he is here, but he's always here so there's little use in knowing."

"What?"

"I know. It's terribly frustrating."

He suddenly turned, stopping so unexpectedly that Belle flew against his chest with a small shriek. Rumpelstiltskin ignored the intimacy, grasping her wrists and, impossibly, bringing them even closer.

"All you need know," he whispered, "is that I am powerful. But he… he is infinitely more so." Belle didn't realize that her mouth had fallen open until one scaled finger rose to close it. "He knows you're here of course, and it would be quite rude to hide you away, yes?" But Rumpelstiltskin's eyes jumped to a nearby broom closet, as if he'd thought about doing just that. "So… I need you to sit at my side, looking like just a pretty little bauble," his thumbs stroked along her wrists, soothingly, "and do absolutely nothing else. Understand?"

Belle nodded.

"Excellent, my dear. Well done. Now come along."

They raced off again, heading for the great hall. Rumpelstiltskin's hand found her own and refused to budge, pulling them both towards what, she didn't know. Belle's thoughts were chaotic. Her mind was so full and her attention was so focused on not tumbling down the steps that she took no note of Mistress Lina's Book of Household Management, still tucked, innocently, under her arm.