Storybrooke looked like something out of a postcard. Quaint little fishing town, with colourful businesses littered around main street and surrounded by a forest devoid of any particularly-nasty flora or fauna. Ideal for a weekend off or some rest and relaxation. The local populace was small and, as it is the fashion with tiny little hamlets, they all knew each other. It was a peaceful existence, with only the occasional gossip or small-town scandal to liven things up.

Once upon a time, though he couldn't exactly remember when, Royce Gold had found Storybrooke interesting. Well, he'd found exerting power over the cowering people of the town to be more than enough to sustain his interest. He'd delighted in building his hold over the town, purchasing little by little most of the properties and looking like an unassuming pawnbroker in the process. Then he'd moved to moneylending, simply because it gave him an extra thrill, and for years that seemed to be enough.

He couldn't recall the moment it all started tasting like ashes in his mouth. If he was honest with himself nothing had been quite right after his son and him had drifted apart. He hadn't realized how much of his life revolved around Bae till he'd driven him away, following what seemed to be the tradition of all Gold men, but over the years it had become clear that his boy had been centre of his world since he'd been born and nothing quite sparked his interest without him there.

He'd gotten used to his apathy, till it became as much a part of him as his lame leg or his crooked nose. He breathed it in every morning, anticipating the bucolic dullness of the day with the resignation of one that has given up before trying. He had fought it at first, this slow decent into passivity and lethargy, but it had been hopeless. Nowadays he concentrated on hiding his problem from the world, lest that weakness be exploited or used to mock him. His standing in the town, the reverent fear he commanded in the hearts of people, was the only thing he'd left of any consequence. It was all that separated him from complete oblivion, from becoming inconsequential in the minds of everyone in town.

Sometimes, though, he wondered if there was a point to it all. And he thanked whatever deity was out there that that thought scared him still. Every now and then he'd muster the energy and care to set up an appointment with Archie. Sometimes a session would lead to another and they'd established a fixed schedule but sooner or later he'd start skipping appointments and eventually he'd put an end to it, deciding that letting sleeping dogs lie was the better option.

All around him Storybrooke remained the dull, grey little town where nothing ever changed. So the minute that something did it couldn't help but catch his ever-waning attention, like being jolted awake in the night by the distant sound of thunder. It happened while he walked from his shop to Granny's to get some lunch. On the way he spotted the dilapidated library, noticing there was something... off about it. He realized with more than a bit of surprise that though the blinds were drawn like always the newspaper covering the windows was gone, and the glass looked newly polished.

It was the start of many changes, small and subtle but glaringly obvious in the stillness of Storybrooke. It wasn't long before rumour reached him- he'd made a point years ago to create a system that would ensure news got to him before they got to others, ignorant of the fact that there were no news in Storybrooke ever- that the Library was being re-opened. Years ago he'd heard about it in a meeting of the Town Council but though he was still a member he had long ago lost any interest in going to any reunions. A librarian had been hired from out of town and a small party was planned to commemorate the opening. As faintly-intrigued as he was about the new development he couldn't muster the energy to go.

A long time passed before he met the librarian. It happened late one evening, after he finished the tedious but routine task of taking inventory. He seldom sold anything or bought anything new anymore but he forced himself to go through the charade of going through everything in his shop once a month. By the time he finished it was close to seven and the streets where mostly deserted, in true small-town fashion. On his way to Granny's to get some dinner he spotted movement right outside the library. A woman was hanging posters on a bulletin board right outside. She was small, barely adult-size, but seemed to be set on compensating for it by wearing what looked like killer heels. He paused, noticing with curiosity that she was wearing designer clothing- there was no mistaking the exquisite craftsmanship or the lushness of the fabric. It was completely out of place in the middle of Nowhere, Maine, where only he and the mayor dressed in clothing like that. The dress was a fetching shade of blue, a good shade to pair with her wine-red shoes, and had a thin belt looped around the tiny waist. Because her back was to him he could not see her face but had a clear view of the masses of curly brown hair. He realized, startlingly, that she was humming, some airy, soothing tune he wasn't familiar with.

The clock above the library announced the hour, catching the pawnbroker's attention. Shaking his head he resumed his walk, eager to dine and go to bed. Sleeping had become the best part of his day and sometimes he was acutely aware of how sad that was.

He heard more about her as time went by, but he seldom ever saw her. He learned she was Australian, which was as cosmopolitan as Storybrooke got, and young, though she had ample knowledge of her field and came highly recommended. Everyone who met her seemed to like her, commenting on her cheerfulness and kind disposition. He heard about her instituting storytelling time on Wednesdays evenings, volunteering at the animal shelter and downing beers at the local pub with the miners. But beyond some generic information there didn't seem to be much that anyone knew about her personally. At first it was to be expected but the more time it passed the more he found it intriguing that so little was known about her. It started like an itch, one he hadn't felt in a long time, and it grew from there, making him glance over at the Library every time he strolled past.

Soon, however, talk about the newcomer was swept away in the face of what arguably was the most shocking revelation of the 21st century: in an address to the nation the president of the United States revealed, out of the blue, the existence of vampires. It sounded at first like some farfetched prank but soon enough it became clear that, surprisingly, it was all true.

The citizens of Storybrooke, like everyone else, followed the news attentively as it unfolded: the key piece of information seemed to be a breakthrough in medicine that allowed for the creation and mass-production of blood with the use of cloning technology. Though vampires had planned for a long time to reveal their existence, since the recent technological advances would soon make it impossible to hide themselves, it had been the sudden birth of a food source that would eliminate any threat they might pose to mankind what had finally allowed them to come clean so to speak. It was revealed vampires had their own society and set of rules which explained how they'd managed to remain undetected for so long. Among those rules was stressed the importance of the preservation of human lives. A spokesman for the American vampire community made it clear on several interviews.

"We, unlike other predators, have no need to kill for our food. It is true that it's ingrained on us the instinct to hunt and feed to the point that a starved vampire might not be able to control the how or where, but it is also that survival instinct that drives us to stop before killing. No sense depleting food sources, is there? In this way we are far more efficient and less damaging to the environment than any other predator out there, including human beings. It is also why humans and vampires have peacefully coexisted for hundreds of thousands of years without humans being the wiser."

He spoke at length about the strict population control present in vampire society- no vampire was allowed to turn more than one human in their lifetimes to compensate for the extremely low mortality rate natural to their species. Entire interviews were also dedicated to the debunking of myths regarding the abilities of vampires and their weaknesses. Based on the idea that ignorance would breed fear and hate there was a strict full disclosure policy regarding vampire nature, made possible by the passing of laws that made it a federal crime to harm a person because of their vampirism.

"The point about explaining about vampire weaknesses and such is certainly not to give people ideas about how to best harm one of my kind but to make sure they do not do so by accident. The vampire community feels safe in the knowledge that the American government will do its outmost to guarantee their security and well-being. We vampires have so much to contribute to society, and not only because of our heightened senses or enhanced strength but also because of our rich culture and accumulated experience. In time I believe this revelation will impact positively on both humans and vampires and usher us into a brand new era."

It was disingenuous, however, to believe awareness campaigns would in any way fully protect vampires that chose to reveal themselves so other measures were also announced. Members of the Vampire community would endeavour to monitor the well-being of the members of their own species and would have a direct input in the sentencing of those found guilty of harming one of their kind. The federal government would also take steps to ensure all new laws regarding the issue were quickly followed in every city and town in America to make sure no American citizen's rights were violated, be their alive or undead.

It took almost next to no time in Storybrooke for the rumour to start circulating that Mr Gold was a vampire. It began as a joke but it soon devolved into a full-fledged theory that had the town divided between those who thought it was only logical that Gold was an actual blood-sucker and others that maintained that he was simply a lousy human being.

Soon enough there was money riding on the subject, as well as compensation to whatever brave soul managed to solve the mystery. It was the reason Walter the security guard from the local hospital decided one day to throw a bucket of holly water at the pawnshop owner right outside Granny's. Though it was deemed a solid effort, and a ballsy move on Walter's part, it was sadly ruled inadmissible as proof of Gold's humanity because, as Ruby pointed out, the whole holly water thing was debunked as a myth. Though Walter didn't win any money everyone who had seen Gold get soaked chipped in to pay for the dry-cleaning bill that the security guard got stuck with.

The second and last attempt at uncovering the mystery of the landlord's nature was made by Billy, one of Michael Tillman's mechanics, who'd done his research and determined the best way to go was silver, which was confirmed to burn the undead. For the purposes of his experiment he unearthed one of his grandfather's secret treasures, a Peace Dollar from 1927 which was 90% pure silver, and spent days casually trying to get Gold to touch it. It soon became apparent that it would be quite a challenge, taking into account the pawnbroker's penchant for three-piece suits, gloves and avoiding human contact.

Two weeks of subtle tries yielded nothing and slowly Billy became more and more desperate. It was why one night, after having a few beers with the guys at Granny's he decided the only way to win the money was to pounce on Gold the moment he walked into the diner and shove the coin right into his face. That's how he ended up sprawled all over an extremely unamused Scotsman, his grandfather's Peace Dollar digging into the man's cheek. When he retreated it everyone leaned in to corroborate that the silver had done... nothing.

"Guess he's only the metaphorical kind of leech."

Leroy's comment hardly helped poor Billy's position and no one was the least bit shocked when the mechanic's rent rose dramatically the next day. The winnings came as a rather faint silver-lining.

After a few months the novelty of it all began to die down. Vampires became more present in the media and many came out in major cities and towns but Storybrooke seemed as far away from that world as possible and vampires remained, for the most part, still as mythical as before. The librarian remained the most interesting local novelty, which is how most people liked it. The mayor liked to brag about her little town being "too wholesome" to attract any undesirable people.

It took a surprising amount of time till Royce saw the Australian up-close, one evening when he decided to eat at Granny's instead of taking his order to go. She strolled in with energy to spare, completely incongruous given the late hour. She smiled at the waitress, Ruby, who smiled back and took her order right away, and waved at a couple of people before taking a seat on a booth in the corner and taking out a book from her purse. Though she practically vibrated with energy- and God, he'd forgotten how that felt like- which made her stand out even more than her outfit, an expensive mixture of femme fatale and old-fashioned elegance. She stood out like a sore thumb to him, like a spot of bright colour in the middle of a sea of grey but when he looked around no one else seemed to pay her the least bit of attention.

It didn't make sense to him. She was just so... so alive. It seemed impossible to look elsewhere but at her, the way she glanced around, taking in everything like it was new and exciting. The book open in front of her seemed to him like a cover, something to use to pretend she wasn't people-watching. She did it avidly, her eyes flitting from person to person, head cocked to the side as if she could pick up on conversations happening far away from her.

At some point, while he mindlessly shoved a bite of overpraised lasagne into his mouth and continued to observe her as subtly as possible, she laid his eyes on him and it was with a bit of shock that he realized he'd been eager for her to do so, his body tense and on the edge of his seat. She had startlingly-blue eyes with long lashes and a rather intense stare at first, softened by her smile. The eye-contact lasted a second at best before she glanced again at the pages of her book, as if to reinforce the illusion of being there to read and sip on what it looked like an iced tea.

He startled when his fork and knife scraped against his now empty plate, a rather unpleasant sound. He noticed then the lateness of the hour, surprised that he'd taken longer than he planned to eat. He dropped some bills on the table, enough for the meal and a tip and limped out, forcing himself not to turn around to catch another glimpse of the Librarian. He felt jittery and unbalanced and for the first time in a long while he'd fail to fall asleep before ten o'clock.

He decided, a few days later, to visit the library to see how it looked like renovated and in full use. He was a bit surprised when he entered to see most curtains drawn, the spacious room lit up by artificial light.

"It's to protect the books. All types of light damage books, but specially sunlight. In order to preserve the books for longer I try to keep the library illuminated mostly by fluorescent lights shielded by Plexiglas fixtures that lower the damage done to them."

She appeared out of nowhere, almost visibly startling him. She was dressed in a rose-coloured skirt, a ruffled burgundy and black chequered skirt and nude pumps, looking more like a socialite than a librarian. Her accent was not as thick as he expected and up close she looked as friendly and as vibrant as she did from afar. She was more subdued, though, though just as curious as the other day. But amidst familiar surroundings he was the only thing to be curious about and there was a certain thrill to be had in being the centre of her attention.

"What a dedicated librarian you are."

He hadn't realized how rusty he was at social interaction that even sneering came hard to him. The woman smiled and ducked her head in apparent humility.

"Why thank you." Though there was no trace of sarcasm in her voice her lips curled into a small smile that indicated she knew he had meant to mock her rather than compliment her. "I'm Belle French, by the way. You must be Mr Gold."

She took a few steps closer to him and extended her hand, the very picture of openness. Gingerly he took it, surprised by the firm handshake. It was a brief touch but he found himself missing it once it was over. No one in town ever touched him, for any reason. Before Bae had, Bae had hugged him and slapped him in the back and fallen asleep against him on the couch while watching cartoons. But it had been a long time since those days had passed, and he hadn't noticed just how... isolated he was. Years without physical contact outside violent attempts to try and see if he was human and he hadn't even registered it.

"It's nice to see someone new at the library. What can I help you with?"

She looked expectantly at him and for a second or two he had no idea what she wanted. It dawned on him a moment later that she was wondering what brought him to the library. He thought of a topic off the top of his head, thanking his lucky stars he'd watched a BBC special on the Spanish Civil War the night before so the topic was still fresh on his mind. She led him to the section of the library dedicated to contemporary world history, chatting about the subject as they walked almost side-by-side. Her enthusiasm seemed to light her up from inside, whatever tiredness he'd detected when he'd first entered the building. She had an impressive knowledge of the literature regarding the Spanish Civil War, going into detail about the few books she recommended specifically. He selected one despite her suggestion that he might like to take more, since he could keep them for up to a month with no problems. Personally, however, he thought it wouldn't be that much trouble to come take out one book at a time and return periodically to the library for another once he finished.

He didn't expect to find the book as engaging as he did. Reading material helped pass the time when there was nothing to do at the shop. It had been a while since a day flew by so quickly and soon enough he was returning to the library for more reading material. Miss French greeted him like they were old friends, even though she had to have been aware of his reputation. Though she lived in a tiny flat above the library out of his direct control he had enough pull on the council, if he ever felt the need to exercise it, to make things difficult for her. She didn't seem to be very impressed with his power at all and after so many years terrorizing Storybrooke it was quite a novel experience.

He made it a habit, unconsciously, to visit the library at least twice a month in search of new material. He flitted from topic to topic, usually helped by Miss French. She seemed to know a little bit about everything and even in the most mundane of conversations they would eventually stumble across something interesting. Her mind fascinated him, her awareness of the world around her, the energy she seemed to exude. Talking to her, even being in the same room managed to shake him off his ever-present apathy.

He was surprised when she sought him out for the first time instead of the other way around. She came into his shop one evening, so fresh-faced and energetic it was almost a crime at such an hour, and for a moment she didn't even register him, simply looking around as if taking it all in. He swept his eyes across the room as well, wondering what she found so captivating, and realized that he had let his shop go. There was dust everywhere, a thick coat of it that covered almost every surface. Objects were haphazardly lumped together, some tossed into curios and others half-hidden under clunky furniture. He couldn't recall the last time he ever sold anything and though he knew that part of it was because so very few people in Storybrooke could afford the sort of antiques he sold, he also had to acknowledge he was doing little on his part to try and sell anything. It also meant he'd stopped acquiring new pieces as well. Once upon a time he'd enjoyed browsing state sales and the like looking for good antiques to restore and sell but that had been long ago.

Miss French didn't seem to notice the dust, however. Her eyes were too busy trying to take it all in at once, every antique and knickknack he had lying around.

"You've such variety."

There was a dreamy quality to her voice that made his skin prickle. It was that spark again, that sudden jolt into awareness that was almost uncomfortable. He shrugged, trying to collect himself.

"Yes, well, I'm a man of eclectic tastes."

It certainly sounded better than to admit that he'd accumulated a lot of stuff over the years because he was unable to sell anything.

"Feel free to browse around."

She bit her lip and tilted her head slightly.

"I wouldn't know where to start, to be honest."

Though his first instinct was to interpret that as a polite way to indicate she had little interest in actually browsing around a closer study of her expression made it clear she was honestly intrigued by the pieces on display.

"Maybe you could give me a general tour?"

He found himself agreeing a bit too easily to her request. At first he recalled surprisingly little about anything in the shop but finally an old Mickey Mouse phone sparked the recollection of a funny anecdote regarding it. He felt wooden as he told it but she listened attentively and laughed in all the right places. After that it got easier to remember items he had that were particularly interesting. He had some quality pieces that really had no room in a small little town like Storybrooke where no one would ever be interested in them. Miss French, however, seemed to find them fascinating, even the disturbing wooden puppets that he'd purchased mostly to keep kids out of his store.

They barely covered a small portion of the store before she commented on the late hour and how she didn't wish to keep late. Though she promised to come back he didn't expect her to do, which meant he was rather surprised to see her come in one afternoon while it poured down on Storybrooke. After he got over the initial shock things went smoother than before. Miss French seemed, contrary to every single one of his expectations, supremely interested in all the pieces inside his shop and asked a myriad of questions about them. While he showed her around he became reacquainted with his place of work and the little treasures he had inside. Most of them he'd completely forgotten about and telling the librarian their stories or showing her how they'd been restored made him feel animated. He began to remember why he had once liked his job, recalling the wide-eyed look on Bae's eyes as a child as he'd watched his papa restore an old wooden toy in front of his eyes. He'd thought it proof that his father was magical.

She ended up purchasing a lovely art nouveau comb, silver with holly and mistletoe engravings a century or so old, and dared to haggle for the price, more for the fun of it than anything. Once ducked out into the rain again, with a smile and the promise to come back to see the rest he looked around, frowning at what he saw. He took of his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves and fished out some cleaning supplies, determined to get rid of the dust. Certainly Miss French would be even more impressed with the artefacts on display if they were clean.

Noticing the dust on the shop led him to doing the same at home. Everything about his house seemed musty and filthy and it took him no time to hire someone to come and clean thoroughly. It certainly felt better to wake up in the morning to fresh air and sunlight, which made him more prone to sit down to eat a proper breakfast instead of simply having a cup of coffee. In his pawnshop he'd taken to search the basement, which he used as storage space, for anything interesting he might tinker with. He found a veritable fountain of antique furniture, toys and many other pieces in various states of disrepair and filled the idle hours putting his rusty skills to work. There was a beauty and a joy in restoring things back to their former glory that he'd forgotten over the years. And sometimes, if he was lucky, Belle French would come by and ask him about his latest project. She had suggested he try his luck at selling his merchandise online- the librarian thought the Internet was the most marvellous invention ever- which had led him to finding out that his employee, Mr Dove, had his own website where he sold small ceramic unicorns and could, therefore, set up a website for the shop and keep it updated.

Whenever Belle visited his pawnshop, or he went to the library to pick up a new book, they'd get to talking. It was frightfully easy to be at ease in Belle's company and slowly open up under the careful probing of her curious nature. It did make it glaringly obvious, though, how one-sided such an openness was. Belle would never willingly offer any insight into her own life before Storybrooke. Whenever he'd ask her casual questions about where she'd been born or her family she'd clamp down, offering only a basic story about her parents having died a long time ago and being raised by a kindly old lady that took her in when she had no one.

It was only the idea that he might drive her away if he insisted that compelled him to keep his questions to himself and not intrude where he was obviously not wanted. He did find it odd that, from what he could see, no one really knew a lot about Miss French at all. She took interest in the lives of the people in town, certainly, even made a few friendships and found many ways in which to make the library a hot spot in town, from book clubs to knitting circles to attract as many people as possible. She was always eager to help but if she had any problems at all no one knew of them, nor found it perplexing that the librarian was a mystery to the entire town.

The charade might have gone on and on indefinitely. In retrospective Gold wasn't quite sure was Miss French's plan was but whatever it might have been it was unceremoniously ruined a late Saturday night. He was sitting at Granny's, trying not to look like he was expecting anyone, though he knew it was Belle's habit to dine at Granny's on Saturday nights and when she saw him there she always insisted they dine together. From his vantage point sitting in a booth next to a window he spotted the librarian, walking in impossibly-high heels with her nose stuck to a book, unmindful of the chill or the wind around her. It was a rather endearing trait, he had to admit. He turned away for a second to accept a menu from Ruby when he heard a screech of tires and a thumping sound, followed by screams. Everyone inside the dinner rushed first to the windows and then outside the door, Sheriff Graham grabbing his radio to request an ambulance.

The first thing he noticed when he went outside was the car, the hood, front fenders and bumper covered in blood and dents. Out of it staggered a confused Keith Nottingham, local drunk and sleaze. He stared at his car and then at the body crumpled on the pavement a few feet away and paled as his mind slowly processed what had happened. When he looked like he was about to bolt the sheriff grabbed him roughly, twisting one of his arms behind his back as he again requested an ambulance over the radio.

"Oh, that poor girl. Didn't even see him coming."

"Granny, is she...?"

Widow Lucas pursed her lips but nodded grimly, patting Ruby's back soothingly. Gold took a few shaky steps closer to the street, wondering why he couldn't hear the tale-tell sound of a siren approaching. There was... a lot of blood. The librarian's face was obscured by her hair, one of her arms bents at an odd angle and gashes on her legs. But the most impressive of all was the jagged fragments of one of the headlights embedded on her stomach, accounting for the pool of blood quickly gathering below. He glanced around to see the sheriff had managed to handcuff Nottingham to his cruiser and was now making sure people kept their distance from the scene of the accidents, every now and then looking in the general direction of the hospital. There was no point to it, though, and everyone knew it. At most what a doctor would be able to do was pronounce the...

"Oh my God."

All around him people started pointing, eyes widening and murmurs rising in the air. He turned once more, his eyes looking for Belle's crumpled form on the floor, only to see her standing. She was covered in blood still, looking dazed and confused at first. She glanced down at her shard-covered stomach before getting a hold of her twisted arm and tugging sharply on it, popping it back in place with a wet popping sound. She didn't seem to notice as all the small gashes and cuts on her skin started closing by themselves, concentrating instead on pulling out the piece of headlight piercing her stomach. When it was finally out she sighed in relief, glancing up and noticing for the first time the crowd around her. Her eyes flashed gold, her slightly-opened mouth letting everyone see the tips of her sharp fangs. She took a couple of tentative steps forwards, stilling when everyone around her took a couple of steps back.

"Right."

Her eyes swept across the crowd one last time, settling briefly on the pawnbroker with a sad sort of understanding, before she turned away and walked out of the scene, book and purse forgotten.