Of course he had lost her. "They were cruel to her," he heard the queens voice echo in his head. Sobbing into his open palms he thought again to himself that of course he had lost her. How did he let such a wonderful and tangible thing slip through his fingers? Why did he not grasp her while he could? Why must he always be such a coward? He cursed himself inwardly and slammed a balled fist into the stone of the window-sill.
Rumpelstiltskin gazed out of the tower window in the the abyss of black that was the midnight in the mountains. She had won his heart, a heart he considered long a go vanished. Time may have made it harder to seep into but the beauty had done just that. Over the months they had lived together she slowly chipped away at the ice, mended the fractures and warmed the very center of his heart.
Wretched heavy sounds of dismay chorused from the imp, he was grateful suddenly for the solitude. He felt weaker than ever, knowing he could have prevented this tragedy. Belle was an angel of a woman, compassionate and able to see past his beastly appearance. 'Love is layered,' this time her sweet voice rang in his mind.
His body felt as if it would crumple to the floor and he fell backwards into his chair as a river of tears slickened his cheeks. What he would not give for just a handful of moments to be erased, if he could only slightly alter the past. He knew though that there was no coming back from death. No fate is as certain as the tapestry woven by death, even his magic could not undo such intricate workings.
His body slumped in the seat being reminded of what loss was, was certainly not an easy pain for Rumpelstiltskin. His thoughts immediatly turned to the day that he lost his precious son, Baelfire. In his minds eye that moment was repeated with perfect detail. He saw the portal churning the ground like a deadly storm. He felt the magicked wind on his face, he heard the pleas of the boy. "Papa, come with me!" He couldn't though, he could taste the remnants of his own fear at the thought of being a mear mortal in a strange world. He had always lacked the strength to pursue his own happiness, perhaps that is why he had so little.
The night had passed and eventually the heartbroken imp fell into the restless throws of sleep. Her face lingered and haunted him, her voice spoke simple truths that had fallen on deaf ears. When morning came he was left with the realization with exactly how selfish he had been with poor Belle. He asked to claim her forever and when she dare give him her heart he threw her away, cast her out to be tortured by her bastard of a father.
The sun was blinding as he rubbed his eyes, standing for the first time in hours. His head ached and he wanted to call Belle to fetch some tea, a pang of pain flooded his core. The centuries seemed to have caught up with him as he all but hobbled down the staircase into the kitchen. When he opened the door and entered the room he was confronted immediately with the sight of the tea cup. That wretched chipped cup that bore the only traces that the princess had left behind. He approached it as if it were a very dangerous bit of dark magic. His lithe fingers wrapping around the handle and picking it up with the greatest of gentility. Along the rim he spotted the most beautiful light rose lipstick mark left behind by her. Setting it down quickly and turning away he decided that tea would not be in his best interest.
He felt ridiculous mourning, he was Rumpelstiltskin, the dark one. What right did he have to love or to cry over lost romances? Still it was more than that, he felt responsible for her death. He was responsible for her death, he would not be swayed. He had touched a delicate flower and like a virus he spread his curse and wilted her.
He left his castle, unsure where he was going as he walked with haste through his grounds. He suddenly found himself at a very old tree that Belle would sit and read under. He touched the bark with his finger tips ever so slightly as he thought of her resting against the trunk. She had even volunteered to read to him when he had found her for the first time in this spot. She shared the story with him as if he were a very dear friend, Belle had tried to connect to him in any way that she could. He wept again as he knelt in the place that was once hers. As droplets of water met the ground his clever fingers waved above the soil. In a wisp of purple smoke a beautiful and polished, rounded rock appeared. It stood just over two feet tall and it shared roots with the tree. As Rumpelstiltskin's lungs contracted with a breathless cry words were carved into the stone. He had to concentrate very hard on words that he did not want to admit were true. He would not let her memory be that of a fallen woman her father had to purify, had to torture to make worthy again. He would let her truth be immortal even if she could not be. Here lies the memory of Belle. A brief flicker of light amidst an ocean of darkness.
He read the words back to himself and as his heart begged for mercy he vanished, leaving his castle to go to the Evil Queen. Regina would have her curse, this land would be gone and soon like the princesses in this world, in the next he would be the priveledge few who would know happiness.