ღ ¦ ❛ a girl of fairytales.

                           &  acknowledgement  arrives  'pon  turn of head, twist of                            form as eyes ever vivid take in the other with such polite                            detachment so barely  concealing curiosity that has lips                            parting  'fore  she  even  seeks  to  speak  &  hands have                             stilled in task performed absentmindedly, motions gone                            through so frequently that little attention is required.

                           &   she   is    reading    when    attention    is   gathered   ;;                             sequestered  away  within   table  of  her  own  with  bare                            remains of former  meal  balanced  'pon  white eatery as                            azureous gaze finally lift  from  pristine pages &  lissome                            digits  quell  absent  motions   'gainst  smooth  sides  of                             glass.  embarrassment   threatens   to  color  rounds  of                            cheeks as finally she speaks ;;

               Everything about this felt wrong. It wasn’t that he had anything           against Belle. In fact, without ever knowing her, he adored her. She           managed to change his father, making him into a better person.           She helped him become the man he always wanted his father to be.

                                            But that exact reason to love                                             her  was a reason for him  to                                             hate                                her.

               Here she was, basically a stranger, able to make the Dark One           back into the man Neal once loved. It was something he wished he           could do himself. He wanted to be the reason his father became a           better man.

                                             He wanted to be enough,                                              but     he     wasn’t,     and                                              probably  would  never  be.

               Even still, Neal respected the woman who stood before him, and           he knew he would love her. However, there would be this hint of           bitterness that would rest within him, easy to ignore, but impossible to           forget.

                              Nevertheless, he offered                               her a smile.

     ”Yeah. Neal would be better. But I honestly       just wanted to talk to you. Talking to my       dad is one thing, but I’d rather hear about       him through others.”

               There was a part of him that felt like he couldn’t trust his father. He           wanted to know about his father through someone else’s eyes. Plus, he           wanted to get to know the woman who stole his father’s heart: a feat he           thought to be impossible.

                           & there is awkwardness beneath her smile, suffocating under it's                            considerable  weight  & even  she barely notices  its presence, so                            buried as it is & yet it's  there,  lurking  & well deserved ;; who she                            knows  is the boy of tales  told  few  & far between by father still  in                             throes of grief & barely disguised desperation but he who stands                            before her now  is  full grown with a  son  of his own as told by his                            father  'pon arrival  back  to  town  as  that  yellow scarf  remained                            wrapped 'round his  shoulders  &  for some reason it was always                            that little boy seen in her minds eye.

                                                                ❝ Neal, then. ❞

                                   smile  still curves & she  refuses  to let it fall as  book is                                     remembered once more & fully set aside, placed below                                    counter & out of view  ;;  there are more important things                                    that require her  attention & she does not need pages &                                    ink  to  watch  her,   judge   her   &  the  uncertainty  that                                     continues  to curl within  her breast  no  matter how she                                    longs for it to dissipate to nothingness.

                           she understands his desire for men  are forever able to lie & she                            is not in the dark about their history, would seek the same should                            she have been in his place  &  she knows only one side of events                            that had long since transpired  &  perhaps  she can offer that if he                             ever comes to want it & she can hear his in return but                    ;;                            she doubts the  arrived  with  such lingering under his request or                            if he shall ever foster it,  speak  it  to her  instead of the father who                            had let him go.

                           ❝ Of ... Of course. I'd be more than happy to tell you anything you                             want to know about him.  I think  I  might  be the only one in town                             who has good things to say. ❞

                           & the others more often than not have memories tainted by green                            &  gold  flesh  &  graying  landlord  & none of the good & those are                            what neal needs to know  &  belle  is more than willing to share if                            it   shall   come   to   help   the   two   of   them   mend  the   broken                             relationship, shattered by power & fear.

     acknowledgement arrives on turn of head, twist       of  form as eyes ever  vivid  take in the other  in      such  polite detachment  so  barely  concealing       the curiosity that has lips parting ‘fore she even      seeks  to  speak  &  hands  have stilled in task       performed   absentmindedly,    motions    gone      through so frequently that little mind is needed      to be paid.

     & when she stops, it  is slow  for while limbs all      but snap to stillness there is still fabric at sway      & dark locks shifting o'er curvature of shoulder      as  head turns to  focus  gaze  'pon the  other ;;      company   deemed   unexpected   &   there   is      gentle   surprise   marring   features   'fore  she       speaks.

     & she's  reading  when  attention  is gathered ;;      sequestered away  in a  table  of  her  own with       bare remains of her  meal balanced 'pon white      eatery before her  as  azureus  gaze lifting from      pristine  pages  &  lithe  digits quell  in  absent      motions against smooth  sides of glass at her      side.    embarrassment    threatens   to   color      rounds of cheeks as finally she speaks ;;