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Belle, however, had never been very good at leaving peculiarities alone. She was, after all, a peculiar girl herself. And she did love a mystery.

By dawn, she had packed a satchel with bread, a lantern, and the small iron key she wore on a chain around her neck. No one knew what it opened—not even her. It had been her mother’s, and her mother had only ever said, “You’ll know when it matters.”

And that’s how Belle slipped from her house and into the forest. Her father would be horrified if he knew she was sneaking out like this, but he was still sleeping peacefully in his bed.

She’d never been in the forest this early before: trees leaned too close to her, their long shadows lingered too long. No one and nothing else was awake to greet the dawn like she was. Belle pressed on, trying not to let the stillness get to her. She had a goal, after all, and that was following the faint scorch of light, and the single swirl of smoke she could see through the trees. It was the trail to the fallen star.

—

She found him two miles from town, at the heart of a clearing.

It was not a stone, nor a fiery wreckage of rubble. It wasn’t a thing at all.

Just a man.

He lay on the ground, his coat torn and singed, his hair catching the morning light. It was a beautiful mix of brown and silver, and looked quite soft. The ground around him shimmered faintly, as if covered in fairy dust.

Belle stepped closer. “Are you alright?” she asked. She wasn’t close enough to touch him, but she was close enough to reach a hand out and pinch a bit of the sparkling dust between her fingers. It was delicate and grainy. 

The man’s eyes opened. They were the color of sunlight through whiskey. 

“No,” he said calmly, as though answering a different question entirely. “I’m not.”

Belle frowned. She probably wouldn’t be alright had she fallen from the sky, either. 

“Can you stand?” she asked, holding out her hand.

He looked at her hand, then at her face. Belle wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but after a long pause he must have found it. Slowly, he took her hand. His grip was warm, and steady despite the fall.

—

“But I have to call you something!” She had already given her his name, she didn’t understand why returning the favor was so difficult.

“You don’t have to call me anything.”

The man did not explain what he was. He did not explain where they were going. He led her through the forest, barely answering any of her questions. He spoke in half-truths and riddles, as though plain answers bored him. 

Learning anything about her new companion was impossible, but Belle read through his words well enough. He hadn’t fallen by accident. He had been cast down.

“From where?” she asked as they walked. They were already farther from her village than she’d ever been. 

He glanced up at the canopy, where fragments of sky peeked through. “From somewhere that prefers its things kept under lock and key.”

Belle thought of the key that hung around her neck. “No one deserves to be locked up.”

“That,” he said lightly, “depends entirely on who holds the key.”

Belle didn’t like that at all.

—

They reached the door by dusk.

Belle saw crumbling stone covered in moss and roots and vines, trees that hunched over with scraggly branches and thick knots; and the door, stood upright in the center of all of it, the frame just standing there. Waiting.

Belle stepped closer. The man made no attempt to stop her.

The door was made of iron and had no handle and was bare of any decoration. There was only a faintly gleaming keyhole.

She turned. “What is this place?”

“A prison,” he said.

“For what?”

His gaze never shifted from her face. “For me.”

Belle looked from him to the door, her hand reaching for her mother’s key on its chain around her neck. It felt heavier than it had that morning.

“You said you were cast down,” she said. “Locked away.”

“Yes.”

“And you need me to—what? Let you out?”

“You already did, in a way, when you found me. But this—” he gestured to the door, stepping closer to her, “—this is where the rest of me remains. Power. Knowledge. Everything they feared.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

He smiled faintly. “The sort of people who prefer dangerous things to be hidden.”

Belle hesitated.

“Why me?” she asked.

“Because,” He said, “you’re the only one who would come looking for a falling star instead of running from it.”

Well that was true, wasn’t it? All her life she had been looking for something. Adventure, a fallen star—what was the difference? 

The key slid into the lock as if coming home.

Belle’s hand trembled.

“Once I open this,” she said, “there’s no undoing it, is there?”

“No.”

She studied his face. There was something wild in him. Something ancient. Not cruel, but not altogether kind, either.

“Tell me the truth,” she said. “What will happen if I open this door?”

The man met her gaze.

“I become myself again.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one that matters,” he insisted

Belle exhaled slowly.

Every story she’d ever heard told her to walk away. Leave the door sealed. Leave the star where it fell. If she walked away, she would always have her mystery of the fallen man lost in the woods.

But what fun was a mystery that was never solved?

She turned the key.

A white darkness burst from the door as it swung open without a sound. The air crackled. The trees bent backwards as if trying to escape.

The man stepped forward into the light. He became something brighter, larger even. A shape made of flame and starlight, barely contained by the outline of a human form. Belle had to shield her eyes.

When the light finally dimmed, he stood before her again. He was the same man with the soft hair and whiskey brown eyes, but he was more somehow. It was as if the sky had been folded into him.

“Well,” he said, flexing his fingers. His lips pulled into a crooked smile.

Belle lowered her hand. “You’re… not human, are you?”

“Were you hoping I would be?” He tilted his head in question.

Belle opened her mouth, then closed it again. “I’m not sure what I was hoping for, to be honest.” 

They stood there in the fading light, the open door behind them. There was nothing behind the door, now. It was just an empty frame, standing in the forest.

“You could leave,” Belle said after a moment. “Go back to the sky. Or wherever you came from.”

“I could,” he said.

“But you’re not going to?”

“No,” he said quietly. He looked at her, and she felt his gaze on her face like a caress. “I don’t think I am.”

“Why not?”

His eyes flicked to the key still in her hand, then back to her face. She didn’t need the silence to stretch to know he wasn’t going to answer that question. 

“Will you tell me your name?”

His lips twitched, and Belle thought he was maybe amused.

“I suppose, if you have to call me something, you could call me Gold.”

Belle felt a strange, unexpected smile tug at her lips.

“Well, Gold,” she said, looping her mother’s key back onto its chain. “Try not to fall again.”

Gold’s eyes gleamed.

One of the boys blanched. “She’s mad, she is—”

“Aye,” Belle cut in, her grin sharp and feral, “doctor says the wolf bite’s nearly healed.” For extra effect she began to pant, drool and howl loudly as she charged at one boy.

The group scattered in all directions, leaving the little boy standing alone. Belle exhaled slowly, the wildness in her expression softening—just a little—as she lowered the broken branch.

“You alright?” she asked.

“Y-yes,” the boy stammered.

Belle crouched slightly, lowering herself to his height. “I find people are often frightened by madness,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Sometimes I pretend to be mad… just to scare them. My name is Belle. I’ve just arrived in town with my papa.”

“I’m Baelfire,” he said, a little more confidently now. “But people call me Bae.”

When Bae returned to the hovel that night, he told his father of the young woman who had come out of nowhere to chase off the older boys. How she had stood her ground, wild as a storm, even though she was smaller than papa.

“She wasn’t afraid at all,” Bae said, eyes bright in the dim light. “And she scared them off by pretending to be mad!”

Rumplestiltskin marveled at the stranger who swooped in to help his son. He cursed his lot in life, the lame village coward who had brought shame to the family, caused his wife to run away with pirates which left his son without a mother.

The next day was market day, Rumplestiltskin loaded his wool and thread onto a cart while Bae happily sat atop the cart. A young woman approached his table, admiring the various threads and spools of wool. Her eyes landed on a pink spool of that shimmered in the light. 

She inquired its price and her face fell when she realized she didn’t have enough money. Baelfire leap to his feet, pulling his papa’s arm to tell him it was Belle, the one that’d saved him yesterday. The Rumplestiltskin gifted her the thread despite her refusal. 

He had brown hair that was nearly to his shoulders, sharp cheekbones, a thin nose  and the kindest brown eyes she’d ever seen.

His long fingers brushed against hers when he handed her the spool that she felt her breath hitch. Just as she turned her heel to leave, her ankle rolled and she fell to the ground.

Dark clouds rolled in and it was quite a distance back to the Inn. Instead, Rumplestiltskin suggested she could seek shelter back at the hovel until the rain cleared. 

“It’s not much, but it’s home.”Rumplestiltskin said shyly. “It’s very cozy, I love it.” She assured him. 

Throughout the afternoon Belle and Rumplestiltskin stole secret looks at each other as Bae happily told her of the time he got lost in a hedge maze and his father spent an hour looking for him

Belle noticed the spinner’s fingers were dry and cracked from his work. She had a balm that was an excellent remedy for such hands.

Gently, she worked the balm into his skin.She traced along each crack, smoothing the balm into the worn skin. When she was done Rumplestiltskin let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

When the rain cleared, Bae went outside to play.

Belle found herself lingering nearby, her hand lightly brushing the spinning wheel as it turned.  “Would you show me?” she asked.

His long fingers moved with practiced ease, drawing out the wool as it twisted into delicate, even thread.

Later, he offered to teach her.

She sat at the wheel, and he settled behind her on the bench. Gently, he guided her hands—showing her how to pull, how to hold, how to feel the balance between too tight and too loose.

She could feel the warmth of him at her back, the steady presence of his chest against her shoulders. His breath brushed her ear as he spoke, low and close, sending an unexpected shiver down her spine.

By the time Belle looked up, the light outside had begun to fade into dusk. Before she could second-guess herself, she stepped closer and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to Rumplestiltskin’s cheek.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” she promised.

The next day, Rumplestiltskin waited. But Belle did not come.

As he tended the sheep, he leaned heavily on his staff, muttering under his breath—cursing himself for ever believing that a woman like her would return for a lame spinner.

After tucking Bae into bed, he sat at his wheel, working the wool in silence. The steady hum of the spinning was the only sound in the hovel.

Then came a soft knock at the door. Belle stood there, slightly breathless, her cheeks flushed from the cold.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I had to help my father with his wares. He only just fell asleep… and I snuck out to come see you.”

They talked long into the evening while he worked at the wheel.

Belle told him of her life on the road—of her father, an inventor with a brilliant mind and little sense for profit. “It’s his passion,” she said with a small smile. “Even if it doesn’t always feed us.” She reached into her cloak and pulled out a small metal sphere.

Rumplestiltskin turned it over in his hands as she showed him the hidden latch. With a soft click, the sphere unfolded, delicate pieces shifting into place until a tiny bird emerged. It began to sing—a bright, mechanical melody that filled the room.

He told her of his parents who abandoned him. Of the aunts who raised him as best they could. Millah, a wife that resented him so much she left her son behind to join a band of pirates.

She could not understand how someone so gentle—so quietly kind—had been abandoned, again and again, by those who should have loved him most.

“You’re not a coward,” she said softly.

Before she left that night, she kissed Rumplestiltskin on the lips, confessing she was falling in love with him.

The third night she returned, wearing a blue dress with tiny pink flowers she’d stitched with the thread he gave her. That night he presented her with a moonstone ring, a symbol that he too was falling in love with her

On the fourth night, Belle flung herself to him when he opened the door. They sank beside the hearth, holding each other, their kisses urgent and unguarded. Her hands roamed, slipping beneath his tunic—

Later, as he slept, Belle quietly dressed. She press a soft kiss to his cheek. Walking to the mending basket, she hesitated. Then she reached in and took the gold coins.

The next morning, Rumplestiltskin went to the basket before heading to market. Empty. His breath caught as he searched it again, as if the coins might somehow reappear. But they were gone and so was she.

Belle never returned to the hovel again.

“Rumplestiltskin… Rumplestiltskin… Rumplestiltskin…”

Most trembled at the mere thought of the Dark One. But not the woman standing before him. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused—staring somewhere far beyond him. She stood utterly still, her chin lifted in quiet defiance as she waited.

Rumplestiltskin’s breath caught when he recognized her.

“What deal would you like to make?” his voice lilting.

“I wish to see the man I once loved,” she said. “To return what I stole from him.”

She held out a small bag of gold coins.

“Years ago, my father gambled away everything we had. When he could not repay his debt, I was to be sold to the sheriff.” Her grip tightened slightly around the bag. “That night, I stole the savings of the man I loved… and I ran.”

Her voice faltered.

“I told myself it was survival. That I had no choice. But sins do not loosen their grip so easily.”

“My choices have cost me my sight… and soon, my life. I have no right to ask for his forgiveness.” Her voice softened. “I only wish to repay what I owe… and to be near him, just once more.”

Slowly, opened her fist to reveal a moonstone ring.