#librarianfrench

"It's unusual for an old woman like me to get visitors, goodness I don't even have any refreshments. I've become a terrible hostess in my old age."

Send me a ✖ if you enjoy my portrayal of my character.

{It’s a curse. When you see them you can’t help but follow and like everything. :D}

{omg, same!!! We can figure something out together!}

Work had been on the slow side today. In fact, everything had went exactly as the day before. And the day before that. And the day before that. Every day, the past thirty years, Mr. Gold had cashed in rent from several buildings in town, including at the monastery and Granny's Bed and Breakfast. And exactly the latter business was the reason why he was aware of the repeats he had made over and over for three decades. Well, it was not the B&B itself. It was one of the guests.

Emma.

As soon as the young woman had said her name, Gold was overwhelmed by memories. The last hundreds of years flashed through his mind, the most important events staying for just a second longer than the rest. His father, Milah, Bae, Regina, Snow White and her prince, Belle, the Curse. The weight of it all settled back on his shoulders like both a dear friend and a dreaded enemy. As much as Gold would hate to admit it, it had been quite relaxing to be a normal, albeit still power-hungry, man. But he had a mission, and he could only complete that mission by having his memories.

Besides, in a world of fake memories, the real ones meant power. Power Regina didn't know he had yet.

So, as he walked back to his shop, there was a smirk on his face.

As he entered his not-so-humble shop, Gold found himself recognizing the things he had tried to sell for three decades. There was Cinderella's shoe, there was Prince Charming's mother's mill, and there was Bae's favorite plaything. Gold paused when he reached it, and carefully touched it, as if it was going to disappear into thin air. But it was still there, real as ever. Breathing a little easier, Gold walked behind the familiar counter and threw the money on top of the glass surface. For a second, he just stared at it. Money. It seemed so pointless, now. To Gold, it had been power. To Rumplestiltskin, however, it was useless.

Running a hand over his face - he felt hundreds of years older than he had just an hour ago, understandably enough - he heard the bell ring, announcing to the world that he had a new customer. "We're closed," he informed the intruder. Really, the sign hanging on the door even said it, how clear would he have to be? Lowering his hand, he looked up. The words that he had been about to say died on his tongue, and was replaced with a single name.