(no subject)
So after "Skin Deep" I've been plotting on how to get Belle out of that hospital and wondering how she would manage to get word out Mr. Gold that she's still alive. So here's the result.
Title: A Memorable Detail
Fandom: Once Upon A Time
Character: Belle
Every madness needs a memorable detail.
She remembered a princess conversing with a horse's skull
She remembered a king with a robe of sunlight
She remembered a queen with heart in a box
She remembered a girl who kissed a beast
However, locked up in the roots of a tower Belle had no access to hearts or skulls other than her own, and it was simply too cold to abandon her clothes. Even madness must have its limits, she reasoned.
She needed something eccentric, but not dangerous. Some small tic or ritual. Nothing to suggest that she might be a danger to herself or others. Something poetic, perhaps. Something to get people talking, but talking quietly, around lunch counters or pawn shops where they might be overheard. Nothing that would call down the orderlies who would come with shots and pills that sent her thoughts scattering like straw.
She remembered a wheel that spun gold
She remembered curtains that opened to the sun
She remembered a rose that wasn't a rose
She remembered a girl who kissed a beast
In stories, trapped maidens could escape the tower by climbing their hair or calling birds to carry messages to faraway princes. In stories, kisses unfroze hearts and beggars never cursed those who fed them.
She tries watching her hair, to see how long it might take to grow a ladder. Even though the seasons appeared to change outside her window, leaves budding and falling, her hair never seemed to inch longer than her shoulders.
She tries to make up a song, something the nurses might hum on street, but no one ever stays in her room long enough to learn the lyrics. Her meals always seem to arrive when she was sleeping, and had she been just a little more mad she might had thought that the tasteless sandwiches were delivered by invisible hands.
She sits on her bed, regarding her serving of milk. The perfect rim looks odd to her eyes, so each day she carefully breaks off a bit of the cup. A small thing, nothing dangerous, no fingers sliced on the soft material. But in a small town, gossip flies faster and surer than doves. And someday soon a kitchen worker will start to talk about a strange girl who chips her styrofoam cups.
Title: A Memorable Detail
Fandom: Once Upon A Time
Character: Belle
Every madness needs a memorable detail.
She remembered a princess conversing with a horse's skull
She remembered a king with a robe of sunlight
She remembered a queen with heart in a box
She remembered a girl who kissed a beast
However, locked up in the roots of a tower Belle had no access to hearts or skulls other than her own, and it was simply too cold to abandon her clothes. Even madness must have its limits, she reasoned.
She needed something eccentric, but not dangerous. Some small tic or ritual. Nothing to suggest that she might be a danger to herself or others. Something poetic, perhaps. Something to get people talking, but talking quietly, around lunch counters or pawn shops where they might be overheard. Nothing that would call down the orderlies who would come with shots and pills that sent her thoughts scattering like straw.
She remembered a wheel that spun gold
She remembered curtains that opened to the sun
She remembered a rose that wasn't a rose
She remembered a girl who kissed a beast
In stories, trapped maidens could escape the tower by climbing their hair or calling birds to carry messages to faraway princes. In stories, kisses unfroze hearts and beggars never cursed those who fed them.
She tries watching her hair, to see how long it might take to grow a ladder. Even though the seasons appeared to change outside her window, leaves budding and falling, her hair never seemed to inch longer than her shoulders.
She tries to make up a song, something the nurses might hum on street, but no one ever stays in her room long enough to learn the lyrics. Her meals always seem to arrive when she was sleeping, and had she been just a little more mad she might had thought that the tasteless sandwiches were delivered by invisible hands.
She sits on her bed, regarding her serving of milk. The perfect rim looks odd to her eyes, so each day she carefully breaks off a bit of the cup. A small thing, nothing dangerous, no fingers sliced on the soft material. But in a small town, gossip flies faster and surer than doves. And someday soon a kitchen worker will start to talk about a strange girl who chips her styrofoam cups.