The first thing he noticed of the strange town he found himself in were the buildings. Each and every one, despite the shape and size of the various cottages that dotted the roads and forest floors of the Enchanted Forest, seemed made of pure stone. Even more so, the stone was painted by a myriad of different colors. His eyes were mottled by peaches and blues, reds and even oranges that all painted the queer landscape of this place, this Madison Valley as described by the so-called Council. Yet, as he looked onward, Rumpelstiltskin caught sight of much else.
From far off, a pure, white steeple rose high above the rest of the buildings. The afternoon sun glinted off the bright paint, shadowing the symbol that stood atop its very pinnacle: a long cross. For a moment, his fingers rubbed against the smooth 'cellphone' and crinkled green paper, his brows furrowing at the sight before an almost amused grin took his lips. How strange... Was it, perhaps, part of a temple to this town? Or a landmark, commemorating the ruler? Ah, yes, and such a symbol. Coat of arms? Or holy relic?
Whatever it might be, the Dark One took note. Whether it was simple religious fodder for the peasant folk or the even the place where this Council took order, it was sure to be useful for something. Even if not necessarily for the answers he craved. Answers that he would receive.
The soft clacking of heels caught his attention, his ears perked and his body even lifting up. Oh, my, and just who might this be? Yet another of the Council that said they ran this place? Or perhaps some lonesome member of this little town, curious of the beast that lurked in their midst? His smirk widened. Perhaps, it was even some soul desperate enough to come for the magic he wielded so easily. His thoughts all brewed and buzzed, running amok as his gaze shifted right.
Reptilian eyes widened in absolute shock, mouth dropping open at the sight before him. Russet curls bouncing on pale, peach skin, exposed in a strange, thin blouse he'd never seen before, not in any of his dreams of the maid in blue and gold, of rose and chestnut. Her azure pools stared back into his own orbs, the ever-present inquisitive gleam a spark to the fire in his belly...and his heart. Her pink lips had dropped open, and then--
"Belle," he uttered, barely above a whisper. Rumpelstiltskin nearly began shaking. Of course. How could he have been so blind? This was...this was but an illusion, a dream or fancy that had ventured far, far too close to the senses. It had to be... It had to be. Dead is dead. Dead is dead. Dead is dead...
Slowly, one boot-clad foot gingerly stepped back, darkened amber gaze locked on the mirage.