Belle had woken early as she usually did in the bed she was still not used to, and the bed she woke alone in. She'd rarely slept well without him. In the palace, in the cell in Storybrooke and now here. Usually she drifted off late and woke early and she knew on some level she'd have to fix it before it took its toll. But she still had hope. She would always have her hope. Its what kept her going. She didn't know what caused her to go downstairs though, usually she stayed in her room for a while, reading, until a more sociable hour. But she'd heard the baby, heard Emma move to bring her downstairs and decided it was time to get up.
She took the stairs as quietly as she could manage, a book still dangling from her hand as she did. Something by some man named Joyce. It was entertaining but he really did enjoy his descriptions almost as much as that Tolkin man. She should try and find out which came first.
She was about to ask Emma had she read the book and did she perhaps know the answer when she noted the look on her face, holding baby Aislinn. She was stricken. Upset by something, enough that she needed her child. And while Belle didn't understand that part, she knew enough of Emma to know she shouldn't crowd her, but that perhaps her friend would want to talk.
Her eyes were closed but Belle knew that her accent was distinctive enough for Emma to know exactly who'd woken early.
"Is something wrong?" she asked softly. "I was going to brew some tea up? If you wanted I mean?"