Chapter Text
The wind howled through the towers of the Enchanted Forest, but inside your modest cottage, the world was silent — painfully so. Again, the midwife had shaken her head. Again, your arms were empty.
You stood alone at the hearth, staring into the flames, wondering what part of your soul you'd have to give away for a child.
The knock at the door didn’t startle you. It came in threes, slow and sure, as if the visitor already knew you’d open it.
And when you did — there he stood. Cloaked in midnight black, skin kissed with gold dust, eyes ancient and gleaming: Rumplestiltskin.
“Oh my dearie,” he cooed, voice like velvet and broken glass. “You called, and here I am.”
“I didn’t call anyone.”
“But you wished,” he grinned, stepping into your home without invitation. “And wishing, well, that’s just another form of summoning, isn’t it?”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
“I can give you what you want,” he said, circling you slowly. “A child. Yours. Of your blood, of your body. No adoption spells. No trickery. A true mother. But,” he paused, “magic always comes with a price.”
Your heart pounded. “What do you want?”
His lips curled.
“Oh, nothing much. Just a… favor. Someday. Perhaps not today. Perhaps not even this lifetime.”
You swallowed. “And if I say no?”
“Then you'll keep crying into empty cradles.”
You stared into his eyes — and made your choice.
“I agree.”
He didn’t make you drink anything, or chant a spell. He merely stepped closer and pressed a hand gently to your abdomen. It tingled with heat, then faded to warmth. His fingers lingered, just a moment too long.
“There,” he said softly. “Done.”
Before you could ask anything else, he vanished into smoke, leaving behind the faint scent of cedarwood and shadows.
Three Months Later – Storybrooke
You arrived in town during a blizzard — pregnant, confused, and with a vague memory of having chosen to go through a sperm bank. The paperwork was clear. The pregnancy tests were positive. And yet, something tugged at the back of your mind, just out of reach.
Mr. Gold, the pawnbroker with the polished smile and cane, found you the first day.
“You’re new,” he said, eyes flicking to your belly. “We don’t get many strangers.”
You introduced yourself, and he offered you a job before you even asked. “It’s hard finding work in your condition. I could use someone with delicate hands to help catalog inventory.”
And so you found yourself working for the strangest man you'd ever met — one who stared at you with something like longing when he thought you weren’t looking, who always managed to have just the right gift for your baby before you even knew you needed it. A charm to protect from bad dreams. A rattle shaped like a rose. A lullaby box that played a tune you swore you'd heard before.
Each day, you felt him watching. Each day, you wondered why you kept going back. Why, when he spoke, your skin prickled — not with fear, exactly, but recognition.
And each night, your dreams were filled with smoke… and gold.