Tweedle turned away from the door and stood in the middle of his cell while his personalities conversed.
“Um, Tweedle Dum,” whispered Tweedle Dee.
“What do you want?” said Tweedle Dum.
“I think there’s a possibility we can get out of here.”
“What are you going to do, snivel and whine your way out through the bars?”
“You obviously haven’t been paying attention; you’re always too busy being angry.”
“Do you have a point to make, little brother?”
“Yes, I do, but we’re going to need to work together. Now, listen carefully.”
Rumpelstiltskin was thankful for the light rain that fell over the graveyard at Slack Top; it seemed to be making the ground softer. He had been digging for thirty minutes and was already making good headway. He looked up at the gravestone that loomed up above him. The name Elise Marie Palmer was inscribed in the stone, along with the words Loving daughter, estranged mother, possibly a witch.
When Rumpelstiltskin had first come to Elise Bastinda over fifty years ago, she had been a young girl, very confused, and very lost. She had no friends and no understanding of why strange things happened to her. She was the last Bastinda! Rumpelstiltskin spit in the grave. One of the most powerful races of witches and she was condemned here to Othaside by the Agency. Meddling fools!
Rumpelstiltskin was sad to discover from the wizard Niggle that she was now dead. Not that it mattered for his own plans, but he had wanted to meet her before having to murder her. The Dwarf was evil, but he had his principles.
What he really needed were her bones, which was why he now stood in a wet hole in a dark graveyard in Northern England.
After another fifteen minutes, the Dwarf’s shovel hit something hard, and he scraped off the mud to reveal a simple casket. His glee and excitement almost overtook him; he was so happy, so close! He cleared off the rest of the casket and, using the shovel, pried open the lid.
He experienced a range of feelings before anger rose to the top and beat the crap out of all other feelings. Things were not as he had expected.
Robert was enjoying the night air as he and Lily walked up Smithwell Lane. Frank had begun to follow them and, every so often, he could be heard swearing somewhere far behind them.
“Do you like me, Robert?” said Lily.
“W-w-well,” said Robert taken aback. “Yes, I suppose I do.”
“You suppose? So you’re not certain?” she said without taking her eyes off the road ahead.
“Well, it’s been a heavy couple of days. I think you’re an amazing person, you’re beautiful and mysterious. Admittedly somewhat less mysterious after last night.”
“So it’s the werewolf, then.”
“No, the werewolf doesn’t bother me.”
“Liar,” said the voice in Robert’s head.
“Well, okay, yes, it’s the werewolf. That’s a side of you that terrifies me.”
“I see.”
They walked on in an awkward silence for several minutes that felt like several lifetimes.
“So,” said Robert, venturing carefully, “you like me?”
Lily stopped walking and turned to face Robert. “To be honest, I don’t find you physically attractive, you’re not bred from the best of stock, you’re very gangly, you don’t often say the right thing, and taking into account all the evidence, it seems like you’re going mad.”
“Oh, well…”
“I’m not finished.”
“Right, sorry.”
“I’ve never had the chance to have a proper relationship and I never will be able to. There’s no cure for what I am. What you see now is what you’d have for the rest of your life. I don’t age, I don’t change, and every time there’s a full moon I’ll probably try to kill you. It’s not a life anyone would wish for.”
Robert thought about it for a second while Lily’s beautiful amber eyes drilled a hole through his head. “I am gangly. And I don’t often say the right thing. I’ve always felt out of place until yesterday morning, and by all rights, I might be going mad. That’s not normal.”
“No, it’s not,” said the voice.
“But what you see is what you’d have for the rest of your life. I probably won’t change; if anything, I might get worse. But I know where I belong now and it’s not here in this world. It’s in Thiside. I’m a good person, Lillian Redcloak. What I’m trying to say is that I’m perfectly willing to accept your flaws if you’re willing to accept mine. Although if you’re not attracted to me in the slightest I suppose―”
Robert stopped talking as Lily had clamped her lips to his.
“Kiss back!” hissed the voice.
And so he did. It was a magnificent moment that filled Robert with the kind of joy that can only normally be felt by children on Christmas morning just before they open their presents.
Lily detached herself and smiled a whimsical smile.
“I’ll think about it.” And with that she turned and carried on walking.
Good enough for me! Robert grinned and then chased after her. “So Elise Bastinda is dead, then?”
“I’m going to assume so as we were told we’d find her in a graveyard. I doubt she’s there for the fun of it.”
“What do you think we’re going to find there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, what are we going to do if the Dwarf is still there?”
“I’m not sure.”
“So we don’t really have a plan?”
“No.”
“Oh good, as long as we’re on the same page.”
It was empty! She was gone! The body of the witch wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Rumpelstiltskin scrambled out of the grave, covered in mud, and was now in the foulest of moods. He paced back and forth trying to figure out what to do next. He couldn’t complete the spell without the final piece. He needed the bones!
Something moved behind him and he spun around to find nothing but a few hundred gravestones staring back at him.
“Who’s there?”
A sheep trotted out from behind a nearby stone and scowled at the Dwarf. Scowling was exceptionally hard for sheep. They sometimes managed a smile, but scowling took all the wrong muscles and they didn’t have the concentration to do it very often. The average sheep could only manage maybe two, possibly three good scowls in an entire lifetime.
“Oh, it’s just you,” said the Dwarf and turned back to the grave.
Jack was leaning casually against the gravestone, looking angry. He had a large garbage bag sitting on the ground next to him.
“You!” said the Dwarf.
“Me,” said Jack.
Lightning flashed as a storm began to organize itself in the skies above Hebden Bridge.
A similar storm, albeit with more personality, raged above the Valley of Storms. Lightning flashed, thunder rolled, and the rain threw itself out of the sky toward the ground with the distinct intention of making everything wet.
Inside the Tower, rain dripped down through the hallways as it always did when the rain was heavy. The rain snuffed out some of the flaming torches that illuminated the interior of the Tower and the Troll was having a hard time keeping them all lit. He slouched his way up and down the hallway holding a stick with a candle on the end and relit the lamps every time one went out.