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Rumbelle Secret Santa Fic: Porcelain Boys and Girls

WOOOO TIME TO POST!

I am excited

This humble, little fic is for the lovely @delintthedarkone. I really hope you like it and HAPPY HOLIDAYS, friend! <3

Summary: Rumplestiltskin is a cold, lonely little boy living with two mean spinsters. He has no idea how drastically things will change though when an odd man sets up shop in his village. A shop filled with the most beautiful dolls...(Original prompt: "Rumple stealing Belle's Shoes")

Words so far: 4,933

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Rating: Teen and Up

Pairing: Rumbelle

Where to read it? Below the cut or at AO3

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It wasn’t often that something new cropped up in their small town and this—this—absolutely deserved a trip out in the snow.

Rumplestiltskin pressed his nose to the glass, huffing at the icy chill seeping into his bones. His shoes were leaking, the wind blew straight through his coat, and still Rumplestiltskin stood, trying to get up on tiptoe so he could peer into the shop’s back. It was nearly impossible to draw his eyes away from the brightly colored display, not when at his back it was an endless sea of white and grey. This was memorizing, a tiny spot of light amidst an ocean of darkness.

A bell sounded off to the side. Footsteps crunched in the snow.

“You can come inside,” an old voice said.

Rumplestiltskin startled and scurried away.

***

“Don’t see what the point of it is,” Lara muttered, alternating between pulling wood chips from a clump of wool and spooning cold porridge into her mouth. She smacked her lips, briefly using one of the wood pieces as a toothpick. “Who’s going to buy those things anyway?”

“The rich ‘ems,” Lyra answered. “The ones with ‘eir gowns and parasols… with the… the ‘lil frills on ‘em.” She twiddled her fingers around her head dramatically. “Can’t do ‘nothin with ‘em though. They just sit! Foolish trade if ya ask me. Not likely to fill ‘er pockets or purse now is ‘et? Now wool… ah, people always be needin’ wool, don’ ya agree.”

“Mmm hmm,” Lara agreed, indeed.

“You remember ‘at, boy” Lyra said and passed Rumplestiltskin the porridge, now quite congealed.

He bowed his head solemnly—an unintentional agreement. He hadn’t expected the spinsters to be thrilled with the addition. No one really was. It was deemed by the villagers to be too ostentatious (a big word that only their school teacher seemed to know the meaning of, though everyone else repeated it wholeheartedly), too odd, too useless, too threatening. It was a blight upon their land, as one old man said, sneering at Rumplestiltskin when they passed in the road. It didn’t surprise him that Lara and Lyra condemned the shop too. The wool they spun was coarse and colorless, the exact opposite of what Rumplestiltskin had seen through the window. They no more belonged in that shop than the shop belonged in their village.

… Which made Rumplestiltskin wonder about it all the more.

“You ‘ear me?” Lyra said. She poked Rumplestiltskin in the shoulder with her bony finger. She hadn’t clipped her nails in some time. “What you doin’ just sittin’ there? Eat your food. Sit up! What you slouchin’ for? Long exhaustin’ day of doing nothin’? Don’t think I didn’ see you not at the wheel today. Wha’ you up to, boy?”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged. He crossed his legs firmly under the table, hoping that there wasn’t too much snow melting off his boots. They’d wonder where he’d been.

“Just stay away from that shop,” Lara said absently. She spit a bit of wood across the room and into the fire. “Don’t want you getting any ideas.”

“Aye,” Lyra nodded.

“Yes’m,” Rumplestiltskin said. He picked up the spoon and slipped the porridge into his mouth, grimacing all the while.

***

He went back to the shop the next morning.

Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure what he wanted exactly; just that he needed to take one more peak into the shop window, see the brightly colored displays and make sure they weren’t an elaborate dream. (Not that Rumplestiltskin had much of an imagination. He was good for spinning… and that was all he was good for. Lara and Lyra reminded him of this often).

The trek across the village was hard on someone his size, particularly now that the snow had deepened. By the time Rumplestiltskin made it he was shaking from head to toe, his teeth rattling inside his mouth and his nose running horribly. He wiped it on his sleeve… then promptly forgot all discomfort when he saw the widow.

It was even prettier than he remembered.

Dolls. In every shape, size, and color imaginable.

They were all staged in various positions, like the shop was actually a mask for another, tiny village. Dolls sat on stools or laden picnic blankets, they drove carriages and pretended to throw balls. Rumplestiltskin saw a doll dressed as a knight and his breath caught, mesmerized by the sparklingly armor and wicked-sharp sword. He felt like he could stare at the knight for forever... but Rumplestiltskin pulled his gaze away because there was so much else to see too: dogs, dragons, dolls that looked liked they had spells flying from their fingertips. The display made Rumplestiltskin forget how cold he was—forget who he was—and the only thought that managed to worm its way in was that he’d have to come back here again. He had to.

“Back again, I see.”

Rumplestiltskin jumped, but this time he didn’t run away. Instead he turned slowly, finally taking in the shop’s owner.

His initial impression was that the man looked a lot like his dolls. Not... literally. The dolls were mostly young and pretty, whereas the man’s skin drooped with age. He bore grey hair and a beard, and his clothes were only slightly less threadbare than Rumplestiltskin’s., so for just a second he questioned that initial comparison. Then though, shivering as the man stared him down, Rumplestiltskin understood.

They both had power. The man and his dolls both shone like magic.

Rumplestiltskin swallowed.

“Come in, come in,” the man beckoned. “You’ll catch your death out here. C’mon.”

He went. Not because Rumplestiltskin wasn’t scared—he was, with shaking knees and a sniffling nose—but because he was drawn to the store itself. It was so beautiful, in so many ways, with a presence that he’d thought only existed in the stories, and Rumplestiltskin suddenly knew as well as he knew his own trade that he’d regret it always if he didn’t step through that door.

So Rumplestiltskin shuffled across the threshold… and then wondered if he’d ever be able to leave.

It was warm. Like stepping into a steaming bath or baking under the summer sun, not that Rumplestiltskin knew what either of these things felt like. It was nearly always winter in his village, the ‘seasons’ consisting of months with snow and months without. Vegetables were imported from neighboring towns, places where people supposedly had green trees, grass, fruit to pick straight off the vine. He’d also heard tales of royal men and women who lived in palaces with heated stones and hot water that gushed from gold pipes. Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure he’d ever touched hot water. He bathed in the ice-cold water from the well. The tea made in Lara’s kettle was always tepid.

The shop was warm-warm though (‘hot,’ his mind supplied) and Rumplestiltskin was so shocked by his body’s reaction that he just stood there stupidly a moment. He jumped though when strong hands rested on his shoulders, tugging gently.

“Let me take your coat, sir,” the man said.

“I’m no sir,” Rumplestiltskin blurted, eyes blowing wide.

“No? A little boy entering my humble shop? Seem like a sir to me.”

The man smiled, crooked and knowing, bits of his beard twitching with good humor. Rumplestiltskin continued to stand as his ratty coat was hung on a wooden stand and the man turned to putter at his desk. He shuffled piles of paper—more paper than Rumplestiltskin had ever seen in his life—and moved a pen until it was perfectly lined up with a large, hardbound book. Rumplestiltskin couldn’t read, but the words on the cover were pretty and curved. They reminded him of births and moves and marriage vows. They were the start of a story.

“Go on,” the man encouraged. He made a shooing motion. “Have a look around.”

Amazing that he’d been distracted for even a moment by heat and kindness because when Rumplestiltskin did turn back to the shop (a far larger shop than it appeared from the outside) his mouth unhinged in wonder. Standing on the inside, without frost or fog to cloud his view, it was clear that there was a method to the dolls’ layout.

They weren’t just staged on shelves and tables willy-nilly. No, rather there was a clear divide between one side of the shop and the other. The right side encompassed everything Rumplestiltskin knew and all that he’d heard about in tales: ogres, fairies, wolves with human-looking eyes, a woman dressed in hunting clothes and cocking a deadly arrow, even the knight he’d spotted from before. The left side though... Rumplestiltskin wasn’t entirely sure how to describe it. That portion of the shop contained objects he’d never seen before. The dolls were beautiful, but they wore flimsy clothes, and their fake hair was coiled and pinned in elaborate forms only suited for royalty, though their dress itself was comparatively plain. The buildings were too high and too clean. There was some sort of domed vehicle painted a vibrant yellow. Rumplestiltskin cocked his head at it.

The right looked primarily like a forest, the left a small—and rather odd—town.

Despite his desire to go and get a closer look at the knight, Rumplestiltskin was drawn to the other side of the room— towards the strangeness of that little community. His eyes locked on a beautiful, black-haired woman seated before a group of children. He couldn’t read the sign on the building there, but he could guess that this was some sort of school. Rumplestiltskin smiled, entranced by her round face and sunny expression. He imagined himself as one of her students.

Rumplestiltskin didn’t notice the table until he was bumping it sharply with his hip.

There are moments, infrequent ones, where time bends and a person can think through an action with far more speed than it actually occurs. Horrible times when you can watch what happens and do absolutely nothing to stop it. This was one of those moments.

Rumplestiltskin felt the dull ache of wood slamming into his side and he immediately turned, his mind jumping ahead to the inevitable outcome. Sure enough, the table rocked and he felt something tip without actually seeing it. A second later there was an awful, terrifying crash.

Silence in the shop. Rumplestiltskin stood shaking.

“Don’t run,” the man said. He was beside him in an instant, those warm hands back on Rumplestiltskin’s shoulders. “It’s okay, m’boy. Accidents happen. Come now, none of that.”

Rumplestiltskin drew his ragged shirtsleeve over his eyes, trying to stop the tears. He hadn’t meant to break anything. He hadn’t meant to hurt—

The man bent, scooping something into his palm. “Look,” he insisted, holding up a tiny teacup. “It’s fine.”

“It’s chipped.”

And it was. The cup was a doll’s cup, no larger than the store owner’s thumb, and with the chip missing it looked like half of it was already gone. Rumplestiltskin peered blearily at the floor, but he couldn’t find the tiny bit of porcelain there. It had probably fallen through one of the cracks, lost forever.

“I really don’t think Belle minds.”

“Bell?” Distracted, Rumplestiltskin looked to the door where, yes, a tiny bell dangled. He’d heard it when he came in. The man shook his head though, smiling and nodding to the table he’d bumped into. Standing, he put the broken cup back in the scene and moved aside so Rumplestiltskin could see.

His breath caught, for here was the prettiest doll in the shop.

Long, curled brown hair. Red lips. Blue eyes that seemed to look right at him… and a smile. She was like a tiny princess, waiting impossibly for him. Unlike so many of the others in fierce, action poses, Belle was a young girl—no older than him, surely—who sat calmly in a carved chair, a tiny book spread open on her lap. She wore a blue dress and as he looked closer, Rumplestiltskin was shocked to see that it wasn’t nearly as fancy as what some of the other dolls wore. More than that, he recognized the stitching in her bodice. He could do that. Belle’s ankles appeared comfortably crossed… her feet covered by that pretty blue dress.. stretched towards a fire… beside a table laden with tea… and… and… as Rumplestiltskin took in the rest of the scene, he gasped.

“She has a wheel!” he exclaimed, one hand reaching out towards the object. He barely stopped himself in time.

“You can touch,” the owner chuckled and he took Rumplestiltskin’s hand, guiding it to gently stroke the miniaturized spindle, the wood just as rough and soothing as it was at home. “And she does have a wheel, in a way. Belle doesn’t spin herself you see. She’s still waiting for a friend to come and help her manage the castle.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded. He could see it now. The table housing Belle was open of course, but the wheel, lush carpets, the cabinet stuffed with all sorts of beautiful things that rested behind her... all of it gave the impression that she lived somewhere quite grand.

“Why is she in the middle?” he asked. Rumplestiltskin barely heard his own voice. He was too busy staring.

“Middle?”

“Of the shop.”

Indeed, the right side of the shop was all forest, the left all town, and Belle was right smack in the middle of both, her crossed legs seeming to divide the two worlds.

The man shrugged, carefully leaning his elbows on the table so he could peer at the scene. “I’m not entirely sure. Though I must admit that Belle has always been special.”

“Special?”

“Strong-willed.”

Rumplestiltskin gave the man a funny look. They were dolls.

He seemed not to notice though and the two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence. Rumplestiltskin mimicked the shop-owner’s pose, being extra-careful not to knock against anything else. He took his time really looking at the layout, from the flecks of straw in the basket to the tiny dots of raspberries in the scones. When his eyes began to blur there were brief, startling moments when everything looked quite real. Where Belle looked real...

Rumplestiltskin had the sudden, intense desire to join her.

“Rumple!”

He jerked, knee catching the underside of the table. Rumplestiltskin let out a desperate cry as everything rattled again, but this time Belle and her things stayed in their place. His gaze jerked wildly over the shop owner’s shoulder to the two silhouettes trudging in the snow outside.

“I need to go,” he gasped, pushing past.

“So soon, m’boy?”

Rumplestiltskin didn’t answer. He just stumbled for the door, Lara and Lyra’s voices calling for him outside. If they caught him in here—if anyone saw—

They wouldn’t let him come back.

“I hope to see you again soon,” the man called.

He had to come back.

Rumplestiltskin turned, caught one last look at Belle, and threw himself back out into the cold.

*** “‘Wha you doin’ then?” Lyra asked for the sixth time. She shoved Rumplestiltskin in the shoulder while Lara stood off to the side, trying to haggle down the price of beans.

“Eh? Eh?”

“Nothing,” he murmured. Rumplestiltskin kept his eyes on his leaky boots, not daring to look back at the shop.

“Nothin’?”

“Nothing.”

Lyra snorted. It sounded like a toad hacking up phlegm. “Riiiiiiight. You? Up early an’ out an’ abou’? Pleeeease, boy. Wha’ you doin?”

He shuffled and stalled a moment. “... buying flour.”

“... flour?”

“Yeah.”

“Well where is it ‘en?”

Rumplestiltskin pursed his lips. He kicked a bit of snow. “I dropped it.”

“Dropped it?”

He looked up at Lyra’s pinched expression, wondering if she’d been a parrot in a past life. Lara came up with hands on her hips and a bag filled with beans to cook.

“Where’s he been then?” she asked.

“‘E said aid ‘e was buyin’ flour.”

“Flour?”

“Aye, flour.”

“I don’t see any flour.”

“At’s what I said.”

They both turned to stare at Rumplestiltskin. He shrugged.

“It’s white. I lost it in the snow.”

They didn’t know what to do with him then, not when he spoke like that. There was a great deal of eye-rolling and talk of active imaginations, but eventually Rumplestiltskin was dragged back to their hut. There, at least, things made sense.

They passed the store on the way home though—earning jeers and suspicious looks from the sisters.

Rumplestiltskin thought he saw the owner waving to him as he went by.

***

“There’s no flour,” Lara said. She slammed the cupboard door shut, clucking her tongue and muttering about useless little boys. How was she to make dinner with no flour?

Rumplestiltskin didn’t particularly care. He wasn’t hungry. Or sleepy. What he was was cold. It seemed like ever since he’d left the shop the air had taken on a horrible chill that he just couldn’t shake, no matter how close to the fire he moved his wheel. Rumplestiltskin wanted to return to the warm shop. He wanted Belle.

She brought warmth, odd as that sounded.

“Ain’t ‘ou done yet?” Lyra asked. She peered suspiciously at the yarn he’d spun, as if thinking he might have somehow lost that too.

“Almost.”

“Lazy, lazy, lazy...”

“I could spin faster if I was warm.”

Rumplestiltskin didn’t know what made him say that. It flew straight out of his mouth, like he was the doll under another’s control. It was in a voice stronger than his too, imbued with a staggering amount of confidence and, dare he admit it? Anger. It was certainly enough to stop Lara and Lyra in their tracks.

Then Lyra was moving, lunging across the dirt floor to wallop Rumplestiltskin across the back of his head. He yelped, ducking down, but a second hit didn’t come. Just a tongue lashing.

“Ee’s a smart one, ain’t e? Ungrateful lil’ thing. You believe ‘is, Lara?”

“Sadly, yes,” she sniffed. “Given his father, I expected nothing else. Have you forgotten who feeds you?” she demanded, edging closer to Rumplestiltskin as well. “Clothed you? Taught you your trade? You’d be dead in that snow if it weren’t for us. Be grateful, Rumple. Besides, everyone is cold in this godforsaken town.”

Rumplestiltskin nodded his head, refusing to look either of them in the eye. It wasn’t true though. That shop was warm. So warm. And looking around he could see now what the spinsters could have done to make things easier: boarding their house properly, collecting wood for the fire, sparing yarn for blankets of their own…

“I’m not the lazy one.”

“Enough out of you!” Lara hollered, quite taken aback. Lyra started up a new string of insults but Rumplestiltskin barely heard her. He was dragged off the wheel and across the hut, tossed into his bed with little ceremony. He immediately rolled to the side, facing the wall and squeezing his eyes tight against tears, ignoring the spinsters’ words. When some time had passed, Rumplestiltskin opened his eyes just a slit so he could stare through the cracks in the wood. Cold air blew against his face, but at least he could see the snow and he knew that far in the distance lay Belle.

Rumplestiltskin stuffed his hands into his pockets and froze.

Literally. Not in the way he had for years now, freezing due to ice and cold, but rather a full body stiffening that came entirely from shock. Tentatively, the fingers of his right hand stroked the object he’d found hidden in his pocket, hardly believing it was real. Rumplestiltskin drew it out and then drew in a breath, recognizing the tiny article even though he’d technically never seen it.

It was a shoe. No larger than the tip of his thumb, sparkling a pretty blue in the moonlight.

“It matches Belle’s dress,” he whispered.

“Quiet!” came the cry and Rumplestiltskin obediently ducked down into his bed. He couldn’t look away from the shoe though. It must have been knocked off when he hit the table, tumbling safely into his pocket even as he’d chipped the cup. What were the chances of that?

“Small,” he told himself, hardly breathing the word. “It’s like magic.”

There was definitely something in the air, because as Rumplestiltskin curled up with Belle’ shoe pressed to his cheek, he suddenly felt just a tiny bit warmer.

***

Rumplestiltskin was dreaming.

It was odd because he could think straight and feel things and nothing was murky like dreams should be, but he knew it couldn’t be real because he’d awoken in a castle. Stone walls, carpeted floors, a staircase taller than his entire house… Rumplestiltskin wandered from room to room with his mouth open and his eyes blown wide.

One thing was like a dream though— his movement. Though Rumplestiltskin knew the castle must be massive he seemed to move from one side to the other instantly, his legs never tiring from the journey. It was such an easy thing, flitting here to there, that he nearly missed it when he saw it.

Light. Coming from one of the far rooms. Rumplestiltskin crept forward and gasped.

Here at least was something he recognized. The table and the rug. The fire and the wheel. A tea-set bearing a single, chipped cup and…

Belle. The girl, sitting and reading her book.

“Oh!” she said, startling when she caught sight of him. Rumplestiltskin jumped as well.

“It’s okay,” she called now, setting aside her book. “Don’t be afraid. I know you.”

“… you do?”

“Of course!” and Belle—for it was Belle, impossibly—rose with pink skin and flowing hair, all of it quite human. She dashed across the space between them, appearing before Rumplestiltskin with the most beautiful smile. Belle cocked her head and planted her hands firmly on her hips, grinning all the wider.

“You stole my shoe,” she laughed, kicking out a bare foot as proof. “And broke my cup! It’s okay. I don’t mind. It’s not often we get many visitors my age. You’d think we would, given that we’re dolls and all, but no. It’s all stuffy fathers and sneering elders. I was glad when you took it, honestly. Makes speaking so much easier, and the Wizard said you might want to come live here! That is… maybe… with me?”

To Rumplestiltskin’s shock she blushed, her hands moving to fiddle with the stitching at her waist. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of this oddness.

“I don’t—”

“Understand. No, of course you don’t. I didn’t either. That was ages ago. My parents died, you see. Ogres. No one to really answer to after that and well… I wanted adventure! Something. You must understand that an infinite world was pretty appealing. Plus the Wizard writes me in new books whenever I want and there are so many wonderful people here…” Belle cut herself off, staring at him strangely. “Oh. This is far too much for one meeting. Too much all around. Are you happy?”

The question threw him more than anything else. Rumplestiltskin had yet to move farther from the doorframe, but now he took a step closer. Towards Belle.

“What?”

“Are you happy?”

“This is, this is just a dream.”

“That hardly matters. Are you happy?”

“… I don’t know.”

Belle nodded, smiling like that was a perfectly acceptable answer.

“Well why don’t you wake up and find out?”

And Rumplestiltskin sat up straight in bed, nearly crying out, but he managed to stifle his yell at the last moment. He peered into the darkness, making out Lyra and Lara’s huddled forms on their beds, the two of them snoring away. The noise was grating. Rumplestiltskin’s stomach growled from no dinner and his eyes danced across the small hut, bypassing everything but his wheel.

Belle had a wheel though.

Rumplestiltskin didn’t know if he was happy. He wasn’t entirely sure what happiness felt like. All he knew for sure was the he was cold.

In one swift move he was out of bed. Rumplestiltskin drew on his boots and dashed for the door, heading back out into the snow.

***

The middle of the night and the store was still open.

Rumplestiltskin entered without asking, his body immediately relaxing as warmth enveloped him, the ache in his eyes easing in the soft candlelight. The owner—the Wizard?—was seated at his desk, writing continuously in his hardbound book. He looked up briefly though to smile at Rumplestiltskin.

“I was hoping you’d be back,” he said. “Belle’s been so hopeful tonight…”

“They’ve changed.”

It slipped out without his permission, but it was something he needed to voice. The scenes had changed. In just the few short hours that Rumplestiltskin had been gone everything had moved in one manner or another. The dolls were in different poses, wearing different clothes, and playing with a whole array of new props. He saw the little yellow vehicle parked outside a building like a pub now, all the dolls merrily enjoying food and drink. The woman wielding magic had her head in the lap of a man with a lion tattoo. The knight was in odd clothes now, holding hands with the round-faced teacher. Rumplestiltskin saw so much diversity, more than one man could have accomplished overnight.

Even Belle had moved. As Rumplestiltskin approached he saw that she’d risen out of her chair and walked across the carpet, standing at the edge of the scene like someone would if they were poised in a doorway. One tiny doll foot was bare and one tiny doll hand was extended.

Rumplestiltskin reached for that hand… and then stopped. His fingers traced the wood of the table instead.

“How come there are no prices?” he whispered.

“Because you can’t put a price on life, m’boy.”

The Wizard was suddenly there, behind Rumplestiltskin and pressing his warm hands into his arms. He leaned down, his beard tickling the edge of Rumplestiltskin’s cheek.

“You’ve heard stories, no doubt. Of odd shops and carnivals, things that arrive without warning and disappear just as fast? Nothing is just a story. A smart boy like you knows that. I’d never think of denying those tales, but I will say that they’ve done us a bit of a disservice. We do not steal. We do not take. All I’ve ever done is provided people with a world they’re happy to live in. Or, as the case may be, two.” The Wizard smiled. “Between the Enchanted Forest and Storybrooke, I have no doubt you’d find your place. Though it appears that you’re already quite fond of the Castle.”

Rumplestiltskin stared. He felt light-headed and giddy. Almost euphoric. Though trembling too with what might have been a combination of fear and desire. He looked at the array of dolls and felt an odd sort of relief that they all weren’t smiling. Some bore neutral expressions, others outright frowned, but regardless it struck Rumplestiltskin that their painted faces looked real, in a way the people around him never had.

Belle. Belle was smiling though.

She looked happy.

“Are there seasons?” Rumplestiltskin asked, already taking the pen. “Is there summer?”

“Indeed, m’boy, if that’s what you wish. All you need do is ask.”

The massive book was laid gently before him, opened to an enticingly blank page. Rumplestiltskin didn’t know how to sign his name, but he felt in that moment like he could write an emotion. With his left hand he pressed a finger to Belle’s tiny palm and with his right his slid the pen across the page.

Everything went white. Everything was warm.

***

“ ave you seen ‘em?” Lyra demanded, barging into the shop. Lara was close at her heels, casting fearful, distasteful looks at the dolls around her. Many of them seemed to glare back.

“Seen who, my good woman?” The Wizard asked. He didn’t bother looking up from his book.

“Rumple a’ course! Don’t try bein’ smart with me, now. I know I seen him peerin’ in here. Gonna get a hell of a lickin’ when I find ‘em. Don’ be lyin.’ I’ll know if ou’re lyin.’”

The Wizard finally looked up, heaving out a long sigh. “I abhor lying, my lady. I fear I cannot produce your charge—not as you would expect in any case—but you’re more than welcome to peruse my shop. Perhaps you’ll see something of interest.”

Lyra scowled though, spitting. Lara caught hold of her before she could say anything else, dragging her sister back out of the shop and into the cold. They cast the wares and their owner hateful looks as they went.

The Wizard settled back down to his writing.

“Their loss,” he said, seemingly to himself. Then he chuckled at what would have seemed like silence to anyone else. “No, no. I’d never have allowed them into our little community. Though it would have been fun to see their reaction to you, m’boy.”

One doll seemed to… not move exactly, but shimmer. Like a ripple of heat from the sun. He was staged in the very middle of the shop, poised between two worlds, dressed in simple clothes that contrasted to his decadent setting.

There was a girl beside him too, just about his age. They looked quite good together—her with her book and him at the spinning wheel. Anyone could tell they were a matching pair, like something out of an extraordinary story.

Really though, someone might have thought the scene too staged. After all, a boy sliding a slipper onto a maiden… surely it had all been done before.

“Indeed. And yet… stranger than fiction, yes?”

The Wizard chuckled and happily closed his book.

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