Plot Twist
It was well beyond working hours by the time Lena had glanced up at the clock. She’d been sitting at her desk nursing a glass of red wine while brooding. As the witching hour came upon her, the grandfather clock in the hallway chiming loudly, she rose restlessly from her seat and walked across the room of her office towards a painting hanging near the door. She lifted the canvas down then examined the seemingly blank wall, smiling to herself.
She lifted her hands, held them about six inches apart then splayed her fingers wide. She pushed and there was a quiet hiss followed by a well-hidden panel releasing itself. The craftsmanship on the construction of her “workspace” was absolutely flawless and pleased her greatly. Lena slid the panel to the side then affectionately stroked her hand across the safe in the wall.
Power, deliciously dark, hummed beneath her fingertips, shooting sparks up her arm and jolting down her spine. Glorious. She unlocked the safe, twisting the knob in a familiar combination before pulling it open. Magic released into the room, a soft warmth that caressed over her skin and made her feel giddy. Oh, how she’d missed it — it was so odd most of the time being in this land without magic.
Her eyes draw greedily over the jagged blade of the dagger, reading the familiar name etched into it. She reached in to pull it out, holding it like a valuable treasure between both of her hands, then carried it back towards her desk. She settled back down into her chair then gently placed the magical weapon in front of her.
Rumplestiltskin. The Dark One. Her face remained passive but she felt a myriad of emotions flicker inside of her. She sighed disappointedly, so much power and greatness wasted on a weak, weak man.
She sat back in her chair, bracing her elbow on the armrest and bringing her hand up to touch her finger to her lip as she contemplated the dagger. After a few more moments, she reached over and pulled open the bottom drawer of her desk. Her hand flipped over and she felt around for a small scroll — two inches in height — that she had stuck on the underside of the middle drawer. Her fingers closed around it and her smile widened.
Lena leaned back in her seat and toyed with the object, tossing it back and forth from hand to hand. She doesn’t need to unroll the parchment, she already had it memorized, but after a minute she does it anyway just to read the familiar words written in a language as ancient as Time. She read it once more, lips pursing as her mind began to calculate and plan.
To bring that idiot little imp back from the realm he had travelled to, she needed to provide the blood of the person he loves most. Two images flashed into her mind, one of Belle — his Twoo Wuv (she rolled her eyes at at) — and one of Neal — his boy. She can’t be certain which one and that’s troublesome for she can’t afford to get it wrong. She has one chance to get this right, otherwise she has to forfeit her plan, and naturally, that would never do.
Absentmindedly, she raised her hand and ran her fingers over the silver blade, tracing at the letters. It had to be Neal, he was the very cause of the original curse to begin with. The Dark One had orchestrated an incredible web, tangling every single person in this town (and then some) together in order to find his son. He controlled the Fates, altered Destinies, traveled across time and space, practically moved Heaven and Earth for Baelfire.
She was positive it was Neal. It had to be. Acquiring his blood would prove to be a challenge, but it was one she was ready and willing to accept. While there was no room for error, there was also no room for failure. She would get what she wanted.
Lena reached for her glass, smiling behind it before raising it for a celebratory toast and downing the remainder of it in its entirety. Yes, she would get what she wanted. She always did.