Belle hummed as she prepared Rumpelstiltskin’s chamomile tea. The past few days, she had hardly seen him around in the Dark Castle. He had told her he was working on an incredibly complex potion, and that the less she disturbed him, the better.
But he had also insisted that she’d bring him his tea at the usual hours, and that was what she was about to do.
She put the teapot on the silver tray, as well as the chipped cup he so liked. Ever since she had chipped it on her first day in the castle, already a month ago now, he had preferred it over any other cup. When Belle had outed her concerns about him using a broken cup - imagining that he’d cut himself - he had merely grinned and giggled and said that a little chip wasn’t going to be his downfall.
As she made her way up the stairs to his study, she could hear the cauldron simmering and when she opened the door, she saw how misty it looked to be in the room. It was messier than it usually was, books, scrolls and potion bottles all over the room, even on the floor, and Belle waited by the door.
"Can I come in?" she asked kindly, wondering how much longer it would take him before this particular potion was finished.