If What You're Saying is True

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Cinderella (Ashley): Should we even use magic? Isn't that what's causing these problems to begin with? What if this magic also has a price? (The Price of Gold)

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Cinderella (Ashley): Should we even use magic? Isn't that what's causing these problems to begin with? What if this magic also has a price? (The Price of Gold)

Mr. Gold cast his eyes around Geppetto's woodshop—the curious collection of clocks, wind-up toys, rocking horses, marionettes, and cradles he'd created for sale. Such a warm, peaceful place—the haven of a craftsman after his own heart—and right now he wished he could be anywhere but here. Because his unnatural awareness of Cinderella's desperate cravings was stimulating perverse urges of his own. Not since Belle had revealed Regina's evil treatment of her had such a compulsion for darkness welled up inside him.

Mr. Gold hunched his shoulders. After all, what would be so wrong about satisfying Cinderella's wants in exchange for, well, did it really matter what? As ravening desires went, luxury wasn't so bad. Take his obsession—power—or worse, take Cora's. Was there any passion more likely to wreak widespread misery than one mistreated individual's drive for control? Compared to that, what harm was a yen for creature comforts?

And what was at the root of Cinderella's desperation? A horrible childhood, naturally. Those privileged prigs whose parents had loved them could never comprehend the anguish of growing up unwanted, misused, and abused. Mr. Gold pressed his fingertips together. And people had thought him sinister for brokering adoptions. What else could be done to change the course of despair?

As if drawn to the answer, Mr. Gold's eyes drifted to the child, innocently asleep on her mother's lap. Ahh, he said to himself. He knew what his price would be.

Leaning forward, Mr. Gold locked Cinderella in his gaze. "The gowns, the banquets, the carriages, the masques—after all those years of slaving for your cruel stepmother and her worthless daughters, you deserved every moment of it. And to have it torn away, to be thrown back into a drab, workaday life... no wonder you're aggrieved by Storybrooke."

Slowly, her eyes fixated on his, Cinderella nodded.

"I'm afraid, my dear, that restoring the kingdoms of the Enchanted Forest is beyond even my powers. The country you hoped to one day rule as queen—it's gone. Poof." Mr. Gold splayed one hand in the air. "But luxury? Yes. You can make a deal for luxury. And I'm not talking Storybrooke luxury—the respectable house and wardrobe I can afford. I'm talking mansions, sports cars, jewelry, high fashion, servants waiting on you hand and foot everywhere you go..." as he spun the tale, he watched her pupils dilate until he was swimming in them. Taking a deep breath, he felt the familiar tingle that came from teasing out a supplicant's most secret longings. "There's only one thing I require in return. You must let me take your heart."

Cinderella cringed back in her chair.

Mr. Gold waved his hand. "Don't be alarmed. My purpose would not be to harm you. On the contrary. I've vowed this night to be a better man. But just because I put myself out to make amends for our previous deal, doesn't mean I found the experience agreeable. I'm not about to make another deal that would leave you torn and miserable, requiring me to make amends yet again. Right now, you have your heart's truest treasures—your husband and your daughter—but your lack of luxury leaves you hungry. If you choose to fulfill that appetite instead, well, losing what your heart loves most would make you just as unhappy."

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