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Description
Shackled to the textile weave Alanna coughed, not from illness or dust, for the silk was meticulously clean as always, but from dehydration. She pressed the buzzer to request more water, resuming her work for she knew that if she didn't it would be even longer before she would be released. Another five years the man had said, spinning the frail strands into something worth a king's weight in gold, the most luxurious of silken garments and tapestries which sold in upper-class establishments throughout the world who didn't dare even consider where such skillful work came from so quickly. It took all her concentration to keep going until the water arrived, almost collapsing as she sucked on the straw attached to the large jug of rainwater. The man hummed, looking at her work and feeling it for any mistakes the eye would miss, smiling faintly and stroking his meticulously trimmed beard.
"Your best work to date... Perhaps you only needed the incentive, hm?" His smile turned dark, tightening with a twitch as he pulled away the jug.
"No!" The woman cried in a raspy voice, trying to reach for it and almost falling out of her chair before catching herself. "No... Hfff... I was... Day-dreaming about home. The smell of plums and cherries, the dirt over my face, the sun..." The man squinted, examining her carefully, then licking his lips.
"Among my... workers, you are the most skilled." The man started walking away, then spun, looking at her. "I would so enjoy to having you work for me forever." The woman paled, gulping and he chuckled. "Ah, the look on your face. Such stark contrast to when you heard there was a patron for your work four months ago." The woman clenched her jaw for a moment, not trusting herself to say anything and the man shrugged, whistling as he walked off, the jug in his hand. "I much prefer that expression on you. Have it when I return with more water."

"You know, there is always the deal I offered your predecessor..." Alanna sipped on the straw, shuddering as she felt it going down her dry throat, looking at him furtively as he walked around the room, feeling the past works which had yet to be shipped out. "You know me as Mister Peeler, but I'm sure you've guessed by now that it's merely an alias. After all, if it wasn't, surely your family or friends or the police would have found you by now, hmm?" Alanna said nothing, not even sure what country she was in right now, the windows of the room too far for her to peer out of, and they were muted by a thin plastic board designed to dim the light from outside, each one as soundproof as the room's walls. "Not curious at all, not a sliver?" The man chuckled and slapped his knee.
"I... What was the deal?" Alanna asked, unable to resist the possibility. The man almost hopped onto a stool next to one of the pieces, reaching up to take it down carefully, rolling it onto the bolt it hung from, preparing to take it to sell it. That meant he would be gone for at least two days. Perhaps more. She already knew from the first time that she couldn't get free or communicate with anyone outside the room, but at least it meant he would lengthen her chain enough to reach more than the bedding laid on the floor. Far enough to pull food out of a small fridge, prepared for her in advance, all designed to be eaten without utensils so as to not give her anything advantageous if she decided to attack him. That and the most splendid spring water she had ever drank, despite all else that she was going through. A respite in a glass bottle, something from his homeland he had once said before tricking her into enslavement.
"Why... All you have to do is guess my name. Then I'll release you." Alanna opened her mouth, about to start throwing out guesses but he raised a tutting finger.
"Ah ah ah ah! But you only get three guesses..." Alanna frowned, thinking hard.
"But... You already have me captive, forced to make these for you..." She gestured at the silks, including the one he was stuffing into a very ornate container for carrying it to a paying client. "What do you gain if I fail to guess correctly?"
"Just that you'll continue your work for me and me alone... For the rest of your life. Joyfully, cheerfully. Not in conditions like this, but much better. You still won't be able to leave though, of course."
"Trading one cage for a gilded one?" She asked, incredulous. "Surely the advantage is all yours, if I can... Work off my time." She gulped. "In five years." The man hummed and gave a nodding shrug, gesturing balancing two items and chuckling.
"Time will tell... You have until then to guess. Oh, and before I forget, I left an apple from my homeland in the fridge for you this time. I'm sure you'll find it much better than those carrots."

Indeed the apple had been a treasure, juicy, sweet without being too tart, crisp without being difficult to chew. Alanna had no idea where the man came from, but even if it had terrible men like him, at least it had the spring water and apples. He still expected another piece when he returned, but at least she didn't have to rush and could take the time to try to reclaim some of the enjoyment of the task that had worn on her since his last excursion. She had once been struggling to pay bills, finding only peace in the weave, now finding her talent a lure for danger, but still she couldn't separate herself from it. It was as if she were under a spell since first she learned to weave, fingers splayed and moving slowly, orchestrating strands like a symphony, playing the fibers like a piano, the sound and scent and feel of a place or a person she remembered, and now the taste of a place she had never been, but still yearned for as much as her freedom. It brought her to tears as she put her fingers back to the weave. She went on for hours until she finished, nodding at it with the faintest of smiles, hobbling weakly over to her bedding before collapsing and falling to sleep.

The man returned to find the woman's new work, seeing her new silk, his breath stolen as he felt the wonder that had first drawn him to her work in the market. When he had first known he had to have her skills. He looked over at her sleeping form, gently brushing hair off her mouth, glancing at her calloused but delicate fingers, gazing at her frail frame, humming.

When next Alanna woke, the fridge had been moved closer and stocked with too much food to let go to spoil. She saw him rolling up her latest work, aching to even think that someone else would be taking it away without ever meeting them, without knowing it was going to a home where it would be appreciated, but gave a weak nod to him, eating some meat and cheese to help her regain her strength much faster than the paltry amount she had been retaining before. Maybe she could work up her strength enough... Impress him enough to slip, to make a mistake.
"Thank you..." The man stiffened for a moment and she gulped, taking a risk, "James." The man spun, an impish grin as he shook his head.
"Ah! The game is on, but no, no, no, that's not quite it! Not even close, Alanna." The man seemed pleased, but Alanna just hoped it meant he would be dropping his guard.

It seemed to work, for the next day her chain was lengthened enough for her to reach one of the windows. She managed to work the plastic board loose enough she could swivel it out of the way to see the windowpane behind it, fingers bleeding a bit but she washed them off and flushed the evidence before returning to the window. Nothing was in sight but an empty field, a forest in the distance. She slumped against the wall, tearing up, pounding the glass in rage at how stupid she had been to expect he had overlooked something like that, hitting it until finally it broke, a breeze blowing in. It wasn't much, but it cooled her considerably as the heat of the room rushed to be as free as she desired. Knowing he would notice if it was too cold though, she covered it with the plastic board again, only a small amount of fresh air leaking in.

Six days later the man came into the room as he had for the past few days, expecting another piece, finding her at the weave with a bit more energy each day than the last, but instead he found her completely covered in her bedding, shivering despite the heat of the room and all the sheets and blankets. He gulped, hesitantly reaching a hand to feel her forehead, cursing and hurrying to the fridge, sniffing each container, trying to find the culprit that had made her ill. Then a cold breeze blew and rippled the hanging silks, barely felt or even audible, but still they wrinkled slightly. His eyes went wide and he checked the windows, finding the one she had broken, staring out the hole, hands gripping the board meant to block the light, tearing it off the wall and throwing it toward the room's only door. It clattered across the ground and he panted, looking back to Alanna. He clenched his jaw.

The next week was a blur almost for Alanna, feverish and recovering, the man bringing her glass bottle after bottle of the water from his homeland, giving her its apples, joking about needing to keep doctor's away or she'd be taken far from him, bringing chicken noodle soup and more. He brought medicine, wet cloths and through it all she found it hard to speak clearly, finally managing one thing before taking a day-long sleep.
"Thank you again..." The man wiped sweat from her brow, giving a stern nod. "Kevin." The man looked at her face, staring, then nibbled on one of his knuckles, pacing as she slept.
"It didn't count... She was delirious." He stopped, looking at her. "And yet..."

Alanna worked on the next silk as soon as she was strong enough, the broken window filled with an air conditioner, her bedding replaced with a luxurious queen bed with headboard, and her chain long enough to reach anywhere but the door itself. When the man asked if she remembered anything from her fever she hesitated and merely asked if she had guessed rightly. He smirked, shaking his head and gestured for her to resume her work, then left the room. She sighed as soon as he was gone, gulping as she realized she had wasted another guess and despite better working conditions had not found any way to escape. And still... As she considered the next piece, she thought on his hand holding the damp cloth. The glimpses of his rage and worry through the fever. No doubt for the prospect of losing her talent without their game being finished. And still... She sat down to work, her mind filled with these things.

The man had to have her silks, her skill, he had to have... Her. None of the others had stirred such forgotten recesses of his mind... Of his heart. He wanted her to leave before he ruined it. He had almost spoiled the game, had broken the code. He had seen a story book in a shop not three miles from his private autumnal residence with the room within its third story, an old work from his homeland, early edition, older than even the shop's proprietor had guessed. He had bought it, had gleefully browsed it and laughed at how much closer to the truth the older tales had once been, actually about to show it to her when he stopped himself. Had realized his error. He threw the book into his study, staring at its cover now, recalling how dangerous sharing information had been, how he had lost what he most desired then. Sneering he rose, wrapping it up in brown paper and preparing to take it to the fireplace he passed the workroom--Her room, and gasped as he looked inside. The moonlight caught the silk and shimmered on it even through the diffusing plastic blocks. The details, so fine, so masterful, like none the world would ever see again. And there in the center of it all was him, not the curmudgeon she had known after her capture, but the tender hand holding the wet cloth, the man describing his homeland and sharing its bounty, the man who had worked to make her more comfortable, if still enslaved. He brushed it, feeling it and blinking, turning to look at her sleeping form, but finding her standing awake, looking at her work, looking at him.

Alanna shuddered at seeing such awe on his face, blushing as she had when he first played the patron. He saw her work for what she was, raw talent, beautiful refinement, hidden away in obscurity, just as he had said before, perhaps flattering to lower her guard before, but now unable to hide it from his face. She gulped, feeling it herself, giving a faint smile, looking at him.
"Do you... Like it? Richard?"

The man's eyes went wide and he nodded, lowering his head and handing her something bound in brown paper, as well as sighing.
"It's marvelous. Your masterpiece perhaps. Though... The world will have to judge that from your future work." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a key and handing it to her, turning and rolling up the silk she had just made slowly as she stared at the key. "You've... Won. I only hope that you not give up your art because of what I did. It's... Amazing." He placed the rolled fabric into a container and walked out, jaw set stiffly as he left, leaving the door open. "Goodbye. Alanna."

Alanna just stared at him leaving, at the key, at the weave and her remaining silks that were hanging for what seemed like an hour. Finally snapping out of it, she hurriedly unlocked her shackle, the sound of it falling to the ground deafening. She gathered up every trace of her past life to her, her stomach growling, glancing at the fridge. She hesitated, then as it growled again, opened it and stuffed her pockets with the bottles and apples, eating one hungrily as she cautiously walked out the door, down the steps and ran out the building into the open field.

Up in his room, the man looked out the window as she left, then moved to a chair in the center of it all. He looked at the last silk she had made, now hung on the wall alongside the first she had done for him before her captivity, and the one of his homeland as she imagined it, the three the only things on the wall he now stared at. All around him were baubles and statues, paintings and etchings, drawn by a hundred pairs of hands over twice as many years. All captives, all freed, some faster than others despite their mere joking manner due to the nature of his story spreading, others like Alanna, more confused than having any true idea... But this time he had stepped over a boundary he never had before. One he never had thought possible for one such as him. He slumped into the chair which faced the wall, pouring himself a wine and rubbing his forehead.

Alanna ran and ran, almost a mile into the woods before she tripped, spilling a couple apples and the package that the man, Richard it seemed, had given her. She didn't know why he had upheld her part of the bargain, but still, as she frantically tried to grab the apples back up she was glad he had. She paused at taking notice of the package for the first time since she had taken it in her hands, face down in the dirt, the brown wrapping clearly not intended to last for long as it drifted away in a strong wind. What remained was a book. She stared, curious as to why he had given it to her, as to what it was, taking hold of it and opening it to the page it had fallen open on. Her breath escaped her as she stared at the words, then at the footprints behind her, finally back at the forest in front of her. She started to resume her journey, gulping and glancing at the book, back up at the trees, seeing the light of a city in the distance--then turned and ran.

"Liar!" The man heard, stirred from his almost drunken stupor, being shaken vigorously by a form he struggled to recognize. His eyes bulged as his vision cleared, staring into Alanna's angry, tearful face.
"What? What are you... I gave you the key! I saw you leave-" The man's flabbergasted disbelief was broken as she shoved the book into his chest with one hand, the other gripping the back of his neck as her lips met his. He only stared, blinking as she shuddered, smiling lightly, looking around the room.
"All these poor artists you must have captured. You loved them all, didn't you?" She panted for a moment, kissing his lips again. "You have got to find other ways of finding romance... But I lost. I'm yours... Rumpelstiltskin."

Description
Shackled to the textile weave Alanna coughed, not from illness or dust, for the silk was meticulously clean as always, but from dehydration. She pressed the buzzer to request more water, resuming her work for she knew that if she didn't it would be even longer before she would be released. Another five years the man had said, spinning the frail strands into something worth a king's weight in gold, the most luxurious of silken garments and tapestries which sold in upper-class establishments throughout the world who didn't dare even consider where such skillful work came from so quickly. It took all her concentration to keep going until the water arrived, almost collapsing as she sucked on the straw attached to the large jug of rainwater. The man hummed, looking at her work and feeling it for any mistakes the eye would miss, smiling faintly and stroking his meticulously trimmed beard.
"Your best work to date... Perhaps you only needed the incentive, hm?" His smile turned dark, tightening with a twitch as he pulled away the jug.
"No!" The woman cried in a raspy voice, trying to reach for it and almost falling out of her chair before catching herself. "No... Hfff... I was... Day-dreaming about home. The smell of plums and cherries, the dirt over my face, the sun..." The man squinted, examining her carefully, then licking his lips.
"Among my... workers, you are the most skilled." The man started walking away, then spun, looking at her. "I would so enjoy to having you work for me forever." The woman paled, gulping and he chuckled. "Ah, the look on your face. Such stark contrast to when you heard there was a patron for your work four months ago." The woman clenched her jaw for a moment, not trusting herself to say anything and the man shrugged, whistling as he walked off, the jug in his hand. "I much prefer that expression on you. Have it when I return with more water."

"You know, there is always the deal I offered your predecessor..." Alanna sipped on the straw, shuddering as she felt it going down her dry throat, looking at him furtively as he walked around the room, feeling the past works which had yet to be shipped out. "You know me as Mister Peeler, but I'm sure you've guessed by now that it's merely an alias. After all, if it wasn't, surely your family or friends or the police would have found you by now, hmm?" Alanna said nothing, not even sure what country she was in right now, the windows of the room too far for her to peer out of, and they were muted by a thin plastic board designed to dim the light from outside, each one as soundproof as the room's walls. "Not curious at all, not a sliver?" The man chuckled and slapped his knee.
"I... What was the deal?" Alanna asked, unable to resist the possibility. The man almost hopped onto a stool next to one of the pieces, reaching up to take it down carefully, rolling it onto the bolt it hung from, preparing to take it to sell it. That meant he would be gone for at least two days. Perhaps more. She already knew from the first time that she couldn't get free or communicate with anyone outside the room, but at least it meant he would lengthen her chain enough to reach more than the bedding laid on the floor. Far enough to pull food out of a small fridge, prepared for her in advance, all designed to be eaten without utensils so as to not give her anything advantageous if she decided to attack him. That and the most splendid spring water she had ever drank, despite all else that she was going through. A respite in a glass bottle, something from his homeland he had once said before tricking her into enslavement.
"Why... All you have to do is guess my name. Then I'll release you." Alanna opened her mouth, about to start throwing out guesses but he raised a tutting finger.
"Ah ah ah ah! But you only get three guesses..." Alanna frowned, thinking hard.
"But... You already have me captive, forced to make these for you..." She gestured at the silks, including the one he was stuffing into a very ornate container for carrying it to a paying client. "What do you gain if I fail to guess correctly?"
"Just that you'll continue your work for me and me alone... For the rest of your life. Joyfully, cheerfully. Not in conditions like this, but much better. You still won't be able to leave though, of course."
"Trading one cage for a gilded one?" She asked, incredulous. "Surely the advantage is all yours, if I can... Work off my time." She gulped. "In five years." The man hummed and gave a nodding shrug, gesturing balancing two items and chuckling.
"Time will tell... You have until then to guess. Oh, and before I forget, I left an apple from my homeland in the fridge for you this time. I'm sure you'll find it much better than those carrots."

Indeed the apple had been a treasure, juicy, sweet without being too tart, crisp without being difficult to chew. Alanna had no idea where the man came from, but even if it had terrible men like him, at least it had the spring water and apples. He still expected another piece when he returned, but at least she didn't have to rush and could take the time to try to reclaim some of the enjoyment of the task that had worn on her since his last excursion. She had once been struggling to pay bills, finding only peace in the weave, now finding her talent a lure for danger, but still she couldn't separate herself from it. It was as if she were under a spell since first she learned to weave, fingers splayed and moving slowly, orchestrating strands like a symphony, playing the fibers like a piano, the sound and scent and feel of a place or a person she remembered, and now the taste of a place she had never been, but still yearned for as much as her freedom. It brought her to tears as she put her fingers back to the weave. She went on for hours until she finished, nodding at it with the faintest of smiles, hobbling weakly over to her bedding before collapsing and falling to sleep.

The man returned to find the woman's new work, seeing her new silk, his breath stolen as he felt the wonder that had first drawn him to her work in the market. When he had first known he had to have her skills. He looked over at her sleeping form, gently brushing hair off her mouth, glancing at her calloused but delicate fingers, gazing at her frail frame, humming.

When next Alanna woke, the fridge had been moved closer and stocked with too much food to let go to spoil. She saw him rolling up her latest work, aching to even think that someone else would be taking it away without ever meeting them, without knowing it was going to a home where it would be appreciated, but gave a weak nod to him, eating some meat and cheese to help her regain her strength much faster than the paltry amount she had been retaining before. Maybe she could work up her strength enough... Impress him enough to slip, to make a mistake.
"Thank you..." The man stiffened for a moment and she gulped, taking a risk, "James." The man spun, an impish grin as he shook his head.
"Ah! The game is on, but no, no, no, that's not quite it! Not even close, Alanna." The man seemed pleased, but Alanna just hoped it meant he would be dropping his guard.

It seemed to work, for the next day her chain was lengthened enough for her to reach one of the windows. She managed to work the plastic board loose enough she could swivel it out of the way to see the windowpane behind it, fingers bleeding a bit but she washed them off and flushed the evidence before returning to the window. Nothing was in sight but an empty field, a forest in the distance. She slumped against the wall, tearing up, pounding the glass in rage at how stupid she had been to expect he had overlooked something like that, hitting it until finally it broke, a breeze blowing in. It wasn't much, but it cooled her considerably as the heat of the room rushed to be as free as she desired. Knowing he would notice if it was too cold though, she covered it with the plastic board again, only a small amount of fresh air leaking in.

Six days later the man came into the room as he had for the past few days, expecting another piece, finding her at the weave with a bit more energy each day than the last, but instead he found her completely covered in her bedding, shivering despite the heat of the room and all the sheets and blankets. He gulped, hesitantly reaching a hand to feel her forehead, cursing and hurrying to the fridge, sniffing each container, trying to find the culprit that had made her ill. Then a cold breeze blew and rippled the hanging silks, barely felt or even audible, but still they wrinkled slightly. His eyes went wide and he checked the windows, finding the one she had broken, staring out the hole, hands gripping the board meant to block the light, tearing it off the wall and throwing it toward the room's only door. It clattered across the ground and he panted, looking back to Alanna. He clenched his jaw.

The next week was a blur almost for Alanna, feverish and recovering, the man bringing her glass bottle after bottle of the water from his homeland, giving her its apples, joking about needing to keep doctor's away or she'd be taken far from him, bringing chicken noodle soup and more. He brought medicine, wet cloths and through it all she found it hard to speak clearly, finally managing one thing before taking a day-long sleep.
"Thank you again..." The man wiped sweat from her brow, giving a stern nod. "Kevin." The man looked at her face, staring, then nibbled on one of his knuckles, pacing as she slept.
"It didn't count... She was delirious." He stopped, looking at her. "And yet..."

Alanna worked on the next silk as soon as she was strong enough, the broken window filled with an air conditioner, her bedding replaced with a luxurious queen bed with headboard, and her chain long enough to reach anywhere but the door itself. When the man asked if she remembered anything from her fever she hesitated and merely asked if she had guessed rightly. He smirked, shaking his head and gestured for her to resume her work, then left the room. She sighed as soon as he was gone, gulping as she realized she had wasted another guess and despite better working conditions had not found any way to escape. And still... As she considered the next piece, she thought on his hand holding the damp cloth. The glimpses of his rage and worry through the fever. No doubt for the prospect of losing her talent without their game being finished. And still... She sat down to work, her mind filled with these things.

The man had to have her silks, her skill, he had to have... Her. None of the others had stirred such forgotten recesses of his mind... Of his heart. He wanted her to leave before he ruined it. He had almost spoiled the game, had broken the code. He had seen a story book in a shop not three miles from his private autumnal residence with the room within its third story, an old work from his homeland, early edition, older than even the shop's proprietor had guessed. He had bought it, had gleefully browsed it and laughed at how much closer to the truth the older tales had once been, actually about to show it to her when he stopped himself. Had realized his error. He threw the book into his study, staring at its cover now, recalling how dangerous sharing information had been, how he had lost what he most desired then. Sneering he rose, wrapping it up in brown paper and preparing to take it to the fireplace he passed the workroom--Her room, and gasped as he looked inside. The moonlight caught the silk and shimmered on it even through the diffusing plastic blocks. The details, so fine, so masterful, like none the world would ever see again. And there in the center of it all was him, not the curmudgeon she had known after her capture, but the tender hand holding the wet cloth, the man describing his homeland and sharing its bounty, the man who had worked to make her more comfortable, if still enslaved. He brushed it, feeling it and blinking, turning to look at her sleeping form, but finding her standing awake, looking at her work, looking at him.

Alanna shuddered at seeing such awe on his face, blushing as she had when he first played the patron. He saw her work for what she was, raw talent, beautiful refinement, hidden away in obscurity, just as he had said before, perhaps flattering to lower her guard before, but now unable to hide it from his face. She gulped, feeling it herself, giving a faint smile, looking at him.
"Do you... Like it? Richard?"

The man's eyes went wide and he nodded, lowering his head and handing her something bound in brown paper, as well as sighing.
"It's marvelous. Your masterpiece perhaps. Though... The world will have to judge that from your future work." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a key and handing it to her, turning and rolling up the silk she had just made slowly as she stared at the key. "You've... Won. I only hope that you not give up your art because of what I did. It's... Amazing." He placed the rolled fabric into a container and walked out, jaw set stiffly as he left, leaving the door open. "Goodbye. Alanna."

Alanna just stared at him leaving, at the key, at the weave and her remaining silks that were hanging for what seemed like an hour. Finally snapping out of it, she hurriedly unlocked her shackle, the sound of it falling to the ground deafening. She gathered up every trace of her past life to her, her stomach growling, glancing at the fridge. She hesitated, then as it growled again, opened it and stuffed her pockets with the bottles and apples, eating one hungrily as she cautiously walked out the door, down the steps and ran out the building into the open field.

Up in his room, the man looked out the window as she left, then moved to a chair in the center of it all. He looked at the last silk she had made, now hung on the wall alongside the first she had done for him before her captivity, and the one of his homeland as she imagined it, the three the only things on the wall he now stared at. All around him were baubles and statues, paintings and etchings, drawn by a hundred pairs of hands over twice as many years. All captives, all freed, some faster than others despite their mere joking manner due to the nature of his story spreading, others like Alanna, more confused than having any true idea... But this time he had stepped over a boundary he never had before. One he never had thought possible for one such as him. He slumped into the chair which faced the wall, pouring himself a wine and rubbing his forehead.

Alanna ran and ran, almost a mile into the woods before she tripped, spilling a couple apples and the package that the man, Richard it seemed, had given her. She didn't know why he had upheld her part of the bargain, but still, as she frantically tried to grab the apples back up she was glad he had. She paused at taking notice of the package for the first time since she had taken it in her hands, face down in the dirt, the brown wrapping clearly not intended to last for long as it drifted away in a strong wind. What remained was a book. She stared, curious as to why he had given it to her, as to what it was, taking hold of it and opening it to the page it had fallen open on. Her breath escaped her as she stared at the words, then at the footprints behind her, finally back at the forest in front of her. She started to resume her journey, gulping and glancing at the book, back up at the trees, seeing the light of a city in the distance--then turned and ran.

"Liar!" The man heard, stirred from his almost drunken stupor, being shaken vigorously by a form he struggled to recognize. His eyes bulged as his vision cleared, staring into Alanna's angry, tearful face.
"What? What are you... I gave you the key! I saw you leave-" The man's flabbergasted disbelief was broken as she shoved the book into his chest with one hand, the other gripping the back of his neck as her lips met his. He only stared, blinking as she shuddered, smiling lightly, looking around the room.
"All these poor artists you must have captured. You loved them all, didn't you?" She panted for a moment, kissing his lips again. "You have got to find other ways of finding romance... But I lost. I'm yours... Rumpelstiltskin."