The Rumpelstiltskin Code

This is part of a senior project that I am doing for my senior year of college. I would love feedback. :) This google link allows anyone to comment! https://docs.google.com/document/d/1sHXG_V2sfj8t0hrn5HNJUqeG9LYJSnfl_pK0OC71dOE/edit?usp=sharing

Dahlia, you have always asked about your mother, and I’ve always refused to tell you. It used to scare me, I think, to tell you this story... But you’re old enough now, to understand. You will find the written prose of your mother’s story enclosed.

-- Bellamy

"My name is Bellamy, but you can call me Sir for as long as you are alive. Which I don't expect will be very long. You're all the same." His voice was cold, harsh; a razor sharp edge to his tone that told the trembling young woman in front of him that he was quite serious about the statement. "What is your name, woman?"

Bellamy waited, impatiently, until her soft answer left her, "Delphine, Sir." He could see the wheels in her mind turning; seeking answers.

"Good. You learn quickly. Now, this house has rules...

1. You may go into the courtyard and gardens.

2. You must remove your shoes before entering the house. Shoes are to stay by the back door.

3. You have to ask before going into any room without me.

4. You are to keep my house clean and orderly.

5. You are not to enter the room at the top of the stairs.

6. You will have dinner with me every dawn.

7. I awake every night at 7 p.m., you are expected to be up as well.

8. You are never to answer the door. Nor to invite anyone inside.

9. You may not enter the kitchen at any time.

Now, do you understand?"

He watched her closely, waiting for her to nod her head. Once she had responded with a meek nod, he turned on his heel and set out to show her his home. It was a fairly pleasant space, actually. The living room and sitting room matched, soft blues and yellows covered the walls. The kitchen was detached from the main house, to avoid any chance of fire spreading. It was dusty and seemed mostly unused. The restrooms were also dusty, but nevertheless tidy. She followed him along dutifully, as if she it was her job.

She was quiet, not like some of his lesser-natured catches. Most were chatty, or terrified. It never ceased to amaze him how chatty some of the less-fortunate women he had taken would just talk his ear off, as if nobody had ever asked about their day. But not her. No, Delphine Mountrose was a quiet girl, looking only to do as he expected, it seemed. Bellamy was already thinking of ways to test just how much she would do for him.

"This is your room," they had skipped the room at the top of the stairs entirely. He had not mentioned if anything was inside the room, or even reminded her not to go there--he assumed she'd remember. "You are expected up by 7 p.m., no later than 7:15 p.m." His voice was level, and he stood in the doorway as she studied her quarters.

There was a small part of him that seemed to care what she thought. Her reaction gave him no information, however, and he gestured to the wardrobe. "There should be something in there that will fit you." With those words, he left, shutting her door behind of her--locking it for good measure. It was too early to trust her not to try and escape, after all. If by chance she did escape, he could not hunt her down until that night, either. Dawn was quick to approach.

That day, he could hear her trying to find a way out, a way to escape, but she would find none. Bars on the window, the door stood steadfast with its lock in place, and there were no weapons of any sort. If she tried to make any, he'd hear her splinter the wood.

As night fell he waited and at 7 p.m., Bellamy unlocked the door to her room and was pleased to find her sitting on her bed, still in her nightdress. "Get dressed. Wear the yellow one," he ordered.

As he turned to leave, he heard her speak, she was asking a question. "W- Why that one?" It was a bold, brazen question for the meek little woman. She asked it and the tone implied she wanted an answer.

"Because, my dear, you and I are going to have breakfast." He was privately amused by the look of confusion that crossed her features; but he realized she was starving, not yet used to the schedule he was imposing upon her. That would be solved quickly, he suspected. Either by death, or she would adapt.

"I don't drink blood," she uttered shyly.

"And I do not expect you to. You will cut your palm and drain into a glass, while we wait for your breakfast to be cooked." Without another word, Bellamy shut the door firmly behind himself, and started downstairs. Upstairs he could hear her dressing, the soft fabric brushing across her skin, the creak of each floorboard as she stepped. She was trying to be quiet, the little mouse.

As she finally descended the stairs, dressed as if for a masquerade, he took a moment to look up from the book he was reading, admiring her. And then, as if he had not been taking in her beauty, he stated a bit aggressively, "That wine glass there, then. Cut your wrist or your palm, your choice. Fill it halfway." She would see that he had laid out medical gauze and bandages, as well as set two wine glasses out. One was presumably for her, hopefully to be filled with wine. The other for him.

Bellamy turned his attention back to his book, and as he did so, he heard her chair scrape against the floor as she pulled it out. Then, he heard the quiet hiss of suppressed pain when she cut herself. She was just eager to please. He'd only had a few of those.

It was a while in silence, to her, at least. He was too busy listening to the blood hitting the wineglass as she did as he'd told her. A bit later, after she was bandaging her palm, a two-course breakfast was brought out by an elderly man, much shorter than Delphine. The man, who was dressed in a tuxedo, dipped his head and shuffled back to the kitchen without so much as a word.

As she ate, Bellamy drank, watching her over the rim of his glass. She was truly exquisite, and her blood just furthered the belief. It did not take her long to finish her food, she had been so hungry, and Bellamy carefully asked if she needed second helpings, to which he received a nod. He never yelled her request, or even spoke it, but that same elderly man appeared from the kitchen, carrying another plate for her.

“Tell me, Delphine, what is your favorite thing to do in your free time?” He watched her quietly, patiently awaiting a response. So far, she had not lied to him once, hopefully she would not start now.

“I enjoy... well, I like to go on walks--and I know a lot about plants so I prefer a garden setting.” He nodded, encouraging her to keep going. She continued, “And I enjoy making medicines and helping others...” A selfless woman, how amusing. Then, she asked a question that stunned him.

“What do you like to do, Sir?” Her voice was even and soft, she’d remembered the rules.

Bellamy had never had his prey ask him what he liked to do; and the mere thought was amusing. What did he like to do? Humming thoughtfully, his brow creased. He was too lost in his thoughts to notice that his companion was studying him, almost as if she were poring over a book. After a pregnant pause, that almost came naturally to both Bellamy and the woman, he responded, his answer carefully thought out:

“I suppose, when I am not stealing women away for sustenance, I enjoy board games, walks in the night, star-gazing...” It was not what she had been expecting, and the mild look of shock that crossed her features proved that. He chuckled quietly, and spoke: “I never said I wasn’t like human men, Delphine.”

“How often have you gotten to do any of those things, Sir?” She was becoming bolder, now, and he appreciated that. After all he had chosen her because there was something different... though, he had chosen many of the others for that same reason, only to find out that they were all the same.

“Not very often. I’ve never had a companion who did not try to run away when we went...” A casal shrug of his shoulders, “Most often they did not survive the escape attempt.” He watched her face, amused by how neutral it was.

“They should not have tried to run away, Sir. You’re quite nice, for an abductor, that is.” She said it so matter-of-factly, that his amusement actually showed on his face. And seeing his amusement made her laugh. “You have an expressive face, Sir,” she commented, a quiet smile on her lips.

Bellamy cleared his throat, and fell into a neutral stance once more, studying her thoughtfully. He did not offer comment on her compliment, simply took it silently. The silence between them grew, until she asked, “Sir? Why can’t I go into the kitchen?”

“Because we have a cook that does everything. If you want something, simply tell me.” She fell quiet, a displeased look flitting across her features. He knew it wasn’t the best life, but it was only her life for a few more days. The moment she messed up, he’d drain her dry.

Days, however, turned into months. She was perfect. The first night he had needed to feed, to drain a body, she had been with him for a month exactly. Bellamy had been surprised when she had offered to lure him a young woman, if she could just watch him feed. He was not sure he fully trusted her, but he was certain of his ability to end her life before she could properly escape him, and so... she came with him.

And she was perfect, as ever.

She moved with ease through the dark night, her path only shown by the full moon above her. He watched her, but not like he was watching his next meal. She was a swan among pigeons. But not just any swan, a black swan--a rare and exquisite find. Something he would never release as long as he lived. Bellamy firmly believed that everyone deserved to find perfection at least once in their lives. Especially when one lived for hundreds of years.

She was the predator, and he was the man full of pride; certain he had found the woman for him. The blonde that she picked him was similar to herself, and he could not hide his amusement. She must assume his tastes, and perhaps she was on the right path.

“Hello,” she said, politely. She was a meek little thing, it was hard not to feel the need to help her. “I’ve gotten lost and... I don’t know where I am. Could you help me? I’m new to the area.” She was a good liar when she wanted to lie.

It was quite amusing, to watch her lie to the beautiful flower she had plucked from the soil. The woman, naught but a girl really, was eager to help and stepped away from the street light to lead the other to her destination. A hotel that was owned by Bellamy, though not under that name, of course. They walked a ways, and eventually the hotel came into sight, and he sidled up next to his swan, humming thoughtfully as he scooped her close for a moment.

“You’re just a special sort of girl, aren’t you?” He breathed, before he was on his snack for the night. He still preferred her blood, and would come to find that there was no better blood than hers, so willingly given. The taste was addictive.

Neither of them knew the girls name, but that didn’t matter. Bellamy had promised Delphine a show; and a show she expected. His fangs tore messily at the girls flesh, and he was carelessly wasting more blood than he had too, trying to keep an eye on Delphine. There was a part of him that feared she would bolt. After all, she was only human, it made sense for her to want to get out of the situation she had been trapped in.

But even as he drank the last ounce of blood from the body, she stood steadfast, clearly enamored. Whether she was focusing on him, or the woman, he did not know. But what he did know was... she was beautiful.

Dahlia, as you are aware, good things do not last forever. They never will.

But as you also know, I am stubborn. I refuse to sit back and let fate play its idle games...

-- Bellamy

“You have been with me for three years now, Delphine. A patient, obedient woman, never asking questions or going where you shouldn’t,” He was mostly speaking about the kitchen. “And for that, you deserve a reward, my love.” He pressed a kiss to her temple.

“A reward?” She inquired, studying him. Over the years Bellamy had been increasingly affectionate, never going too far, though. It was as if some part of him did not trust the little blonde. “What sort?”

“Oh... I know you’ll enjoy this, come along.” He purred, pulling her behind him as he led her upstairs, deftly unlocking the door to his room. The look on her face, a look of excitement, was enough to make him chuckle as he led her into the room.

“Undress,” he ordered. His dark gaze soaked in each inch of bare flesh, as she slowly allowed her clothing to hit the floor. It was strange to her, to be under his gaze while naked, as he was always respectful of her boundaries. Her skin was pale, like fresh milk, her hair a honey gold across her shoulders. She was slender, like a willow tree.

His darker hands settled against her hips, contrasting sharply, and slowly he drew her to the bed. His lips trailed across her ribs as he carefully laid her on the bed beside of him.

It became the norm for Delphine to be by Bellamy’s side, in his bedroom at night. Her own room gathered dust, though she cleaned it every week, she did not stay there. She liked being at his side; close to him in every way.

“Delphine?” Bellamy inquired, as he watched her drain her blood into a wine glass for his morning meal. She made a soft noise of acknowledgement, but did not look up at him. “You’re mine, only mine, right?”

“Of course.”

He moved quietly around the table, so quietly that she did not notice until he was on one knee in front of her. “I know that we can never be... officially married,” because Delphine was presumed dead, “but we can be married in our hearts.”

Bellamy reached to grasp the hand she had cut, pressing a kiss against the cut before he brought a bandage to wrap around it, tightening it. Then, quietly, as if she were that meek girl he had stolen away all those years ago, she replied: “Yes.”

From that moment on, the vampire and his woman were never separated.

Dahlia, when we found out your mother was pregnant, it was... well, a dream come true. At least, at first.

-- Bellamy

There was nothing Bellamy wanted more in this world, than a family. He’d thought that he had that with Delphine, but when she revealed she was pregnant, four months into their ‘marriage of the heart’, he was overjoyed.

Today, he was laying with his head in her lap, pressed against her baby bump, listening to her sing. Then, she fell quiet and he opened his eyes to look at her. “Bellamy...” She began, fingers trailing against his cheek absently. “...I always heard that vampires were these monsters, who could never reproduce.” She’d never asked exactly how she had ended up pregnant. But she was curious, who could expect her not to be?

Bellamy studied her, before he began to speak: “Well, a lot of the myths are wrong. I’m not any stronger than any other man might be, and it’s true that sunlight and silver hurt me... I require blood to stay alive, I have fangs...” He hummed to himself. “...but my body functions similarly to yours, love. I’m not dead, simply... I was granted with a gift, I guess?” He’d never tried to explain vampirism to anyone before.

“Oh.” She murmured, “Will... our child...”

He cut her off quickly as he sat up, reaching to cup her face in his hands. “She will be human. To become vampire, you’ve got to be granted the gift.” Delphine gave a soft sigh, and leaned into his touch.

There was one evening, where after three, almost four years of being together, Delphine broke the only rule he bothered caring about. She went into the kitchen. And she found his secret.

The moment he heard her footsteps change from creaking wood to tapping, he knew. The kitchen was the only room in the entire house with tile rather than hardwood. Easier to clean.

“Delphine.” His voice was cold, hard. He entered the kitchen silently, standing just behind her as she reached for the intricate lamp perched on the counter.

“Bellamy, where is the cook?” Her fingers grazed the lamp, and in a puff of purple smoke, the elderly man she knew as ‘Cook’, appeared.

“Mistress, how may I serve thee?” The djinn addressed her, with a twisted smirk.

“Bellamy, wh--” She was cut off from asking her question as Bellamy forcefully placed himself between her and the djinn.

“Do not respond to him, Delphine. Djinn are twisted creatures. You ask for one thing, and he gives you what you asked for... with a dangerous twist.”

Dahlia, the day that you were born... I guess it was supposed to be the best day of my life. Instead, it was the worst. I hope you will forgive me, little one.

-- Bellamy

“She’s going to be beautiful, Delphine.” He trembled as he clutched her hand in his. The djinn was still bound to her, and so long as she did not ‘wish’ for something, he would stay bound until her death. He was serving as midwife, neither of them wanted to bring someone into their home who might recognize Delphine.

The birth was painful, and with each scream Bellamy felt as if his heart was shredding. He could not bare to see her in pain. When a loud cry filled the air, the vampire blinked back his tears as he accepted his daughter; his little flower, into his arms. Bellamy was so focused on the newborn, that he did not immediately realize the scent of blood had grown stronger, stronger than it should have.

“Delphine?” She was fading fast. Blood soaked through her dress, into the sheets. So much wasted. He had to choose between his daughter, or his wife in that moment--and he quickly handed the crying babe back to the djinn.

“I’ve got you, darling.” He promised, as he sank his fangs into the flesh of her neck. He’d never drank directly from her, for this reason. He had not wanted to turn her; and if he’d drank from her with that in mind, he would have had to drain her completely so she could not be reborn.

But... he could not let her die, either.

For seven nights, Delphine writhed in pain. For seven nights, Bellamy tended to his daughter. His precious little girl.

Dahlia, I understand if you hate me. It was horrible, what I did. But I did it for you--everything I did was for you.

-- Bellamy

The eighth night, Delphine awoke. Bellamy had not left her side except to get more goats milk for Dahlia. When her eyes finally fluttered open, a much darker color than the light hazel he loved, he was thrilled. Sometimes a turning did not take. But Delphine had a strong will.

He placed his daughter into the bassinet next to the bed, and moved to his wife, kneeling next to the bed. “Delphine?”

When she lunged for the bassinet, he reacted on instinct alone. She was fast, but she was still new to her heightened senses. He had her pinned on the bed, fingers curling around her throat. “Delphine. Stop.”

The newborn was squalling, and underneath him, his wife was snarling. Delphine was not... the human he had loved. He had known it could happen; her humanity could be lost.

He made a decision, one that would tear him apart. His free hand dove into her chest, and the sound of muscle tearing and ripping was louder, than the cry of his daughter, in that moment.

Her heart beat furiously, as he crushed it slowly between his fingers. Bellamy closed his eyes, hiding his tears, as he carefully disengaged from his wife and pulled Dahlia against his chest.

“It’ll be okay, little one... Shhh.”

Dahlia.

I’m sorry.

-- Bellamy