prompt rumple hears belle singing opera in the dark castle.
“Are you humming to yourself again my pet?”
The imp - unbeknownst to the caretaker- had witnessed her the entire harmonic solo from the grand corridor of the scullery.
Nonetheless, he suppressed the awe.
The astonishment menaced to plague, what his dark features glorified in their hideousness, to something as tender and resilient as his caretakers supple harmony
"I ought to pop you in a little coo-coo cage, and keep you to myself to sing your tawdry days away- perpetually and forever!"
The caretaker’s blush withers pale to this.
There! That ought to even out whatever rouse she may have detected…
"I… I was just… preparing your tea- master.”
She curtsy’s one of those delicate plie’s of a noble.
He holds her in a smug hold of the eye as she turns her back to him- her dainty hands shook, and green herbs disperse about in her spastic rummage.
The imp chortles from his belly, inflicting a grimace among the caretaker whilst he wisps himself from her presence.
However, in the solitude of the west wing, the imp found he could not wisp himself away from that angelic voice.
He spins, spins, spins…
It’s quite useless.
He is captivated by the sweet trance of her tune, one that echoes throughout his mind in sync of his wheel.
In the midst of this pondering, the fair caretaker had discreetly winded herself within his chamber, setting his tea: piping hot; served in the chipped cup, aside of a bowl of taffys- upon his work table, and disembarked with as much clamor as a mouse.
Tipping the brew upon his tongue in a thoughtful manner, the imp eyes the frosted turf beyond his window- crying isolation.
Then it commences once more.
“Think of me… thinking of me fondly when we’ve said goodbye…”
The chipped tea cup merely greets it’s perishing- the imp clamors upon his knees to capture it- the scolding brew overturning upon his lap.
The imp scowls.
That blasted earworm!
“Remember me… once in a while… please promise me you’ll try…"
The imp lurches upon his feet, upon a violent stride towards the cellar below- the most vastly hollowed chamber of the castle.
That insolent humming bird!
The harmonious rhythm bellows keener, quite grander, and most resplendent with every trump of the imp’s feet.
"When you’ll find … that once again you long … to take your heart back and be free… If you’ll ever find a moment… spare a thought for me!”
The imp comes before the chamber doors- lip curled over the sneer of his festered teeth- he feels the hot brew drying in a cold sop upon his leather interior pants.
“We never said our love was evergreen, or as unchanging as the sea…”
The imp frosted over in his stand- a dapple of tea trickles along his leg.
Our love…
Could… what could she be thinking of?
Was she… she.. thinking of….
That blasted earworm!
“Such an ethereal chime… toying with my head… what absurdity!” The imp mutters frantically to himself in a hushed rant.
“Think of me… …”
The imp logs his ears with two lone fingers.
This wicked little siren… I must get back to my spinning! Spin it away! Spin her away!
But the imp does not move.
Rather, he finds his eyes slumbering themselves, chin swaying, and perhaps a meek hum of his own commencing to coincide in unison.
I must… I must get away… I must put this from my mind… The imp’s diluted conscious yawns at himself.
“Imagine me trying too hard to put you from my mind…”
His eyes lash awake.
The bloody hell?!
Yet, he is not gifted a moment to ponder it- the chamber door knob begins to turn.
“I thought I heard something…” The caretaker murmurs- wandering her eyes about the vast corridor before her heedfully.
“Hm…” The caretaker humphs in accusing her own imagination.
As she retreats into the chamber- she ceases midway.
For the three dots of green tea upon the floor.
