A Stranger in the Library

After making sure my computer would play the mediation when I was ready, marking my place in my poetry book, and clearing a space on my sitting room floor, I lay down on my back, closed my eyes, and began to draw a circle of protection around myself.  That part of the meditation usually took me the longest to do, but I was able to draw a circle of purple light, and put up a shield of smoke of the same color, quite quickly this time.  Before I knew it, my spirit self was out of my body, looking down at me in my Perry the Platypus T-shirt, black jeans, and white socks.  I lingered there for a moment, but I knew my body would be safe as I explored the realm of dreams.

I went over to my front door and opened it.  Like the meditation said I would encounter, instead of the normal quiet streets of Storybrooke, I came upon a long, medieval hallway lined with doors.  I walked down the hallway, glancing at the doors and what lay within for what seemed like hours, even though it was only a few minutes.  More of them were closed this time, but I knew most of them were unlocked; I just didn't feel the need to explore them today.  The most prominent one I explored this time entailed me taking Meg Giry out of the darkened passage behind Christine's dressing room mirror and back to the Opera Populaire.  She begged me to stay behind and help her find Christine, but I said I could not.  I had another errand to attend to.

As I reached the end of the hall way, which dead-ended in a familiar set of double doors, I saw an open door with a sand swept, tropical beach on my left side.  There was a mermaid on the beach this time, sunning herself in the afternoon sun.  Somehow, I knew her name was Princess Emerald; I wanted to question her further, but my gut told me "No.  I needed to see my library."  By this time, I had "changed" into my regular traveling clothes, a dark blue Victorian dress and a long amethyst cape, and my hair had come loose so that it spiraled around my shoulders.  The top was held in place in a sort of raised bun style to keep it out of my face, and my hair was left naturally curly.  (It had been straight the last time I had come here.)

I opened the double doors to the familiar green walls and vast, tall bookcases of my own personal library.  Unlike the last time I had been there though, there was someone already inside my library.  The meditation didn't say anything about seeing someone in your library, but since he was reading quietly on a striped couch before the fireplace, a fireplace that also hadn't been there the last time I had come to read here, I decided to let him alone.  Yes.  There was an old man, with a youthful appearance, in my library.

I knew there were books I had left on my personal desk from my last visit, but I wanted to see if I could find a new one this time.  For some reason though, I had trouble locating which books were calling to me.  It could've been that a lot of them were empty, ready to be filled with experience from future lives, and from the one I was living; no, I felt eyes on me as I searched the stacks for something good to read.  I glanced over at the man in the pumpkin-colored silk shirt, which was cinched with a red leather vest, from time to time.  He was still looking at his book, but his very presence in my personal library made me feel nervous, invaded even.

Finally, I located a book that was calling out for me to read it (I had to climb up the ladder along the bookcase on the back wall, the wall facing the fireplace, to reach it.):  a yellow book, made of bound leather with fine paper pages, decorated with things that resembled sapphires, emeralds and rubies.  It reminded me a lot of the Book of Iona from that movie about a young monk and his fairy friend, Aisling.

Having gotten what I was looking for, I sat myself down in a comfy red armchair and opened up the book.  I saw words on the left page and a moving picture on the right.  I immediately recognized the woman in autumn colored Arabian garb and the man in the black silk robes and full face mask.  This was a scene right out of the book I was currently reading, The Sultan's Favorite.  The woman, Alexandria, was discussing with Erik, the architect, about how her court should seem less cage-like in her second husband's new palace.  While they were talking, having a genuinely intelligent and insightful conversation, Erik was trying to mask his growing feelings for the Sultan's third wife behind indifference and sarcasm.  I knew the Phantom well enough though to know that he was in denial of the things that he thought Christine had taken away forever because he was afraid of getting hurt again.  Yes, the man skilled in torture and death, not to mention music, was being put through his own personal torture of the heart with a woman who could understand him truly and wasn't afraid to push back when he pushed too far.

I smiled sadly as I wistfully thought back to a book I once read that reminded me of this, and also of my first exposure to necromancy.  'Of course, it was Sabriel who was the knowledgable one then,' I thought.  'Not Touchstone.'

And then, just as quick as I had thought about it, my old paperback copy of Garth Nix's Sabriel appeared in my lap, right on top of the book I was reading.  I had left it back at home when I had travelled to Storybrooke; it was just as I remembered it, creased spine, slightly deteriorated cover and all.  I picked it up and instinctively turned to my favorite part, the part where Sabriel rebinds Mogget with a magic ring he had given her, wanting to see the image I had seen in my mind play before me.  Sure enough, there they were, deep in the dark passages that the dark spirits of the Dead had chased them into.  Mogget was the only light in the dark cavern, a seething ball of raw, white energy.  I knew I was safe, but I could see Sabriel being blinded and sun-burned from his presence.  Even though I knew what would happen, I prayed for her safety nonetheless.

After Mogget had transformed back into a cat, and coughed up the very ring used to bind him, I willed the book to move forward to where Sabriel met Touchstone.  Now, she and Mogget were exploring a ship in the same dark cavern and had just come upon the figurehead.  It was a male nude, but it looked so life like that Sabriel was slightly embarrassed to look at it, even though she had been educated briefly in such matters at her girls school for Charter magic.  She was just about to recite the spell to set him free when suddenly, something fell, or should I say draped itself, across my lap, obscuring my view.

"Hey!" I exclaimed.  I looked up and saw "the invader" lying in my lap, arching his body like some sort of anthropomorphic cat.  That was it!  I was officially peeved with this guy.

"I thought you liked slightly annoying know-it-all characters," he said.  "Why else would you have turned to that particular section of Sabriel?"

"Let me guess; you just found the title in one of the margins of the pages you're preventing me from viewing."

"No.  That is actually MY copy you unceremoniously summoned to you.  I came over and tried to retrieve it, and I knew that just tapping you on the shoulder wouldn't work.  Besides, you don't like people disturbing while you're reading."

"That doesn't give you the right to lie down in my lap like some half-mad Danish prince!  Strike that, completely mad because this is MY library you are in and MY book you were reading."

He hoisted himself off of me and came to stand in front of where I was sitting.  He bowed before me, a gesture of humility, but I felt that he didn't mean one ounce of humility in doing it.  "Very perceptive," he said as a red book with a shamrock on its spine came into his left hand.  "I am a free spirit and can go where I wish whenever I want.  The fact that I am here is through your invocation as well as my own."

Was he reading my mind?  Also, the fact that the book in his hand had been one of the books I had saved on my desk meant he knew my purpose here:  to find out about one of my past lives.  "Here Ana," he said, gesturing for me to come out of my chair.  "Why don't we take a look at this one together?"

Ugh!  He was anticipating my every move AND he knew my name.  There was no end to how infuriating this man was; then again, he also hadn't done anything to harm me yet, which meant that he was at least aware of the fact that he was a guest here and that I could evict him if he did anything I perceived as a hazard to my physical, and spiritual, safety.

I cautiously stood up from my chair and said, "Well, if I choose to let you glimpse at a past life with me, it is only fair that I should know your name.  You already know mine, besides."

"I knew you would say that."  He rolled his eyes and made a face that said, 'I thought you were smarter than that.'  "It seems you need more help than I thought.  For future reference, it's Rumpelstiltskin."

"Well, Rumpelstiltskin," I said, not glancing at him as I walked past him towards an open space on the rug near the fireplace, "as long as you do not do anything to interfere, I am all right with you reading a past life with me."

I relished in his 'How dare you ignore me!' expression as he came to sit down at my left side.  The fire's quiet crackling seemed to fade as I held up the book so both of us could see it.  The first page I turned to showed Stone Henge and Newgrange together; immediately, I was reminded of the trip to Ireland I had taken nearly a year before.  Newgrange was the last major site I saw before leaving the Emerald Isle, and it had been particularly memorable to my mother as it was one of her favorite places in the world.  "What are you thinking about, dearie?" Rumpelstiltskin asked.

"Just about my trip to that very place almost a year ago," I replied, pointing to Newgrange on the right page.  "I'm half Irish by blood, but it was the first time my mother or I had ever been to the land of our ancestors.  Newgrange was the site she was looking the most forward to seeing throughout our trip, and since I love studying particularly ancient architecture, it was a treat for me as well."

"Did you happen to see the Giant's Causeway while you were there as well?  The Scottish side of the stone bridge may not be as extensive, but it's definitely a sight worth seeing if you're ever in that area of... what was it you mortals call it now?  The United Kingdom?"

I scoffed.  "Are you actually saying you were there when that thing was constructed when that giant came over to fight Finn McCool?"

He shrugged and smiled.  "I'm not saying anything.  I'm just saying that the world has changed a great deal since my time within it."

I eyed him quizzically, but I turned back to the book, trying to shrug off the notion that I was missing something rather important.  Despite the fact that he said his time on Earth had supposedly passed, he seemed familiar somehow, almost as if I had met him before.  It is a well known fact that dreams contain some essence from reality, so I was sure I had seen him before, or someone who looked like him.  Also, he had said something about Scotland.  Scotland... Scotland... who did I know in Storybrooke that had a Scottish accent?

I turned the page to the next scene this book had to show me.  It was a procession of knights, going through a dense forest, towards a walled fortress.  Something in me said "Arthurian" as the style of the illustrations reminded me of the large book of medieval myths I had had as a child.  "Hmm." I said at last after staring at the picture for a while.  "No wonder Newgrange and Stone Henge were shown together.  Arthur is associated as much with Celtic myth as he is with English myth, and history as well."

"If I recall correctly," said Rumpelstiltskin from beside me, "Stone Henge is one of the many possible resting places you mortals think Arthur could be sleeping in.  'He will wake when the Apocalyptic trumpet sounds and lead England to a golden age', or something like that?"

"That's right."  Hmm... this man, or imp rather (Only now did I remember that he was a fairytale character, not an entity.), was hard to read.  Around him, I perceived a strong aura of darkness, not as strong as Regina's but still a force to be reckoned with for sure.  And yet, his words did not hint in the slightest at the notion of evil.  Still, this was the kind of person you wouldn't want to turn your back on, lest he stab you in the same when you weren't looking.

I turned back to the procession of knights in the book, who were gazing at, what I assumed was, Camelot.  One knight in particular caught my attention, one I hadn't noticed before.  The knight with long, dark, wavy hair was a little shorter than the others, mounted on a white horse with a cream colored shield, which had a purple griffin crest on it, at their side.  Considering the specific jut of their jaw and the delicacy of their cheeks, I immediately knew this to be a lady-knight.  I did not think I was a knight in another life; I knew little about athletic matters or swordplay, but since I could shoot an arrow with fair dexterity, it was still possible.

"I think you'll find that this character is better suited to your spirit," said Rumpelstiltskin, reaching across to turn the page.  He pointed to a certain figure in a light blue dress with a silver circlet around her head.  Even though it was only an illustration on a page, I felt strong magic radiating off of her.  And to add mystique to intrigue, she was the mirror image of what I looked like as I sat here, reading about my past life.  And the deep gut feeling I had as I looked at her was unmistakable.  Morgana le Fay, for such was the name that came to me...

"Wait," I said, not bothering to mask my surprise.  "Are you actually saying that I was Morgana le Fay in a past life?"

"You never 'were' anything.  You still are a skilled healer, an esteemed priestess and a powerful white witch."

I had read about Morgana's dual nature once, both as a priestess and an evil witch, but I remembered very little of it.  'Find me a book on Arthurian mythology,' I thought, trying to see if I could summon the right book to me.  Since it had worked with Sabriel, I had decided to try it again.  Sure enough, a black book with emerald Celtic knot decoration, and a big Celtic Knot in the center of the front cover, drifted down to my desk as I placed the, still open, red book on it.  I was just about to open up my new book and investigate further into this intriguing development when suddenly, a thunder clap resounded, making the walls shake a little.

"It's time for you to leave," said Rumpelstiltskin warily.  How dare he order me around in my private space?  I was not ready to leave yet; I felt that that there was still much to learn about my newly discovered identity, and from him as well.  Even still, that thunder hadn't sounded too nice.  In addition, I heard the meditation quietly calling me back to my body.  I knew I must go... but not without him.  "No. You must go alone.  I'll be here when you get back, possibly."

I should have guessed that he would read my mind, and since he was a free spirit, I knew he wouldn't be able to guarantee anything.  Still, I got the feeling that he had known me for a long time and knew that we would spend more time together in the future, or at least that's what I thought he wanted to do.  Even so, it was with great reluctance that I turned my back on my library and hurried back down the corridor towards my physical self.  Along the way, and this could've been a trick of my eye, but I thought I saw him walking down the beach towards Princess Emerald through the, still open, door that led there.  I could have sworn he smiled at me as I hastened past too, but it might have been a trick of my peripheral vision.

As I returned to my sitting room once again, I noticed two things:  1.  My front door, which I distinctly remembered closing behind me in the dream world, was open in the physical world, and 2.  My landlord was sitting on my couch, leafing through my poetry book as if I were not there, prostrate on the floor in front of him.  How dare he intrude when I was away from my body?!  My fury rising, I woke up to him reading the last lines of "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" as I came back to myself.

"Just because you are my landlord and have a key to my house does not give you the right to come over whenever you want," I fumed.  "And I wondered why people would possibly want to steal from you.  Obviously, you do not give them a good example to follow, which makes me wonder if Emma letting you out of prison, after beating Mr. French to within an inch of his life, was a wise thing.  Get out of my house."  I reached for my cellphone.  "I have the sheriff on speed-dial."

"Whoa, whoa!  Ana, please," said Mr. Gold, holding up his arms in defense.  "You have every right to be angry, but let me explain first.  I heard strange noises coming from your house and went to investigate, and to scold you if you had left that crazy music of yours playing too loud again."  I flipped open the phone and pointed to the dial pad.  He knew I never played music THAT loud.

"All right, I was worried about you.  I came over to make sure that you weren't hurt and that everything was fine.  When you didn't answer the door, I let myself in and came upon you in a comatose state.  I thought a thief had broken in and knocked you out, but when I heard the audio coming from your computer, I decided to settle here and page through your copy of the Norton Anthology of Poetry while I waited for you to awaken.  That is all that I did, nothing more and nothing less."

I stared him down for a few moments and then put my phone down before I came over and sat down next to him.  "Next time, just ask," I said.  "You said I was free to come over to your house if I needed anything, but only if I gave you warning first.  I am willing to extend the same offer to you, but you must follow the same conditions."

"Yes," he conceded.  "I would be fairly startled if someone came and let themselves in to my house without my knowledge as well..."

As I listened to him put himself in my position, I got that same nagging feeling of familiarity I had felt with Rumpelstiltskin.  This time though, I knew exactly why.  The Scottish accent, the 'I'm three steps ahead of you' attitude, the faint golden glint in his eyes... why hadn't I realized it before?

"It's just as well that you're willing to listen to someone before exacting punishment, Morg- I mean Ana," my landlord said, coming to the end of his speech.  "Not many people would've forgiven me for my actions."

I gazed smugly at him.  "You were going to say 'Morgana', weren't you, Rumpelstiltskin?"  His face betrayed no emotion besides apology, but I could see the surprise in his eyes.  "Everything that Henry told me is true, isn't it?"

"Not so loud!  You never know who might be listening."

I looked at the closest window, which was open just a crack to let in cool air.  "If they are, I'll know who to crack if they squeal about what we say in here," I said, rather loudly, in case Sidney might be listening.

"Even if you could, Regina, regretfully, knows that I remember all that happened before and after the curse.  And if she finds out that you remember too, she might try to use you against me."

"I won't let that happen.  That woman represents all the principles I swore against when I took my vows as a witch; I am not just going to stand by and watch her terrorize the citizenry of Storybrooke with her lies and malevolent power."

"But you've told me so yourself.  You are only a novice, an initiate into the world of magic."

"But I was a powerful white witch in the past, and according to what Henry said, I was powerful enough to teach you a trick or two back when you were first getting acclimated to your powers.  Seeing as the roles are reversed now, it seems only fair that you return the favor."

Rumpelstiltskin lowered his eyes and turned away from me.  I put my hand on his shoulder.  "I am a dark witch," he said after a few moments.  "How can I teach you anything that does not go against that which you swore never to do?"

"As I taught you long ago, and as I learned again from my mother, in order to strengthen light magic, you need to know dark magic as well, and vice versa.  Also, a spell is only as evil as you intend it to be.  As long as I remember who I am, I will never be able to forget what I promised, nor what I will learn, completely."

He considered for a few moments, and then said, "We'll have to be careful.  Witches face enough prejudice in this world already just for being what they are, hence why we practice in secret.  If Regina finds out that there is a white witch in lieu of all the black magic she creates-"

"She'll deal with it as she sees fit.  For now, Mr. Prufrock, let's get started."