Painted Love

I had never gone to the Wishing Well before.  It's not that I didn't want to go there; it's just that I had never had the incentive to go, being occupied with my studies, both academic and magical.  The latter was a secret though, known only to Mr. Gold, aka Rumpelstiltskin, my elder witch, and myself.  It had taken a recommendation from him to finally get me curious about the old well.  "A good place to commune with your element," he had said.  "Or at least to just sit and think."

And as Saturday was my regular day to drop all my work and have fun, run errands, and/or explore, I had decided to go to the Wishing Well.  It was quiet, misty, and slightly chilly as I walked down the main thoroughfare.  I knew nothing would open until 9 at least, but it still felt a little strange, walking down the, normally busy, street by myself; it was a good kind of strange though, almost magical.

As I walked past Granny's Diner, the place where I had scheduled a breakfast date with Mary Margaret for later that morning, I offered up a silent thank you to the Goddess for allowing me to come out today, and also a small prayer for protection.  Misty weather was the best to go exploring in in the morning.  Even if you knew you were safe, there was still an air of danger and mystery all around.  You never knew who you might meet in the mist, and so, not wanting to meet someone like Rumpelstiltskin in there, even though I knew he had said he wouldn't interfere, I offered up my excited and fearful prayers before stepping on the path that would lead me to my destination.
---------------------------------
The walk to the well was pleasant enough.  The path was well trodden, but it was narrow, which gave a feeling of both familiarity and novelty.  All around me, the morning fog hung in the air like a line of clouds that had gotten lost on their way through the sky.  I did not meet anyone on my way to the well (Thank goodness.), but I still felt as if I was missing something.  Though I had taken care to bundle up, I still shivered slightly in the cold, and at the thought of that.

As I got closer to the well, I could make out the sun rising from behind the clouds.  I could also make out that someone had come to the well before me.  And here I thought I would have the well to myself.  Now, I would have to share this sacred space with a man sitting at an easel, who looked like he was painting the well in front of him.  'Well, no use complaining, I thought.  As long as I'm quiet, I think he won't mind my being here.'

"I've been expecting you," came the painter's voice from behind the easel.

Oh great.  One of "those" guys again.  "You probably said that just to get my attention," I replied, not moving any closer to the well and putting my hands on my hips.  "That means that 1. you're trying to annoy me, 2. you have absolutely no respect for women, 3. you've got a crush on me and are too stupid to know how to express your emotions like a proper man, or else some combination of the previous.

"No.  I'm simply remarking on how uncannily you're dressed like how I painted you today.  And I'm sure I've never met you before today either."

All right.  If that's the way he wanted it, I would oblige him this one courtesy.  I walked over to the other side of the well and took a look at what he was painting.  It looked like he was finishing up a scene of a young woman walking towards the well in the early light of morning.  Upon closer inspection, I realized that it was, undeniably, me walking towards that well, down to the black pea coat and golden hoop earrings I had chosen to wear today.

"Oh, I see.  You're an art student looking for money," I said, turning to leave.  (He looked young enough to be of that age, but something in me told me he was older.  I decided not to investigate further lest I be proved right.)

"The name is Tarrance Lake," said the painter.  "And just between us, Morgana, this isn't the first time I've painted you."

I stopped dead still.  I hadn't even told him my name, and yet he knew my fairytale identity.  No one knew that except for Rumpelstiltskin and, though I would never tell him, Henry.  "The name is Ana, I'll have you know," I said, trying to brush it off as a casual mistake.

"No it isn't.  It's just a nickname from your name in this world.  I have already seen you discovering your fairytale self, something about a "stranger" in your "personal library" and Mr. Gold letting himself into your house, unannounced, because he thought you were in danger."

"How did you-?  Wait.  Is that the painting you're talking about?"

"Oh no.  I did that one ages before the curse started."

"Wait.  So, you know about the curse?"

"Of course.  Callisto, the witch of many names, helped save me from it by taking me here, among other places we went to, as we travelled across the dimensions of time and space.  That's another story though.  In short, I am Bishop, son of Reginald the chandler and Karolina and the painting-seer.  Regina, and other greedy royals, would have used me for my aesthetically clairvoyant powers, but I have picked up a trick or two thanks to Callisto.  I have owed her my life since the day she first saved me, a debt I still have yet to repay."

From the way he spoke about her, Tarrance- no!  Bishop seemed to regard this Callisto character rather highly.  It was too soon for me to ask about his love life, but I got the feeling that that was the extent to which that regard went.  "You said Callisto could wait until another day," I said.  "What exactly is this picture you wanted to show me?"

"Oh, right."  He put down his brush and bent over to pick up something beside his easel on the ground.  It was a sketchbook; I could tell because I had owned one similar to it when I took an Art History class in high school.  This one had a larger surface area, and was a little flatter, than the one I had, but I could immediately tell what it was just the same.

Bishop felt around among the pages for a little while with instinctive precision, almost as if he could see what was on each page without looking at it.  In a moment, he found the page he was looking for and turned open to it, but he only showed half of the picture.  It showed me as my Fairytale Land self, my eyes closed, my body suspended in space and surrounded by swirling blackish-purple clouds of something; I had recently learned from my elder witch that the curse the Queen had unleashed had manifest as a blackish-blue cloud, so I could only assume it was that.  "Why are the clouds purple?" I asked him.  "I distinctly recall the curse being dark blue from what Gold described to me."

"Ah yes, your old and long-suffering friend," said Bishop.  "You don't need to keep secrets from me; I know he's Rumpelstiltskin.  The thing is, he was able to warn you about the curse when you came to see him with Snow White and Charming.  Only you knew that he had created the curse, but you simply thought the Queen forced him to make it for her; that's a different story though.

"Anyway, shortly after he divined Emma's future, you had a vision that she would be born on the night the curse came and there was nothing you could do to buy the newborn princess, or your friend Snow, more time than they would already get.  Seeing the futility of it all, and wanting to protect Djem from all the madness and evil the curse would unleash for as long as possible, you disappeared from the castle and took Rumpelstiltskin's second son with you to your cottage on a cliff in Camelot.  You were both on the beach below it when the curse was unleashed.  In a moment of unbridled and unprovoked familial loyalty, Djem ran to the castle to try and break his father and sister out of prison so they could be together when the curse hit, despite your better efforts to make sure he remained safe with you and Allistair."

"Allistair?"

Now, Bishop revealed the rest of the painting.  The swirling black and purple background continued to the other end of the page, and it revealed that I was in the arms of a man with moonlight-pale skin, curly, dark brown hair (not unlike my own), finely defined cheek bones, and a swimmer's body, strong and toned but not overly muscular.  The thing that really drew me to him was the fact that from the waist down, his body was a silvery gray fish's tail.  I had loved merpeople all of my life, but I didn't think it would go so far as that I had been in love with a merman in a past life.

"He gave his heart to you," said the painter-seer, "quite literally in fact.  But-"

"Let me guess," I said.  "That is a story for another day, as is the fact that this merman you say is my true love looks like Benedict Cumberbatch."

"Oh no.  Allistair was not your true love.  You had yet to find true love when the curse took effect; Allistair is, however, your first love, and you shall forever remain bonded to him, as you were until the curse pulled you apart and reincarnated you both in this world, until you can give him his heart back."

"So, you're saying that Benedict Cumberbatch is Allistair reincarnated?"

"Why else do you think he loves doing films that have to do with water in one way or another?  I also hear he loves to swim.  For the record though, the name is an alias he use to hide his true identity."

"And that would be?"

"You'll find out soon enough.  Until then, I'll leave you to finishing your course work and your studies with Rumpelstiltskin.  He has some pretty vital things to teach you before you leave for the summer, so pay attention to them."

"Will do.  But promise me one thing, Bishop.  If you see anything concerning my friends back home popping up in your paintings, don't pull the same "all knowing creeper" act you did with me on them."

"As you are often heard to say, 'With magic, there are no guarantees.'  But, I will try, Ana.  I will try."