The Immortal Gazette Presents: "The Lovers, The Trickster, and The Very Annoyed Rumple"
The Immortal Gazette studio was its usual blend of scholarly chaos and unhinged supernatural energy. Candles floated overhead, books stacked themselves neatly (sometimes violently), and a suspiciously sentient ink pot kept trying to sneak extra flourishes into the headlines.
Alice, her hat tilted at a particularly dangerous angle, lounged back in her chair, sipping her signature tea with the air of someone who absolutely knew something the rest of the world didn’t. Across from her, Loki, the embodiment of every bad decision wrapped in a dangerously charming smirk, was currently inspecting an old parchment with the kind of interest one might reserve for a particularly amusing trap.
And then there was Rumplestiltskin.
The First Storyteller of the Gazette, the keeper of actual order (or at least, the illusion of it), was already one sigh away from setting something on fire. His golden eyes flicked between Alice and Loki, his annoyance practically a physical force.
"I swear on every cursed contract I’ve ever written," Rumple growled, "if you two start eyeing each other again instead of doing your jobs, I will personally lock you both in a room with a very chatty poltergeist who only speaks in riddles."
Alice blinked innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Loki, utterly unbothered, smirked. “You wound me, Rumple. Can I not simply exist without suspicion?”
Rumple glared. "No."
Alice stifled a laugh, then picked up the book in front of her, flipping through the pages. "Alright, fine. Today’s feature story: The Legend of Tristan and Isolde."
Loki perked up. "Ah, now that is an interesting one. A tale of passion, betrayal, and a very inconvenient love potion.”
Rumple snorted. "Like you need a love potion to cause chaos."
Alice tilted her head, her blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "It is an excellent example of how meddling with fate never ends well. Two lovers, bound together not by choice but by magic—trapped between love and duty, torn apart by the very forces that should have kept them together."
Loki placed a hand over his heart, dramatically. "Truly tragic. Imagine being so irresistibly drawn to someone, unable to fight it, even when the world stands against you.” His gaze flicked to Alice, just for a fraction of a second too long.
Rumple slammed his hand on the desk. “Absolutely not.”
Alice, ever the picture of perfect composure, merely sipped her tea. “Something wrong, Rumple?”
Rumple gritted his teeth. "You are not turning the legendary Tristan and Isolde into your own personal metaphor for whatever this is."
Loki leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something dangerously smooth. "What is this, Rumple?"
Alice very pointedly ignored the tension in the air and turned another page. "Back to the legend—Tristan, a noble knight, falls in love with Isolde, the betrothed of his king. Their love is forbidden, but fate—or rather, a poorly timed magical elixir—ensures they are helpless against it."
Loki exhaled dramatically. “Ah, mortals. Always getting tangled in their own tragedies.”
Rumple folded his arms. "And yet, somehow, I feel like this discussion is not about them anymore."
Alice closed the book with a satisfying snap. "Perhaps the true lesson here is that fate has a wicked sense of humor.”
Loki grinned, tilting his head. "And some people resist it far too much."
Rumple, fully done with this conversation, waved a hand, causing the books to rearrange themselves aggressively. "We are ending this before I have to start charging for the soap opera that is currently unfolding in my own newsroom."
Alice merely smirked.
Loki chuckled.
And the Gazette?
Well, the immortal audience was definitely taking notes.
