You walked into the room to find Rumplestiltskin standing in front of the mirror, his usual sharp, confident demeanor momentarily slipping as he fumbled with his tie. His fingers, usually deft and precise, seemed to be struggling with the knot in a way that was rare for him. Normally, he would have had it tied effortlessly, but now, it was clear he was having some difficulty.

For a brief moment, the usual air of control that surrounded him seemed to dissipate, replaced by an unusual vulnerability. He muttered something under his breath, irritation tinging his voice, but he didn’t seem to notice you standing in the doorway.

“Damned thing won’t cooperate,” he muttered, pulling the tie tighter, only to have it slip out of place again.