He makes a subdued show of straightening his tie; a name such has his carries a sort of gravitas that cannot simply be glossed over. He surveys the array of humans and beasts with muted irritation. The wariness Greta now directs at him is much more what a monster of his reputation and title deserves.

"Grizelda does not speak unless she has something to say," Rumpelstiltskin murmurs, gaze drifting briefly to the scaly thing at his side. She opens her jaws and snaps them shut again in wordless warning, but says nothing.

His attention sharpens back to the newcomer, and his curiosity again flares.

"Do you know who I am, then?" Surely someone here must.