The air here never quite felt right. It lacked the heavy, familiar humidity of Cousins Beach—the kind of summer heat that clung to your skin, tangled your hair, and always tasted faintly of salt. Belly had been here for a few months now, yet every morning she woke up half-expecting to hear the distant, rhythmic crash of the ocean, or the sound of Steven and Jeremiah arguing over who got the last pancake downstairs. Instead, there was just... this place. She pulled her sweater a little tighter around herself, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. It was such a stark, jarring contrast to her last real memory. Whenever she closed her eyes, the vividness of it almost physically ached. *The volleyball tournament.* She was right back on that hot sand, the blinding sun beating down on her shoulders. She could still hear the crowd cheering, a deafening and happy roar. She remembered looking over at Jeremiah, feeling that sudden, warm rush of certainty. It had felt like the start of something real. Like she finally knew exactly where she was supposed to be. And then... she stepped into a shadow. The cheers had faded into static, the heat gave way to a sudden chill, and the bright summer day collapsed into whatever reality this was.*I’m twenty-two,* she reminded herself, a daily mantra she refused to surrender. *People my age don't just die in the middle of a game. I'm just late for dinner. I just can't find my way back.* They had asked her the question—the same one everyone here eventually faced. *Do you want us to find your body?* They told her it would help her move on, that she would disappear from this strange limbo. But moving on sounded entirely too final. Belly had spent her entire life waiting for summers to start, waiting for her real life to finally begin. She wasn't ready for it to just *stop*. She owed it to her mom, who she knew was probably falling apart while pretending to hold it all together. She owed it to Steven. To Conrad. To Jere. She refused to become just another ghost story they shared, another grief they had to swallow.So, she had said no. *Don't find me.* Belly let out a soft, shaky sigh, her sneakers scuffing against the pavement as she aimlessly wandered down the sidewalk. Her gaze drifted toward the horizon, her heart stupidly searching for the silhouette of the summer house, but finding only the unfamiliar architecture of a town she didn't belong in.Lost in the memory of a summer that felt like a lifetime ago, she didn't realize she had drifted off the edge of the sidewalk until she practically walked right into someone."Oh, gosh, I'm so sorry!" Belly gasped, taking a quick, startled step back. She offered an apologetic, albeit slightly weary, smile, tucking a stray piece of dark hair behind her ear. "That's completely my fault. I was a million miles away just then... I guess I'm still trying to figure out my way around."
now, it was a bonafide fact that persephone knew her way around navigating lost souls. the evenin' walks 'cross all of Himself's underground creation had her acquainted with many of her and her husband's people - though of course, that was before he had 'em rounded all up to be the cogs in his mighty machinery. many a thing's been a breath of fresh air with the ol' train takin' her to this little town rather'n her mama's ol' garden and cousin's ol' bar, but among them all she has to say sorting the lost through their troubles once again has been the freshest. like comin' home and laying oneself down on one's childhood sheets again, if that home weren't within garden gates that had her screamin' at the bit when she was a young thing. ---- 'course, all that to say ain't mean she's a fan of being run over enjoying a mid-shift picnic. the former goddess yanks her feet out of the young thing's path with a bark of laughter, vodka lemonade spilling on her blanket - the same spot she now pats in offering. the labors behind this young girl's eyes are familiar to persephone, She Who Plys The Worn and Weary With Many a Succored Wine. ' ain't no thing, chickadee, ain't no worry at all, like a good wander myself. if you ain't in a rush to somewhere you're welcome to stay a while. and if you are, you tell me where you're tryin' to go and we can just see if together we can't get you there, ' she adds with a wink.
She understood using physical exertion as a coping mechanism all too well. In her experience though, it was not an excuse to be sloppy and especially not a good reason to take one's frustration on their opponent. Cassandra prided herself on her ability to remain coolheaded, one of the handful of gifts from her training with the League of Assassins. But between balancing her own reality of being dead and irritation at this disaster of a spar, her patience was wearing thin.
"Say what is on your mind. You might feel better."
apart from decking the mayor in the town cemetery, emma can't say she's stayed in sparring shape ; storybrooke had been too quaint seaside town to have its own fitness center ( and henry would probably say something about the evil queen wanting to keep her subjects weak and powerless, or something like that. ) so she's off her game - but she doesn't care about form so much as blowing off steam. emma huffs and spins off from the trainer to land a frustrated kick on the post. ' i'm feeling great, ' she grits out, wincing and hobbling as the arch of her foot reminds her what a great idea that outlet was. ' not like it matters anymore. are you usually talking your clients into a therapy session ? '
well it's like he said, i'm an outdoor girl -- married to the king of the underworld. are you wonderin' where i've been? been to hell, and back again... but like my mama always said, ' brother when you're down, you're down & when you're up, you're up. if you ain't six feet underground, you're livin' it up on top. ' let's not talk about hard times -- pour the wine, it's summertime !
what’s your name?
ain't that a hoot ? been a dog's age ( and, brother, she's got herself a damned long-livin' dog ) since anyone ain't known her name on sight ; if that ain't just the livin' truth that this ain't the afterlife she knows, she don't know what is. persephone clucks her tongue, kicks her chair back. ' call me persephone, chickadee. '
what’s the last thing you remember before you got here? take your time… you don’t have to remember everything. anything you can remember is enough.
brother, more like what don't she want to forget : her mighty ol' husband poutin' his way to high heaven as she takes off for the train up-top, himself finally burned up his time to keep her dragged down. this ain't quite a victory ( and, sure, something is wanting to pull her stomach down southernly, thinkin' about not seein' her man again ( but he ain't been her man in a while already ) ), but it ain't swelterin' here neither, no clang of machinery and no groans of the undead workin' their long awaited peace away. ' was gettin' myself a vacation away from my husband; he does minin' work, you see, gets overly serious about it. suppose i got myself another kind of extended vacation didn't i ? ' it's a joke only for her.
do you remember how and where you died?
' not all that convinced i am dead. such don't take well to my kind, ' she drawls. it's covering what she don't know -- how she wound up in this other-Hell. as a goddess, she ain't accustomed to not knowing ; it chafes under her skin. persephone shrugs ( another cover ). ' was steppin' off a train. that's all i know. '
is there anyone who might still be looking for you? family, friends… anyone at all? do you want us to contact them?
' lord no. ' it flies out her mouth before she can even think better of it, but fates don't she mean it. give her some respite. give her some succor. give her a gods-be-damned break. her husband will find her soon enough on his own ; don't he just always.
now, the most important, do you want us to find your body? if we do, that means you’ll move on… that you’ll disappear from here as well.
a little trip down the river lethe . ' no, ' it comes out again - less a quick draw than a little garden walk, though. she simpers 'em, shoots them a wink. ' sweet of ya to ask, brothers, but i'd like one of them extended stays, you know. i'm sure i'll find my way home 'fore long if i want it bad enough. but right now, i don't want. '
⤫ EMMA SWAN ― 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞 : savior ; 𝐚𝐠𝐞 : 28 ; 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐬 : human ; 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 : she/her ; 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧 : once upon a time ; 𝐦𝐛𝐭𝐢 : ISTP ; 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : neutral good ; 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫 : yes? .
people are gonna tell you who you are your whole life. you just gotta punch back and say, ' no, this is who I am. ' you want people to look at you differently ? make them -- you want to change things, you're gonna have to go out there and change them yourself, because there are no fairy godmothers in this world.
what’s your name?
there's a beat before she answers - a beat filled with every foster home, every teenage tangle with law enforcement, every one-night-stand. ' swan, ' she replies, cautious -- before she remembers that these guys, whoever the hell they are, apparently hold the fate of her afterlife in their hands. ' -- emma. swan. emma swan. '
what’s the last thing you remember before you got here? take your time… you don’t have to remember everything. anything you can remember is enough.
what does she remember ? tumbling through the violent tornado of freaking-straight-up-real-magic ought to come first - but all that comes to mind is staring down her roommate and her roommate's wishy-washy ex on a sidewalk -- except that's not who they were by then, were they ? not mary margaret blanchard and david nolan ; snow white & prince charming. her parents. a pit in her stomach, knowing nothing she or they could say would be enough. her tongue wets her lips. ' uh... it's a blur. i guess, the mayor's office, in storybrooke, maine. '
do you remember how and where you died?
& that there's the kicker, isn't it. made it through a dragon, a pawnbroker who was the living embodiment of a knife in the back. made it through becoming a mother, ( a savior ?? ), and her second ever brush with magic takes her out. ( some savior. ) ' -- tornado, ' she replies, voice flat, eyes fixed straight ahead.
is there anyone who might still be looking for you? family, friends… anyone at all? do you want us to contact them?
ask her a year ago & that would have been a laughable no. now - there's so many people she's let in behind her walls. mary margaret, august, ruby, ashley, dr. hopper... henry, henry, henry, henry, henry. oh, god, she just got him back. she feels panic rising in her throat and her fingers white-knuckle on the edge of the table. ' -- my son, ' she eventually croaks out ; and emma swan doesn't beg, but she damn well gets close looking at these men straight on for the first time. ' henry. henry mills. he's ten, he - he doesn't need to know the gory details, but - please - tell him i'm okay. that i'm... at... peace? ' that is laughable. ' and that - he needs to go with... um, his grandparents - he needs to stay away from her. ' regina ; she might have broken her curse but she fucking won in the end, didn't she. ' -- oh. and i guess - tell the same to my... parents, too. '
now, the most important, do you want us to find your body? if we do, that means you’ll move on… that you’ll disappear from here as well.
she blinks ; that's the last thing on her mind. does she want to move on ? what the hell does moving on entail ? emma's got a good guess it's a good deal more permanent than boxing up an apartment and kicking it to wherever the next state her caseworker directs her. ' uh -- sure. i guess. i don't know. no ? check in with me in like... i don't know. a while. i need to think. '
"I did it for you" has gotta be my favorite form of betrayal. You gave me a gift I never asked for, and now I have to look around at the world you destroyed with the knowledge that it was gift wrapped and addressed to me.
From strands of your parents’ hair, I made the most powerful potion in all the realm. So powerful, that when I created the dark curse, I placed a single drop on the parchment. Just a little safety valve.
Once Upon a Time (2011–2018)
1.22 A Land Without Magic
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