It feels like the first time she arrived in Storybrooke. She can feel the soft silk against her skin. She can sense the warm light that falls through the window. But this time she keeps her eyes closed.
She tries to listen, to hear something. Anything that would indicate to the surroundings of the Enchanted Forest. Because that's where she should be right now. But everything seems to point to another direction. She's very certain that she's in her own bedroom, back in the town she created all those years ago.
She remembers the sparkling purple magic that surrounded them all. She remembers looking up at the vanishing sky, not daring to take another glimpse at the yellow bug that had just rolled over the town line.
Henry.
Her eyes shoot open. Without another thought she pushes her blankets away, scrambles out of bed and hurries out of her room. Everything is quiet when she reaches the hallway, standing right in front of her son's door. It's closed.
You're not a villain.
Her hand hesitantly reaches out for the knob, grabbing it and holding it for several moments. She just saw him leave. She saw him leave with Emma into a better life, a happy life. However, she's supposed to be in the Enchanted Forest according to her plan. Maybe it backfired, maybe it didn't work.
With a deep breath she turns the door knob and slowly pushes the door open. She peaks into the room, at the bed that should be occupied by her little prince.
It isn't. No one is there. The bed is empty; it's been made, like it was when they hurriedly left the house after Emma's emergency call. Henry was sitting on his bed then, his back to her, his nose in the storybook. The previous night she had tucked him in, reassuring him that he was safe from Pan. But it was all a lie.
You're my mom.
She's the one who sits on the bed now, facing the window. Nothing seems to have changed. The sky is painted a bright blue, the sun is shining and leaves are being scattered around by the wind. Just as it was before the magic took them, like it was yesterday. Even though everything feels like it wasn't.
She sneaks a hand to his pillow, lifting it up to her face, taking a deep breath. It smells like him, her little prince. She notices that the house is very quiet. No sign of another life in it. Like before, like always.
A lone tear makes its way down her cheek, landing on the pillow. She hastily wipes the trace away with her sleeve. Whatever is going on here, she has to find out what it is. She stands up, placing the pillow where it belongs and starts to leave the room. This is all wrong; this is not according to plan.
She reaches the door, her hand on the knob again, and with one last glance back at the room, she wishes that at least one more thing would've gone wrong.
With a sigh she closes the door behind her and realizing that her wish is not fulfilled, she steps out in the silence of the mansion.