I wrote this wee drabble on a page from a car mag whilst I was waiting for my car to be MOT'd. Because why not, right? Based on the 'oh-look-a-door-in-a-cemetery-how-very-mysterious' filming spoiler for 5x12.
Not mine. Be good to my babies ABC *intense stare*
It's like they never left.
For a moment Emma believes it, believes that all their efforts, their magic, their deals have amounted to nothing but a bank of fog in a familiar cemetery and the ringing of the death knell for her crumbling heart.
Her efforts, her magic, her goddamn deals and she feels every tear she's refused to shed filling up her lungs until she's drowning, drowning –
"I guess we're not in Storybrooke anymore," her father lays his hand on her shoulder and it gives her just enough strength to tremble.
"Do you feel that?" Snow hefts her bow, brow furrowed. Something skitters down the back of Emma's neck.
"Feel what?" Robin's hands twitch to follow Snow's lead.
Regina reaches for his elbow to comfort, to steady, and Emma schools her jealous sneer into a determined sort of scowl and wonders just how deep a stain the darkness has left.
Deep enough for this, she hopes.
"There's something about the air…" Snow trails off, eyes flickering between Rumpelstiltskin and Emma waiting for… well, something.
Emma takes a deep breath. Her mother's right, there is something odd about it, a sort of cloying stickiness that makes it hard to breathe back out. There's a permanence to it that makes her head spin; once you're in, there's no backing out. The fog swells and swirls and smells vaguely of sulphur and Emma clutches the ring round her neck and thinks we'll see about that.