"Papa, your tea is getting cold."
Grace is giggling and Jefferson smiles.
Tea is an important affair, she often says to him. And he's always eager to please his child, be it in having tea parties or a white rabbit plush toy.
He turns to the sound of her voice but to his dismay, he can't seem to find her.
"Grace?"
A now-familiar fear creeps on the back of his neck. He cranes his neck to find her and finally notes the eerie silence of the forest.
From the behind him he hears a whooshing sound. He turns around and only has a moment left to widen his eyes as the approaching axe comes into contact with his neck.
With a scream, he sits up in bed. Sweat trickles from his brow and he has to breathe deeply for a few minutes to calm down. He gets out of bed and goes down to the kitchen of his massive house.
He mulls over the dream while holding his untouched cup of tea. He stands and walks to the window overlooking Storybrooke.
Grace is out there and he has to restrain himself from bursting out of his abode to get to her (even though he knows he can't leave this house...this prison...always looking out but never able to leave).
His grip tightens around the cup. The warm liquid sloshes and a bit lands on his hand. It wakes him up from his musings. He glances at his hand then back at the view of Storybrooke. He notices lights on the road which leads out of town. He positions his telescope to that direction and leans in to look through the viewer.
It's the stranger. Someone who shouldn't be in Storybrooke to begin with.
He had seen her enter the town with the mayor's kid. It had been weird looking at her and not knowing anything about her. He knew almost everyone in town, he had 28 years of looking in on their lives. He was confused. Who was she? What business did she have in Storybrooke.
He decided to continue looking at her from afar. Maybe, he muses, maybe she can help me with Grace. She's already stood up to the Mayor as it is.
A smirk slowly appears on his lips. He sits on the couch facing the fireplace. A gleam in his eyes begining to take form. There are hats to be made but for now he contents himself with planning his meeting with the stranger.
Somewhere on the road, a yellow Bug chugs along then comes to a halt as Henry Mills speaks up behind Emma Swan.
