Her eyes are burning. It's strange. She can't remember the last time she felt so much pain. It's like her insides are coming undone. She looks up at the sky, sees the full moon, remembers a time when she stood in her house, when she heard the words she'd yearned for.
The moonlight reflects off the blade in her hands. She looks down at the names etched in the steel. Killian Jones. Emma Swan. The names are difficult to read through the tears blurring her vision.
You have to do it.
She takes it, looks into his eyes-so blue, so frightened, but brave. Brave for her, for them.
The words are mouthed through stiff lips. It's okay.
But as she pushes forward, like a hurricane or a tidal wave, she can only think no, it is not okay.
It's never going to be okay again.