The door was marked with a simple "Do Not Enter" sign; the sign was weathered to the point that the letters were barely legible, yet there was something more that gave people approaching reason to stay away. Not that there was anything special about the door; in fact, it was a rather plain, wooden door with no distinguishing marks and an ordinary doorknob. However, there were the few groups of daredevils who decided that they would be braver than any of their friends and try to break into the room—none were successful in their endeavors. When someone tried to turn the knob on the door, the most peculiar thing happened: the door vanished.
There were rumors about what had caused the room to be inaccessible to the common man. There were whispers of a couple, long ago, who had lived behind the door in relative peace, until one day when they just weren't thought of or heard about any longer. No one knew the names behind the legends, and no one was even sure that there was any truth to the legend. It was passed down from person to person in the small town that housed this room and this door, and no one knew if they should or shouldn't believe the stories that they had grown up hearing.
There was only one thing that was completely true: no one could open the door.
Neal and Emma only knew the room; there wasn't a day in their life that didn't have them in the room—there was never anyone else in the room with them, but that was okay. They were content with one another and didn't need the company of anyone else because they had the room. The room itself was almost mystical in the sense that it provided them with all of their needs and wants. The only thing that either of them could complain about was that they didn't have any memories from before the room—their memories started when they were in their early twenties, and neither could even recall a glimpse of their childhoods.
If time passed the same in the room as it did in the outside world, then Neal and Emma were with each other for almost ten years.
Everything was perfect; the room saw to that. When they wanted privacy, they were given a curtained off corner; when they yearned for something material, all they had to do was think of it and it sat before them. The pair had a want for nothing, really. They had the company of each other and got along well enough that they were able to take care of themselves and the room without much complaint. There was only one rule given to them when they came to be in the room: don't open the chest stored in the far corner. The pair had no trouble resisting the temptation because they were truly happy—why should they make whoever had brought them here angry by disobeying their wishes?
Everything was perfect for Neal and Emma, even if they did live in solitude. They had worked out a routine, and things rarely changed. There was no way for people to get in, and no way for Neal and Emma to get out; in addition to being trapped within the room, Neal and Emma had never found the way that they were brought in. The first few weeks they were in the room, they spent their time searching for a way to leave, but they could never find a door, a window, or a hatch that led out of the room. After a while, it ceased to matter—they had each other and they had the room.
This is why it was so unusual when Emma started hearing whispers before she fell asleep at night.
"I know that you believe you're fine here, Emma," the deep, velvety voice whispered, "but how do you know for sure?"
"Because the room provides everything for us," Emma answered curtly. "Everything we could want or need is given to us by the room. Why should we question the intentions that it has?"
"Listen to yourself," chastised the voice. It was getting closer; a chill ran down Emma's spine as she imagined another being in the room with her and Neal, but when she looked around, they were still alone. "You're acting as if this room you're in controls your life. Like the room itself is a sentient being! Do you realize how insane this sounds to me?"
This made Emma's blood boil, and she snapped at the voice. "I don't even know who you are!" This wasn't the first time that this voice had called Emma crazy, and she knew that it wouldn't be the last. It was the same dialogue every night, right as she was readying herself for sleep—she couldn't rid herself of the deep, haunting whispers.
"It's not important who—or what—I am, my darling. It's only important that you realize what you're missing out on by staying here with your 'chosen' partner. How long has it been since you've questioned where you came from or how you got here? Or have you become so complacent in this life here that you choose to ignore your forgotten history?" The voice was taunting her more than usual tonight; it was getting on Emma's nerves.
"Stop!" Emma yelled. "I don't want to hear it!"
"Emma?" Neal asked from across the room. "Are you okay? What's going on?"
She had forgotten that Neal wasn't hearing everything that she was, and the voice chuckled.
"We'll talk again tomorrow, Emma," it said directly in her ear. "I will eagerly await our next conversation, my darling."
Emma sat shaking on her bed, the hairs on her arms standing at attention even though the threat of the unknown voice was no longer lurking behind her. It had been a week of sleepless nights, doubt coloring her thoughts as she tried to fall asleep, because of the voice. As far as she knew, Neal had no idea what she was hearing at night; he never said anything about the voice, and neither did she. Emma felt as if the voice she was hearing wasn't actually there—like it was all in her mind and she truly was going crazy, as the voice had suggested.
She didn't know what to do, and that's the part of the whole situation that scared her.
Emma had grown used to having Neal as a source of comfort, the only sense of comfort, in her life. She glanced up and met his worried glance, but he didn't come any closer to her. That was Neal; he always let Emma take the lead.
Hesitating, Emma opened her mouth, ready to voice her problems to Neal, when the voice came back to her—"how do you know for sure, Emma?" A shiver travelled down her spine and she snapped her mouth closed.
Neal sighed and got up off his bed; he walked over to her bed and wrapped Emma up in his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head. By just holding her for a few minutes, he succeeded in calming her down and driving the haunting voice from her mind. Emma's breathing slowed and her body relaxed into Neal's.
"Are you ready to talk about what's been bothering you for the past few days?" he softly asked, bringing his hand up and dragging his fingers through her long, blonde hair.
"I-" she tensed up in his arms for a moment "-I'm not sure I can. I don't know if I'm allowed."
"What would happen if you told, do you think?"
"I don't think that anything good could happen."
"Is it the room?"
"What do you mean?"
"Are you having problems with the room, or are you having problems with me, or are you having problems with something else entirely?"
Emma hesitated; it wasn't that she didn't want to tell Neal what was going on with the voice, because she did. She was afraid that he would think she was crazy and that their time in the room would become tense.
"You can tell me," he urged, nudging her side gently with a smile on his face.
The dam broke and she let everything pour out of her. Emma told Neal everything that the voice had been tormenting her with the last few weeks, starting from the terms of endearment that were whispered sarcastically and ending with the doubts that the voice had been putting into her mind every night. There was an immense sort of relief in letting Neal know what's been going on with her, and he seemed to be understanding of everything that she was dealing with. There was still the doubt that the voice had planted, however—she had no way of knowing what was going on in Neal's head, and she had no idea if he would be honest with her about what he thought of her situation.
When she stopped talking, Emma looked up at Neal with hope in her eyes. She didn't want to be the person who asked if their crazy story was believable, but she needed to know where she stood with Neal.
Neal smiled and pressed his lips to Emma's hair. "It's okay, Ems," he whispered. "We'll figure this out—I believe you, and we will figure this out together."
The voice stayed silent for almost two weeks after Emma had revealed her secret to Neal, but his message stayed firmly planted within her mind—she was missing out on a life that she couldn't reach while she was in the room, and she wasn't truly happy with Neal. She found her mind drifting back to the conversations that she had with the soothing voice of the shadows when Neal was occupied elsewhere in the room, and found herself pulling away from any form of contact that Neal tried to initiate.
For some reason, any time he touched her, she felt wrong.
Before the voice started visiting her, her days with Neal were simple and structured – eat breakfast; clean whatever mess they had created in the room; talk, read, or play a game; eat lunch; study whatever books the room would give them; work on any small projects around the room; eat dinner; sleep; and then repeat. There was a monotony that she had been content with until the voice started interrupting her nights; now that she had the seed of doubt planted in her mind, she couldn't make herself believe that the routine she had with Neal was enough. There were some nights that she and Neal would deviate from their routine and ended the day by falling into bed together, panting and satisfied, but these were very few and far between. They came together only when their mutual desire for something more reached a level that they couldn't handle on their own, and it lacked the passion and intimacy that Emma found herself craving after the voice left her at night.
It was on one of the rare nights that she and Neal sated their carnal desire that the voice came to Emma once more. Neal was fast asleep, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist and his head buried in her neck. She felt the third presence in the room before anything was said, and Emma knew that this wouldn't be like any of the other times the voice had come to visit her.
She tensed and waited for the voice to speak.
"Do you remember any of the conditions of your stay in this room, Emma?" the voice asked. He wasn't beating around the bush tonight, apparently.
"I don't know what you mean," she whispered.
"I mean, what were the rules you were given when you came to be here? Or did you just assume that this room came with no strings attached?"
Curious now, Emma pulled herself away from Neal's grasp and out of his bed; if she was going to argue with the voice, and she planned on finding out what exactly his plan was for her, then she couldn't have Neal waking up and the voice leaving.
"And what if there were conditions?" she inquired. "Obviously Neal and I have been following them. If we didn't, I assume that we wouldn't be here anymore."
"Stop playing dumb, Emma," the voice snapped. "You know what I'm talking about, even if you don't want to admit to it."
Emma felt her jaw clench; she turned on her heel and fled from the area of the room she and Neal used for sleeping, heading for the kitchen. She studiously ignored the chest, even as she placed as much room as she possibly could from it. "Why are you so concerned with the promise that Neal and I made when we came to live in this room?"
"Do you mean to tell me that you have never once wondered at what was in that chest and why it was so important that you stayed clear?" the voice asked, incredulous. "Haven't you once wondered what could be hiding from you in the depths of the cedar that you spend every day avoiding?"
"Of course I have!" she shouted. Emma cringed and listened for any signs that she had woken Neal; when she heard nothing coming from the curtained off sleep area, she lowered her voice and continued her discussion…no, argument… with the voice. "We both have wondered what is in that box—hell, Neal even suggested it was a head, based on some stupid movie that he vaguely remembers seeing—but we are truly happy here. There is no reason for us to go poking in what isn't our business."
"What if I were to tell you, love, that the chest held all of the things you so desired? Would you then be intrigued?" he questioned her, not allowing time for a response. "What if I were to tell you that the chest was a source of magic that held the things you can't remember? What if I were to tell you that the reason you're trapped in this room has been contained in that chest this entire time?"
His questioning made Emma pause—there was no way that the voice could be right, was there? She shook her head and tried to rid herself of the small seed of hope and doubt that the voice put into her thoughts.
"Ah," he sighed. Even though she couldn't see who she was talking to, Emma could hear the smile in his voice. "My dear, lovely, Emma. Some part of you knows that I'm right."
"You can't be right," she insisted. "Why would the room lie to us like that?"
"You're talking of the room as if it's alive, Emma! Don't you see what it's done to you all of these years? You're complacent! What if you had a better life back before you came to this room?"
Emma shook her head, refusing to even consider that the voice might know something that she didn't. "We're happy," she said fiercely. "You need to leave. Now."
She hear the voice sigh one time, a heavy sigh that lasted a few seconds too long, before she couldn't feel the presence anymore.
Alone again, Emma was left with more to contemplate than ever before.
During supper the next day, Emma found the courage to bring up the previous night's visit of the voice to Neal. He didn't want to believe that the room could be hiding something from them; in fact, he argued the point more than she had originally. Emma could see the cracks in his façade, however, and she knew what she had to do.
She had to know if the voice was right; she had to find her memories.
Emma stayed awake in her bed, waiting for Neal to fall asleep. When she heard his soft snores echoing throughout the room, she knew that it was time; she stepped silently towards the corner where the chest sat in wait. She felt as though she could cut through the tension in the air with a knife—it was almost as if the room knew what she was doing. Her resolve wavered slightly until she thought of how persistent the voice was in getting her to even consider breaking the rules of the room. She had to know.
Emma wasn't absolutely on board with her plan until she reached the chest. Her hand shook as she reached out and placed her fingers on the warm lid; the second her fingers made contact with the weathered wood of the chest, she felt a warmth fill her body and knew that this really was her best hope. Without wasting another second hesitating, she unlocked the chest. Immediately, she was flooded with memories—the nights spent with the voice suddenly made sense; the voice was Killian, her soul mate long forgotten. The room had separated her and Neal from those they loved most to ensure that a lineage was created, something that hadn't happened in all of the years they spent together in the room.
Instead, her soul mate—her Killian—had found her and was trying to help her out of this cursed room and back into his arms.
Emma felt her heart clench at the thought of Killian; she missed him more than she ever could have imagined missing someone. In the depths of her mind, she saw another petite blonde wrapped around Neal, and she knew that he had his own love to return to. Emma rushed back into their sleeping quarters and began shaking Neal in an attempt to wake him.
"Neal," Emma urged as she grasped his shoulder and shook. "Get up! You need to look in the chest. The voice who has been talking to me was right—the room has been lying to us this whole time."
"What're you talking about?" he mumbled as he rolled back over and tried to fall back asleep.
"I remember everything," she said, her voice dropping in a rush of emotion. "Neal, I remember what our lives were like before the room, and we were happy. I remember my Killian and I remember that you were one of our closest friends back home. Neal, Killian is my soul mate and yours is waiting for you too. All you have to do is look in the chest."
"You mean… our past has been within reach this entire time?"
"All you have to do is get up and open the chest."
Neal forced himself from the comfort of his bed and crossed the room with a determination that Emma had never seen in him before. When he lifted the lid, there was a flash of white light she hadn't noticed when she had gotten her memories back, and Neal turned back to her with tears in his eyes.
"Emma, I remember."
With their memories returned, Neal and Emma couldn't focus on anything other than getting home to the ones they loved. They begged and prayed for the room to let them free of this curse, but nothing happened.
Their nights were spent apart from each other, and Killian's voice continued to come and talk to Emma. He filled her in on everything that she and Neal were missing back home; he told her of mostly mundane things like what Ruby was doing with her hair now and if David had finally got the guts to ask Mary Margaret to marry him, but it was still information that she didn't have because of her time in the room. Emma had cried a few times, wishing that she could feel Killian's strong arms wrapped around her once more. In between whispers of love, Emma apologized over and over again about her infidelity; even though she hadn't known about their love for ten years, she felt immense guilt at the thought of laying with another man as a part of someone else's plan. Every night, Killian consoled her and told her how much he loved her, and Emma went to sleep with the knowledge that she had something to look forward to when they finally got to go home.
One morning at breakfast, Emma and Neal felt the atmosphere around them shift; they looked towards the chest and saw a woman with hair the color of flame and eyes that could pierce someone with just one glance hovering above it.
"You fools!" the newcomer spat at Emma and Neal. "I have given you the perfect life here, and this is how you repay me?"
"Who are you?" Neal asked as he pushed away from the table and stood protectively in front of Emma. "Why have you trapped us here?"
The woman was fuming; Emma could read the unmasked rage within her eyes, and felt true fear for the first time as she was stared down.
"You don't deserve to know! I gave you everything, and you have given me nothing in return," the woman hissed at Neal from her place next to the chest. "All I wanted was one little child, and you couldn't even do that. One little, prophetic child born out of mutual understanding and respect, and nothing!"
"If you could just understand why-" Emma tried to insist, but the woman cut her off.
"What you have done cannot be undone," she said, a strange calm overtaking her features. "I cannot get what I want because you couldn't follow my one rule, so I'm going to let you go back to your happy little lives-" Emma and Neal grinned at each other "- with one consequence."
The room started to fade before Neal and Emma's eyes, and they heard the woman's last curse before the room entirely faded from existence.
"You both will go back to your 'true loves', but that is all you will ever have. My final curse is that you, Emma, will never be able to conceive a child. You will forever be barren."