Magic has always fascinated Emma as a child - the way you can make good things happen, and bad things disappear, how it can used to help those in need and punish those with questionable morals. Mostly, however, Emma wished she had magic to make herself better, to be loved and to find a home, or to find her parents who are surely realising their mistake and searching for her. Wouldn't magic make this all easier?
Books became her escape from reality and the only constant as she bounced from one foster carer to the next, slipping them into her backpack from the dusty shelves of her unsuspecting family of the week or the local library. She hadn't meant to steal them but the words spoke to her in a way that nobody has before, cocooning her in another world where anything is possible, where she can be anything she wants to be.
When Emma was 8, she read Roald Dahl's 'Matilda' and attempted to make objects move around the house to little effect. The one time something did happen was when she was accused of destroying Mrs Tyler's precious stamp collection, when she knew it was the son trying to get back at his mother for not buying the Dragonball Z figurine he so desperately wanted. When the picture frames flew off the wall and shelves and shattered upon impact, it coincided with the howling wind outside which blew the windows open.
(She'll deny looking for her own Ms Honey to take her in).
The Chronicles of Narnia had her hiding in the rickety wardrobe in the attic when Mr Cochrane came home stinking drunk at night, looking for an outlet for his "crappy day". Alas, the wardrobe never took her anywhere beyond her own desperate imagination (and a whole host of mothballs).
Even Captain Planet had her scrambling to find the cheap plastic toy ring in the cereal box, scattering cornflakes all over the scratched wooden surface of the kitchen table in the cold pre-dawn light, in a bid to be the first to claim the prize amongst the other kids. Needless to say, she got in trouble for that, and no amount of element-calling helped in any way.
When she turned 14, Harry Potter became her world. It wasn't just the world of magic that had her finishing the first book in a matter of hours, but the characters which she relates to. Harry may have a family but he wasn't loved, not by the Dursleys at least. And that was no better than her own situation, which admittedly, isn't always bad. But how she wished that a random letter will come for her too, to have her whisked off to a wonderful, mystical world beyond the horizons, where she finds her own Weasley family.
Perhaps that's one of the reasons she got on with Ingrid so well. She encouraged Emma's imagination and even bought her own set of Harry Potter books, as well the The Lord of the Ring trilogy which Emma never got to. They even started watching Charmed together, a weekly event that was just the two of them and a bowl of buttery popcorn.
She thought she had found her place, a home with someone who cared for her. Her enthusiasm for the world of make-believe and magic vanished in the headlights of the oncoming car, as did her faith in ever finding a home.
Magic had seem so simple from afar, a wave of a hand or wand, the right incantation, a potion made correctly. But like everything else in the media, it's glamourised, an easy solution to a problem without consequence. They don't highlight the emotional strain, the call to power, the fine balancing act of taking and giving, the stain that is left upon your soul.
It took a while for her to embrace her magic. She had long since given up on any notion of magic, or fantasy. Life has taught her that no amount of wishful thinking will help. Reliability can only be based on one person - yourself. Everything else is just a luxury that Emma Swan cannot afford. At least that was until a certain precocious ten-year old re-entered her life and proceeded to turn everything upside down and take on the biggest challenge of all - make her believe.
The funny thing about magic was that it wasn't just an entity to master or a puzzle to solve. It is bound to the human condition. For Emma, magic has exploited her fears and weaknesses – by taking away her magic, she found the home she was so desperate to find and was running from, in fear that it would be another trap leading to false hope; when her magic became uncontrollable, she found acceptance in herself; and by taking on the darkness, she found the strength to combat the voices in her head, to know that she is enough, has always been and doesn't require any influence to prove otherwise.
All of this, however, seems to fall in the face of the Underworld. Nothing would deter her from bringing Killian back, the one who has stood steadfast by her side, without judgement and only the deepest faith in her and her abilities. Her magic, on the other hand, seem to strain under her skin, begging to be used as it ran hot and wild. It was tainted now though, strands of darkness weaved amongst the prominent tapestry of light. She finds herself hesitating to use it, that it will strengthen its hold on her and spread like a wildfire, a path she never wishes to cross again.
But there's no hesitation when she finally finds Killian, heart aching at his bloodied appearance, at what he has sacrificed for her… for all of them. He gives her a wan smile through his cracked lips, blood tracking a sluggish path down his face. Her magic responds, in tune with her emotion, in tune with her love with the man before her. It rushes out of her like a tidal wave, gentle in its caress, warm and golden bright in its intent. It came without volition, humming in her mind like a long forgotten song - like a phoenix cry, bringing hearts together and healing flesh and bone.
"Am I devilishly handsome again, love?"
Emma opened her eyes as the light receded from behind her eyelids, the residual effect still dancing happily in her veins. Bright blue eyes met hers, no longer swollen shut by Hades ministrations.
"I don't believe there's been a moment when you're not." Emma smiles, running her hands over his arms and torso, more to reassure herself than to check her handywork.
He caught her right hand in his, tangling their fingers together. "Emma, I'm fine, I'm okay."
Emma let loose a shaky breath, letting her free hand settle on his face, rough with stubble, and traced the scar with her thumb. "I told you I can't lose you too."
His smile is soft as he brings her close, until his forehead rested against hers, breath warm on her skin.
"I'll always be with you."