A/N: Told mostly from Aurora's POV, but occasionally from Mulan.
Also, the story begins with Storybrooke names; Aurora is Briar Rose and Mulan is called Jia Li, although they revert back to their usual names when the curse breaks.
I hope that's not too confusing and that this story actually makes sense.

I get wanting to leave here, I do. And I get that it's easier to let go of bad memories, but even bad memories are part of us (...)
My weaknesses and my strengths, I am both.
Just like you. You are both. The town is both. We are both.

- David Nolan/Prince Charming

Chapter 1: A Room With Too Many People

Mulan

When I'd woken up that morning, I was called Jia Li.
She was called Briar Rose.
She loved sweet tea and put too many spices in her meals. Her favourite colour was purple and she liked it when I wore my hair down.
She always woke up before me and made me toast. The jam she used was homemade from the berries that grew in our garden.
Her garden.
She was so proud of it. She was good at getting things to grow. I, being the rough policewoman that I was, never really had a good hand for growing. But I'd never needed to have a green thumb; the garden was hers and she loved it. I just picked the tomatoes when it was time and got reprimanded for removing them from the wrong places.
I couldn't remember how we met or where or when. All I knew was that we were.
We were Jia and Briar. Briar and Jia.
And we were happy.
We were in love.

We were both home when it broke.

I should have been at work because Emma had taken the day off, but instead I was painting in the spare room.
Well, I was trying to, anyway.
I was experiencing what Briar called a 'brain snag'.
The canvas sat in front of me, crisp and white. I'd been staring at it for three hours and had considered tearing holes in it just so I would have something different to look at.
Painting was one of the only things that brought out my impatience. Briar often refered to me as stoic and calm, and loved seeing me fired up about something.
It was a way to vent out my frustrations, but sometimes it became my frustration.
Briar called that my 'painting paradox'.
She had a name for every stupid little feeling or thought. She thought that naming things helped you cope with them better; if knew what you were feeling then you could deal with it better.
She didn't have a name for what we were going to feel next.

Briar worked as a seamstress in Storybrooke. Her hours were short and she was home before four that day.
She'd walked in and kissed the back of my head, very gently. She was aware that interrupting me while I was on the brink of an idea was potentially dangerous for my process.
When I leaned back so she could kiss me properly, she knew that I wasn't on the brink of anything.

"No ideas yet?" she asked, placing a warm hand on my back.

"Absolutely none," I sighed, leaning back in my seat.

She laughed and kissed me again, leaving the room.
I heard her tread down the hallway and then I heard clattering in the kitchen. It seemed too early, but she must have been preparing dinner.

I don't know how long I was staring at that canvas before it happened. It must have only been minutes.
It felt like a rush of air; not heavy, but strong enough to whip my ponytail up, off of my back.
I heard a crash come from the kitchen and thought that I should check on Briar when the headache set in.
My brain felt like it was trying to pass through the head of a needle; a room with too many people. I shut my eyes tight as I felt the weight of memories that didn't belong to me rush into my body.
It only took a split second, but it felt like I might be crushed under the load.
And then the room came right again and I gazed back at the empty canvas.

"Briar," I said, rising to find her.
Aurora, I thought, shaking my head.

When I'd gotten into the kitchen, Briar was on the ground, her eyes closed, the heavy crock pot on the ground near her.
I looked from my girlfriend, to the chipped ceramic pot and realised that she must have been removing it from the high cupboard when the wind had come.

When the curse broke.

"Briar?" I asked, taking her hand, "Can you hear me?"

There was no response. I laid her down a little straighter and lifted her head, seeing if she might wake if I cleared her airway.
She was still breathing.

"Briar?"

The beautiful auburn girl stirred, squeezing my hand. I grinned and gripped at her in reply.
Her eyes opened leisurely and stayed unfocused for a second.

"Phillip?" she asked softly.