The waves lapped softly at the pebbled shore of the quiet seaside town of Storybrooke, dark water inching slow fingers up the coastline. Emma Swan grabbed her cardigan and hugged it tightly across her frame, fighting off the chill of a late November night. She stumbled toward the shore, tripping over the rocky coast obscured by a starless night. Muttering under her breath at the ridiculousness of her current predicament, Emma squinted out toward the inky water.
She got the call from the sea this morning, quite literally. Standing in the bay window of her new shoreline loft, she was staring out into the ocean watching her son sail off into the distance with Killian when a soft tapping brought her attention to the windowsill. She rolled her eyes at the bird perched there, conch shell clutched in its claw.
"You got the wrong house buddy," she sighed, swinging open the window and peering down at her latest visitor. "Mary Margaret's house is just down the way. Bird messages not really my thing and all."
The seagull cocked its head to the side, staring up at her before dropping the shell and taking flight back out toward the water.
"Well alright, then. Nice chat."
Emma grabbed the conch, inspecting the shell for any potential signs of dubious intent. After a moment, she begrudgingly held it to her ear, knowing there was more to the mysterious delivery.
"Such a pretty little picturesque portrait town you have here, darling," a snakelike voice whispered into her ear. "What a shame it would be to see a natural tragedy befall it. Sometimes these things can't be helped however, the sea does as she pleases."
Emma couldn't help the small shiver that rolled down her spine, waiting for the punchline to this threatening string of commentary.
"For instance, one rogue wave could sweep away your precious pirate just as he is teaching your boy how to hoist a sail. Wouldn't want that, now would we? I ask for your presence tonight on the northeast shore just after the sun disappears over the sea. Oh and come alone if you please. Too many voices shall only make our little rendezvous all the more confusing."
So here she waits, focusing on the whitecaps of the waves and looking for an irregular break in the surf. Alone but for the wind, slipping away from Killian and Henry with an eye roll and the performance of a lifetime about a brawl down at the Rabbit Hole between a few of the dwarves. Just as she was about to give up and trudge back up the hillside toward home, picturing a night spent curled on the couch watching a 300 year old pirate argue with a twelve year old over the inevitable outcome of a battle between an Asgardian god and a World War Two Captain recently freed from an icey nap, the water before her started to churn.
Emma watched in mild disbelief as eight long tentacles began to emerge from the surf, followed by the head of a hauntingly beautiful woman straight out of the pages of the old Greek Mythology book she lifted from an old foster family before they sent her packing once again. The woman grinned at her, razor sharp teeth peeking out from full red lips, all in contrast to the sleek golden skin glittering out of the water.
"Let me guess, Ursula?" Emma groaned, adopting a stance of indifference to hide the apprehension she harbored in her chest. The Little Mermaid's big bad had always been her least favorite villain.
"It would appear you are already acquainted with me, just as I know plenty about you Miss Swan," the sea serpent drawled.
"If you are here to ask me for my voice, I hate to break it to you lady but you are about to get a lot less than what you bargained for," Emma retorted. "I wasn't blessed with golden pipes, that's for sure."
"Come now, darling, you vastly underestimate me," Ursula grinned. "I deal in all sorts of baubles and trinkets, gifts and graces. And you happen to have something I very much desire."
Emma was fed up already, her patience rapidly diminishing with each new fairytale villain who stomped their way into town leaving a path of chaos for her to sort through.
"So what is it you want then?"
"You, Miss Swan, are blessed with a gift I have searched far and wide for, something all too rarely honed in the worlds I travel. All I ask is one thing, nothing much, just a token really."
"Let me guess, my magic would sure be useful to you, would it not?"
"No dear, magic is something which I already possess. The token I seek is also stored deep within you though. You see, what I desire is your ability to feel."
"Come again?" Emma scoffed.
"Your emotions darling, your ability to love, to hate, to care, to fear. You know, the pesky little emotions that only cloud judgment anyways. As the savior and a product of true love, you seem to have an abundance of these emotions unmatched by any other, and they make you a force to be reckoned with, or so I have been told. However, emotions can be quite unpredictable. You'll probably be better off without them really," Ursula tutted as she twirled the tip of a tentacle in front of her face in a bored fashion.
"And I am supposed to agree to this why?" Emma shot back.
"It's quite simple really. While the Evil Queen did a lovely job picking a perfect piece of real estate to enact her first curse, she oh so unfortunately placed you and your gang of fairytale misfits on a place easy to miss on a map, and subsequently easy to wipe off one."
"I seem to remember power over the seas belonged to King Triton, not a lowly sea snake like yourself," Emma replied.
"I see someone knows her stories quite well. I like that, always nice to see people still hold onto the tales that have long since been reduced to folklore and fantasy. Unfortunately, it seems the stories missed one usurping of recent history," Ursula said as she flicked a tentacle out of the water, brandishing a trident still sullied by blood stains not left by any mere mortal. "As you can see, Triton has taken an extended leave of absence."
Emma winced, thinking of a woman she met ever so briefly with long flowing red hair, a woman about to feel the acute pain of an orphan that Emma so uniquely understood. She also understood there was no way right now to talk her way around this. She was the savior, and being the savior met risking it all to protect Storybrooke and all its inhabitants. She carried the weight of the town on her shoulders, and never had she felt so trapped by it. Emma's mind flashed briefly to all those she wished were standing beside her right now, helping her work out of this latest calamity. A close crop of black hair, a friendly shephard's smile, a boy with a striped scarf, a gleaming hook.
She was glad they weren't here though, glad she trusted her gut to come alone and keep them all out of the direct path of this serpent.
"Do we have a deal now darling?"
Emma gritted her teeth. "I suppose we do."
And with that, a bright light shot out of her chest and snaked its way over to a necklace wrapped around the sea witches neck, a heavy weight replacing the hole in Emma's heart.
Ursula slipped back into the water without a sound, and Emma turned back home without much of a second thought. She knew she should be concerned, knew she should chase the witch down and vet her for some loophole, some way to keep her land legs in three days' time, so to speak.
But she just couldn't make herself care. Couldn't make herself think anything really except it was time to be getting home.
She slid through the boats docked in the marina, the twinkling lights casting a glow that did nothing to warm the emptiness in her. She ducked by Granny's front-windows, the soft sounds of town life not even turning her head.
She slipped into her front door, toeing off her boots and sliding her cardigan onto the bench nearby. The lights were all off, the room cleaned up after an apparently successful boy's night in. Creeping up the stairs and into her darkened bedroom, she caught a shock of unruly black hair peeking out from under the covers.
Pulling off her jeans she slipped into bed, felt arms wrap around her and a warm breath upon her neck. A murmered "M'Glad you're back safe and sound, love. Hope those dwarves weren't too much trouble" and a kiss in the slope of her neck between ear and shoulder. She should have felt guilt for her little white lie, should have felt comfort in a warm embrace after hours out in the cold. Should have felt compassion, safety, contentment, love in the arms of a man who had nudged his way past all her walls.
She should have felt something.
She felt nothing.
