Cloudless blue skies are the first thing to greet me when I open my eyes and I leap to my feet; my body covered in a cold sweet despite the warm air. My racing heart gradually slows as the remnants of my nightmare slowly ease their grip on my mind and I wipe the remaining bit of sleep from my eyes. Several more long minutes pass before my body finally begins to accept that it was all just a dream and I'm in no immediate peril from anything more dangerous than sun burn.
Slightly calmer, I look around; trying to figure out where exactly I am. It's a short lived mystery, however, as I quickly recognize the familiar, comforting, sight of the Jolly Roger; her deck rocking gently beneath my feet. My ship is a welcome sight after my terrible dreams of the night before and I relax several degrees further as the salty air kisses my face. Still, there is a nagging feeling that won't leave me alone and a chill slides up my spine.
I need to find Emma. Last night was all just a dream, I know this, but even so I know I won't be able to shake this sick feeling in my gut until I'm able to wrap my arms around my love and burry my face in her hair. With that thought, my legs are already moving, sending me down the gangplank and striding along the docks towards town. Away from my ship unfamiliar people bustle about with their lives, and several of them raise hands and shouts in greeting, oblivious to the fear gnawing away at my insides. I give them the briefest of nods and hurry on my way.
The trip into town is short, but long enough for the fear to blossom into full blown panic as more and more people I don't recognize call out hellos to me. I turn the corner onto Main Street and pause, looking back the way I came. Confusion fills me as I look back and forth between where I am now and where I just came from. This clearly isn't Main Street, yet I've walked this path hundreds of times since I first came to Storybrooke and I'm certain I didn't do anything different today. Yet, the clock-tower, the undeniable marker of our town's center, is nowhere to be seen. For that matter, the entire block that housed the library is gone. In it's place stands a gigantic statue depicting a man striking a decidedly heroic pose.
"Swan," I whisper, her name a talisman to help tame the fear slithering through me as I approach the statue. The monument dwarfs me several times over and for a minute I can't bring myself to lift my eyes to examine it. With a deep breath I look up and confirm what the fear had already been telling me. If the face I look upon in the mirror every morning hadn't been clear enough, the hook in place of his left hand would have confirmed it: it's a statue of me. Cold seeps through me as I quickly lower my eyes to the plaque at my statue's stone feet.
Through my slightly blurred vision I take in the words of praise:
"Captain Hook – The Pirate King who single-handedly took down the armies of the Enchanted Forest and freed the seas from the grasp of their tyrannical rulers."
My head spins as I back away from the monument to a murderer – to me; and I spin with it, desperate to put as much distance as I can between myself and this, this monstrosity.
"Emma," I chant my love's name over and over in my head, willing the simple thought of her to carry me to her. Instead I nearly bowl someone else over in my blind flight. I mutter a quick apology and make to continue on but the stranger stops me.
"You're Highness, where have you been?" A voice like honey fills my ears and I recoil at the cloying sweetness the sound evokes.
"Pardon?" I lick my suddenly dry lips an turn towards the voice.
Red rimmed, yellow, eyes filled with mirth meet my own and I have to take a small step back before I can take in the large man before me; his wild, blue tinged, white hair at odds with his three piece, black suit.
"We were supposed to inspect the gardens an hour ago," the man says, "come. I'll take us there immediately."
"Gardens? What…?" Before I can finish the man waves a hand and sweeps us away in a cloud of sulfurous smoke. I cough as the stench dissipates and wave my hand in front of my noise to aid in the odor's departure.
"Here we are," the man practically gushes, twisted glee oozing from his words, "your trophies await your daily inspection.
Trophies? I look up at our surroundings and my mouth drops open, a scream dying in my throat as tears pour from my eyes. Next to me I'm vaguely aware of my companion staring holes into the side of my head, his mouth twisted into a malicious grin.
Before me sits a garden of dead trees, devoid of leaves and branches alike. Instead, each one is adorned with a body that has been impaled from anus to mouth. Scratches mar the bark where the wood protrudes from between the lips of each body like some sort of deformed tongue and bloody, broken nails decorate the fingers of each of the victims; they had still been alive for a time after being mounted.
My entire body trembles and I feel vomit rising up my throat as I look upon each of the faces; almost all deformed to the point of being nearly unrecognizable. But I know them all. Dave, Snow, Regina, Robin, Granny, Belle, Henry…all dressed in the same finery they'd worn to Arthur's ball. Hundreds more surround them, each a face I know, but the one who hold's my gaze sits at the center of it all. She's more recognizable than all the others and I find myself rushing towards her because maybe she's…but no.
"She lasted longer than the others," the voice whispers in my ear but I ignore the man it belongs to.
A dry wind whistles through the trees, blowing her lusterless hair – now the color of old straw instead of liquid gold – about her bloodless and still form. Her once emerald gaze is now fixed sightless on the sky; dull and dead. I reach for her, my hand hovering a hairsbreadth from her waxy cheek and a small glimmer catches my eyes: a silver ring, set with a large gem, stands at attention from where it's trapped by a silver chain straining around her engorged neck.
My love.
Emma.
I fall to my knees in front of her and clutch at the bloody, filth stained dress that sways against the tree.
Emma.
"She was a feisty one," the voice comes again, "but in the end, not even she was able to stand up to the strength of the greatest hero this land has ever known. We're all proud of you Captain."
My tears soak the ruined fabric until they wet the material enough so that a small rivulet of blood runs down my hand and hook.
Emma.
An inhuman howl tears itself from my throat and I collapse forward, her rotting flesh giving a little under my weight.
It all comes flooding back once more: Camelot, Excalibur, nearly dying, becoming a new Dark One, killing Merlin, Storybrooke, reviving the previous Dark Ones, being killed by…Emma. It wasn't a dream. It was all real. And this…this is where I've been headed for a long time. At last I'm where I belong.
I'm in Hell.