Author's Note: I do not own Forever or its characters. I did, however, come up with the OC Emily Adler, though I borrowed the last name from Sherlock's femme fatale, Irene Adler. I'm new to FF, so be gentle with me on reviews, okay? I know about the Mary Sue danger for OC's, but that doesn't mean I won't fall into the trap. Sorry. If it looks like I'm falling that way, just let me know and I'll try to reign it back in. :)

Prologue: Breathless

The surface of the Thames parts suddenly to admit the head and shoulders of a young woman to the biting winter wind. The woman is, however, grateful to be exposed to the harsh conditions because they mean exposure to much-needed oxygen as well. The woman, ordinarily very attractive, is gasping like a landed fish in a most aesthetically displeasing way, her normally soft blonde curls flat and dull with the weight of a gallon of river water. One might think her first thought would be of the cold of gratitude for the simple privilege of breathing, but it is not.

It worked. I can scarcely believe it, the serum actually worked! That daft man was wrong, after all, and a good thing too, or I wouldn't be alive right now. He never said coming back was so… painful, though.

The woman hesitates. It's not supposed to hurt. She makes to strike out for shore to take stock of the potential damage to her body and get out of the freezing water, but suddenly notices something odd and nearly sinks from stopping dead still at the shock of it. She has on the same green dress that she was wearing when she entered the river… unexpectedly.

What on earth…? He always said that he came back completely naked. How delightful to think that I might have it easier than the Great Doctor with this "curse." I've never been able to agree with him that eternally youthful life is something to despair of.

She makes it to the shore, though it is unfamiliar to her. She concludes that the current must have carried her a great distance before she perished and was reborn like a waterlogged phoenix. London is nowhere in sight. Her keen blue eyes take in the countryside at a glance and discern no danger or lookers-on. She then turns her inspection upon herself. She is panicked to discover four bloody gashes, one on her back, one across her stomach, one on her left calf, and one on her right forearm. She curses softly, yet profusely.

Blast! The serum didn't work! I'm supposed to be utterly unharmed. Perhaps he had been right after all to dismiss our progress with the formula. Perhaps I didn't die and return, after all.

The young woman closes her eyes, shivering and soaked to the bone, and tries to recall the events following her abrupt entry of the river. She remembers cold, fierce currents dragging at her skirts, tumbling her further from help, further from him. Swirling confusion and blackness, not knowing which way was up, and the mind-numbing cold adding up to make years of experience swimming in the pond at her family's estate worthless. Chunks of debris and ice crash into her body, striking her painfully. A stray bit of undiscernible metal slices across her stomach and the taste of her own blood is stronger than the foulness of the murky filth of the river water for a moment. Her breath refuses to be held any longer and rushes out of her lungs, allowing the heavy water around her to force its way in. Her last conscious memory is raising her arm in a pathetic attempt to defend her face from the rocks on the quickly approaching bank. Pain: and then nothing but blackness until her next breath. She heaves a sigh, noticing for the first time how raw breathing feels in her abused throat. She is ready to curse again before finding shelter until she can make her way back to apologize to the man she blames for her near-drowning when she realizes that the agony of her injuries beginning to lessen. Afraid of shock or frostbite, she quickly examines the wound, only to find something extraordinary instead.

The gashes are closing. Little by little, the injuries are fading before her eyes. Her breathing eases as the rawness in her throat and lungs abates. She is grinning like a madwoman at this new discovery.

The serum did work, to some extent. I may not be immune to death, but I have some preliminary resistance to it. I would wager, if I had the time and equipment, I could improve upon that. What should have been life-threatening wounds have healed in a matter of minutes. Extraordinary!

Her grin takes on a wicked cast as possibilities whirl through her mind like she had whirled through the currents of the Thames only moments before.

If I have the capacity for eternal youth, or at least delayed aging, I'll have ample time to track down that infernal man and make him suffer for the humiliation and heartbreak he made me to endure. Yes, I'll have lifetimes to dream up infinite ways to hurt him as he hurt me. Oh, the potential for the retribution I so deserve to bestow!

The woman lifts her head, straightens her dress to hide the bloodstains and tears, sets her shoulders back, and strides off in the opposite direction from which she had come. If she was to have her revenge, she must hide inside a new identity and let the authorities believe her old self to be dead. Showing up in London alive and unhurt would raise too many questions. Despite the weather and the long road ahead, she smiles. Triumph, at her victory over death and her ex-colleague alike, washes over her.

I'm coming for you, you cad. As long as it takes, decades, centuries, I will endeavor to see you suffer at my hand. You will writhe under my heel like the snake you are, Henry Morgan.

A/N: That's the prologue! Too dramatic? Oh, well! Better than boring. Too mysterious? Still better than boring. If school doesn't get too crazy, I'll try to navigate fanfiction's uploady thing and post the first chapter by mid-August. Thanks for reading, beautiful people! Yes, you. You are beautiful.