this whole kingdom is wrong

Emma Swan had been gone eight months. The first month, Storybrooke came together and exhausted all magic and options to locate her, only Gold shaking his head and saying that if the Dark One didn't want to be found, she wouldn't be.

The Crocodile was right.

Killian had spent all his nights (and most days, to be honest.. 5 PM meant nothing to a pirate) at Granny's, drinking rum until he couldn't see her green eyes looking up at him, couldn't feel her hand brushing his cheek.

He couldn't bear to be alone until he was staggering out of the bar, hating all the sympathetic looks the denizens of Storybrooke gave him every night.

He hated them because they had their loves. They had their happy endings.

All the same, he went back, every day, because the draw of all those happy endings was that he got to be as close to Emma as he could be. He could remember being happy.

Snow White spent most of her days sitting at the kitchen table, watching the sun go up and then down, rarely sleeping, a box of tissues nearby even though her tears had dried up months ago.

Charming tried to help her, sweet husband that he was, but he wasn't enough. He wasn't her daughter. She'd lost her so many times, but this one seemed like a swift punch to the throat. She could have lost her forever, to the darkness, and she couldn't help feeling partially at fault.

"Neal is crying for the breast, Snow..." Charming cajoled, today, hoping to snap her out of her depression with the help of their youngest child.

"He's over a year old, it won't hurt him to be weaned. Give him a bottle." Snow said, not as sharply as she had sounded to him in the months past.

He'd told her, time and time again, that he would always find her. Now, he couldn't. She was locked away inside herself, inside her pain, and although he shared the same heart with her, he couldn't get through to her. She had become distant, and had sat at this table more nights than in their bed.

"Please, Snow..."

"Emma hardly had any breastmilk, and look how she turned out," Snow said, and chuckled.

The chuckle was a dark and broken thing, full of unshed tears and so unlike the warm chuckle Snow usually had. Charming's shared heart ached in his chest, and, defeated, he went to warm a bottle for Neal.

Regina felt terribly guilty. So much of Storybrooke was mourning for the Savior, and in her own way, she was too.

She couldn't help being so deliriously happy, though, and therein was the guilt.

She finally, finally, even with the complication of her pregnant sister, had her happy ending. She had Henry, and wonder of all wonders, Robin of Locksley, her true love, the man she'd run away from in a bar a lifetime ago, was sitting on her couch, rubbing her feet and ankles, and smiling at her with that special smile that she knew was full of love.

Regina, the Evil Queen, was loved by a man. A good, and honest thief who had only betrayed his wife for the love of Regina.

Then again, she hadn't really been his wife, had she?

Regina smiled brilliantly at him, but her smile turned down a little at the corners.

"What's wrong, milady?" He placed a hand high up on her knee, looking at her with concern.

"Just thinking about Emma. And Snow, and Charming, and Hook - all the people that miss the Savior."

Robin nodded, not dropping her gaze. "You miss her too?"

"Yes, but - God, Robin, I'm so happy!"

Robin laughed, low in his chest. "You deserve to be happy, Regina."

"Not when so many others are suffering!"

"You would be a much better queen now than you were," he said somberly, and when she kicked at him, he caught her ankle in his hand and kissed the bone there.

"Don't you feel guilty?"

"No. I have Roland, and Henry, and finally - you. I love you, Regina. This is my happy ending."

Regina smiled at him again, this time with both corners up, and slid into his lap. As she put her lips to his, she thought that wherever Emma was, maybe she was fighting the darkness. Fighting to come back, as she had.

The Dark One definitely did want to be found. The trouble was, she didn't know where she was. She didn't speak the language, and she'd been forced to use magic to conjure food and clothing for herself, although she was afraid that the more she used it, the darker her heart would become.

The people of the realm she found herself in were mostly farmers and hunters, simple folk with no royal hierarchy to upset them.

The first month, Emma had worked diligently to get back, testing her dark powers only occasionally as a means to an end - that end, getting back to Storybrooke and her loved ones.

Henry. Her parents. Killian. God, Killian, after they'd finally admitted their love. It was awful to be lost after that.

She thought about them, about how they'd be working so hard to find her.

Around month five, the darkness started talking to her. They've stopped looking for you, it hissed. They're gone, forever. They don't want you back. Surely Killian has found another, and of course Henry has Regina and your parents have baby Neal - you've been replaced.

After month six, the darkness changed its tune. Or maybe they're all dead, it whispered in the dead of night, when the sounds of crackling fire and talking amongst the villagers kept her awake... and thoughts of Storybrooke, her home. Maybe they're all dead or trapped in a hell realm similar to Neverland... otherwise they would have found you by now.

Emma tried not to listen, to focus on the white magic inside her, the goodness, but the darkness only grew louder. She thought that now she understood what had made Rumplestiltskin give in to the darkness, abandon his son. He had given in.

But she wouldn't. She spent her days learning the language, talking to the shaman in broken words, working her way toward a spell (or a curse) to bring her back to Storybrooke. However, this village knew nothing about portals or realms. They were where they had always been.

They did have magic, though. She'd seen the shaman heal a child with a head wound from falling with a burst of white light. She'd seen women crying over lost children and husbands suddenly fall asleep when the shaman touched them.

So slowly, over the months, she learned that this village didn't need dark magic. She didn't reveal to them that she was the Dark One. She told the shaman in her limited vocabulary that she had been born with white magic, and he nodded as if he understood. Although they didn't understand portals, the shaman did have a book, filled with spells. He said this was how he healed the sick and comforted the grieving.

She could barely read the words, but she made out a spell called something like the restoration of love.

This seemed to be her only hope, but it took a lot of white magic. Emma wondered if she could do it while the darkness whispered to her, telling her to quit, to give up and give in.

She enlisted the shaman to help her. He was wary, but agreed. It took a month to gather all the supplies. A lily, twisted to turn towards the sun. A tree frog that was found near a meadow. The happy tears of a new bride. A piece of the placenta from a newborn baby girl. And finally, and most disturbingly, grave dust from a married couple, buried together.

All the ingredients went in a pot, with the frog alive but now covered in placenta and grave dust.

Emma was nervous. She didn't want the darkness to come rising up from nowhere and ruin the spell, turn it into a curse. That might kill everyone in the village!

The shaman wasn't nervous. He'd done this spell before, with happy results. He says a few words over the pot and places his hand over it, white light spilling from his fingertips. He motions Emma over. She places her hand on top of his and tries to think of only happy things, reunited with her parents, hugging Henry, kissing Killian. Gray starts to spill from her fingertips, and the shaman has his eyes closed and doesn't notice. Emma tries to reel it back but the light is charcoal gray, nonetheless. She grits her teeth and thinks of only happy times, and it begins to lighten.

She feels a wind whip around her, but she keeps her eyes closed. When the wind ceases, she opens her eyes, hoping with all her heart to be in Storybrooke.

Instead, she sees the shaman, and in the background, the row of village huts.

She goes to sleep with a heavy heart and the darkness whispering to her.