Emma stared at the beating heart on her desk in her room. It stared back at her, glaring accusingly. Ironically, Emma's favorite book at one time was The Telltale Heart. Now she just wanted to throw that stupid book in the fire.

It was for good! Violet would get her heart back soon, and Henry would save them. It was best that Henry didn't get too close to Violet, anyway; they would be leaving Camelot in a matter of days.

The heart was beautiful. Obviously pure, it had not one darkened spot. It glimmered in the dissipating sunlight from the rickety old window, shining attractively. Without meaning to, Emma reached out and picked up the heart.

Emma was knocked off of her feet and slammed into the cobblestone wall behind her, jerking her from consciousness.

The snow was falling heavily, but not enough to obscure Violet's vision. The road was iced with white powder, and you could see the wheel prints and hoof prints from passing carts. Her long black hair swirled in the harsh winds, whipping around her. Her long, green, bell sleeves of her warmest winter dress waved back and forth in the foul breeze, as if waving hello to a ghost.

"Move!"

Violet was shoved to the ground by a boy her age carrying a sled. He grinned at her and stuck out his tongue before tying his wooden sled to the back of a cart. Moments later, a man came out of one of the broken-down shops on the side of the road and hopped onto the horse tied to the cart. With a flick of the reins, the horse went galloping down the hill, the boy skidding behind them.

Violet shuddered from the snow that had gotten inside of her dress. As dangerous as this sport sounded, Violet longed to sled behind the carts. Her father would probably lock her inside of her chamber for even thinking about it, but Sir Morgan wasn't here right now.

"I've got a sled."

Violet turned her head and looked into the smiling hazel eyes of a boy her age with chocolate brown hair. Henry. Violet grinned back at him. Henry had always been so adventurous, so brave. To be honest, Violet fancied him.

"Okay," said Violet, grabbing Henry's hand.

The two walked up to the back of one of the parked carts and tied Henry's sled to a hook. They sat down and waited, breaths held.

Not long after, a young man who seemed to be drunk lumbered out of the local pub and hopped onto the horse. Then, he forcefully snapped the reins, sending the horse flying down the mountain.

Violet let out a shriek of surprise and gripped Henry's hand harder. The cart was hurtling down the snowy hill with no sign of control.

"Roll out on three?" yelled Henry over the whistling wind.

Violet nodded.

"One."

The cart sped up.

"Two."

The reins cracked.

"Three!"

Violet and Henry rolled off of the sled and into the fresh powder, laughing.

"Why did you have to get us a cart that belonged to a tipsy driver?" Violet said, giggling.

"I didn't know!"

The two stopped laughing and looked into each other's eyes.

Violet leaned in.

Henry leaned in.

They closed their eyes and. . . .

Emma sat up, panting like a hound. Something warm was trickling down her forehead. Blood. Not even bothering to heal it, Emma stared at the heart in her hand and set it back down quickly. She sat down in a chair by the fireplace, head in her hands. What had she done? Emma had read about wishes borne of the heart before; she knew how to recognize them.

Violet was really in love with Henry.