I wake up feeling wonderfully rested. It'd been such a long time since I last slept. But as soon as my mind starts clearing, I notice I'm lying on something hard and uncomfortable, my head against a… a… rock? I open my eyes. Sunlight greets me. The smell of dirt. There's no ceiling—I'm in a literal hole in the ground.
How in the world…?
I sit up. Beside me Ms. Blanchard lies unconscious. Memories start flooding my brain. My birthday. The curse. Regina. The wraith. The portal. Yes, I fell through the portal. But what is Ms. Blanchard doing here? Could it be she… she followed me here?
And where is here? Something tells me we're not in Kansas anymore. Or Storybrooke.
"Hello," an agreeable voice says to my right. I turn around. Sitting against the stone wall is an older woman wearing an old-fashioned green dress and a matching shawl. She has brown hair tied in thick braid that falls over her left shoulder and brown eyes that study my face with great interest.
"Hi," I say carefully. "What… What is this place? Where are we?"
"It's a little island our captors like to think as their haven," she tells me.
"Haven?" I repeat. I don't like the sound of that. "From what?"
Her face turns serious. "The world's dangerous," she says. "What's left of it anyway."
That clicks something in my head. "What's left…? Is this the Enchanted Forest?" I know Regina told us this place doesn't exist anymore, but if she opened the portal to send the wraith here and we came through… it makes sense. Vaguely.
The woman smiles warmly. "Why, of course, dear. What else could it be?"
Duh. And I was hoping she would say 'Enchanted Forest? What's that? No, girl, we're still in Maine. Let me get you to a phone.'
"Well, they can't keep us down here," I say because I can't think about portals and forests and lies right now or I might flip. The important thing is to get out of this hole so Ms. Blanchard and I can figure out a way to go back to Storybrooke. I haven't had a moment of peace with Flynn since he… well, died. "We didn't do anything wrong."
The woman shrugs. "Neither did I."
Why do I find that hard to believe? "Then why are you here?"
"I'm here because of something… my daughter did," she admits slowly, measuring my reaction. "The curse that ravaged this land… she cast it."
Regina!
My mouth drops open. I'm suddenly alarmed. "You're… Cora?" I want to slap myself. I should have an evil-mom-radar by now.
"Yes. But you've nothing to fear from me," she quickly assures me. "The apple fell very far from the tree." What a lying liar! How dare she? Can't she tell by my disgusted expression that I know exactly who she is and what she's capable of? "You're from over there, aren't you? How did you get back?"
"Hannah."
Ms. Blanchard has sitten up. She is looking at Cora like she's the devil. I guess she might as well be.
"Oh, Snow!" says Cora, still sounding pretty agreeable. "You're awake. I'm so relieved!" She makes a move toward us and Ms. Blanchard quickly puts herself between Cora and me. "Oh, sweet Snow, please, believe me. Whatever she told you isn't true. I just want to help you."
That gets my attention. Not because Cora looks especially in the mood to help us, but because we're definitely in the mood to be helped. "How?"
"Hannah." Ms. Blanchard's tone is cold—a warning.
I try to be reasonable. "Look, right now we are at the bottom of a hole with no other options and everyone else is back in Storybrooke… with my mom."
"Your mom?" says Cora, looking from me to Ms. Blanchard.
"Regina," I say. "She raised me. It's kind of a long stor—"
Ms. Blanchard grabs me by the shoulders. "Don't talk to her!" I never saw her like this, so on edge, guard completely on. It's honestly kind of scary.
"Enough!" a strong, male voice shouts from above. The three of us look up just as a piece of rope is being thrown down. "Our leader requests an audience."
He pulls both me and Ms. Blanchard out of the hole and I finally get a good look at where we are. This place is unlike anything I've ever seen. We're in a large clearing surrounded by tall trees and open sky. It makes me think that city landscapes are quite claustrophobic with skyscrapers raising from the ground in every direction you look. Here, the horizon goes on forever—you can't see where it ends.
There are hand-built huts made out of wood and straws separated by a few miles where people stand to watch us go by. Some of them look mildly interested; some look a little spooked. They are dressed in medieval attire—long wool dresses, trousers, leather boots, long capes.
This is fairytale land. The thought almost makes me pass out again.
"You have to start listening to me," Ms. Blanchard whispers as we follow our guide through the campsite. I glance at her. She looks a little mad.
"I—I am," I stammer. "I just wanted some answers."
"I've lived here, Hannah, you haven't. I know this world and its dangers. Do not underestimate Cora." Her tone is so harsh it stings a bit. I'm reminded of Regina and all the times she chastised me and made me feel like a stupid little kid. It upsets me. Ms. Blanchard has always been the one person who never criticized me for anything.
"It's that why you came through the portal? You think I'm helpless here?" I sound like a little brat even to my own ears, but too late, the words are out.
"No." Ms. Blanchard's face softens. "I came through to be with you," she says like that's a completely obvious thing and she can't believe I wouldn't know that.
I immediately feel like a worm. This is our second day as mother and daughter and I'm already picking fights with her. I should be more open to her affection. I should be more open about mine.
I'm considering reaching out and hugging her, when something behind me catches Ms. Blanchard's attentions. "Lancelot?" she asks, sounding delighted.
I spin around just as a bald black dude greets Ms. Blanchard with an ear-to-ear smile. "Snow!"
And it's him she hugs, not me.
"If I'd have known that you were the prisoners Mulan had brought back, I never would've locked you away," Lancelot tells her, holding her hands on a tight grip. "Please, forgive me."
As I watch him speak to Ms. Blanchard, I remember reading about him in the book of stories. He'd been one of King Arthur's most favored knight before he came to the Enchanted Forest and became King George's (David's father) new general. He aided Snow White and Prince Charming after King George's other men hurt Ruth, David's mother and my grandmother. He was, in fact, the one who married Snow White and Prince Charming at Lake Nostos. I can hear his words in my head as if I've been there myself.
In my kingdom, there is legend of a cup that has the power to grant eternal life. And so may the love between you always be strong, true, and eternal.
Ms. Blanchard doesn't hesitate on granting his request. "Of course!" She turns to me. "Hannah, this is an old friend of mine. Lancelot, this is my daughter."
It's the first time I'm introduced as Ms. Blanchard's daughter. Surprisingly, it doesn't sound weird coming out of her mouth. She makes it natural, just right. I like it.
To Lancelot, on the other hand, this is very unexpected news, but before making further inquiry, he leads us to a long, wood table (where there's food! Thank God!) and asks us to make ourselves at home. We sit together, just the three of us, still under the watchful eyes of the other villagers and I direct my attention to the center of the table where a big bowl holds something resembling meat.
"What is that?" I ask, not sure if it's edible.
"That is chimera," Lancelot answers. "An acquired taste, but all our hunting party could bring back." I must still look confuse because he elaborates. "One part lion, one part serpent, one part goat."
I discreetly put down my fork, my appetite gone.
"I don't understand," says Ms. Blanchard, getting us back to business. "We were told this land didn't even exist anymore. How did you all escape the curse?"
"Until this moment, we didn't even know we had. The curse struck and when the smoke cleared, most of us had been torn from this land. That was two days ago," Lancelot tells us, face grave.
"Two days? Then… then time must have frozen here," Ms. Blanchard deducts. "It's been sixteen years for us."
That must be why Lancelot was so surprised to see me—I wonder if he ever even saw Snow White pregnant with me. No… I think the last time he saw her was when he married her.
"I feared as much," he says with a sigh. "It hasn't been easy putting the pieces back together, trying to understand where half of the people have gone to… But fear not. You are safe here. We can figure this out together."
"We can't stay," Ms. Blanchard tells him. "My husband is back there, in the other land. And Hannah's boyfriend. Our friends. We have to get back to them. Can you help us find a portal?"
I look at her with appreciation. She is dead set on getting us back. I knew she would be, but still I'm glad.
Lancelot considers us. "Leaving is unwise," he says, slowly. "The Enchanted Forest is not as you remember it. The ogres have returned."
"But it's been two days!"
"Wait—the ogres?" I say and I'm ashamed that I sound a little hysterical but there you have it. "Like as in fee-fi-fo-fum?"
"Those would be giants," Ms. Blanchard corrects me.
Oh goody. I guess I don't have to worry then.
"Ogres are far worse."
Scratch that.
"It's safe here in this island," says Lancelot. "The ogres can't get here. Please, Snow, you should stay. There are no portals left."
There is a moment of silence in which Ms. Blanchard seems to be measuring her next words.
"I might know of one."
"You do?" Lancelot and I say together.
"Where?" he asks.
Ms. Blanchard shakes her head. "Cora's near. I don't feel comfortable voicing my plans. She's powerful."
"Not anymore. The curse stripped her of her powers. But given her reputation, we've kept her locked up as a precaution."
"Nevertheless, I'm not taking chances. Just trust me. I may have a way." Ms. Blanchard gives him a soft, beseeching look. "Let us go."
It takes Lancelot a half a minute to answer. "I'll allow it. But on one condition… take my bravest warrior with you. Allow Mulan to defend you." He gestures to someone on our left and a young Chinese woman dressed in armor comes toward us. She is very pretty, but the expression on her face isn't very approachable. She looks like she's just swallowed a very sour lemon.
"Deal," says Ms. Blanchard. "Thank you, Lancelot, for always looking out for me."
Mulan calls out to two men and they bring a 70cm length wood-chest to where Ms. Blanchard and I are waiting. They set the thing down with a bang. Mulan pops the lid open. "Choose wisely," she says. "We must be vigilant if we hope to survive the journey."
I peer inside. The chest holds many number of sharp weapons. Ms. Blanchard readily reaches in for a simple bow and a golden quiver with about twenty arrows. Then she chooses a short sword with a belted scabbard that she wraps around her waist. None of that goes well with her pink cardigan.
Both of them look at me expectantly. I swallow. I don't want to carry any of that. It is more likely I'll end up cutting myself and not any enemies. With a sigh, I decide to go for a small dagger that doesn't make me feel so inadequate. That and the lighter still in my back pocket is as armed as I've ever been.
Apparently satisfied, Mulan says, "Follow my lead, step where I step, do exactly as I say, and we might survive." Her tone is as sharp as most of these weapons. I don't much care for it.
"Thanks for the pep talk, but we'll be fine," I tell her.
She doesn't care for my tone either.
"Have you ever seen an ogre?" she asks me. The way she's looking at me says she already knows the answer to that.
"Yesterday I talked a dragon into not killing me." In fact, I can't believe that was just yesterday.
Mulan takes three steps toward me so she can stare right into the depths of my soul. "Legend has it that when an ogre kills you, the last thing you see is yourself dying in the reflection in their eyes."
Surprisingly that does not have the effect she intended to. I want to laugh. Not because what she said is particularly funny, but because of how much she seems to dislike me. It's like a breath of fresh air—someone so independent, with such a strong personality, and so obviously not trapped by a curse that dictates her behavior. I find it beautiful.
"You really don't like me, do you?" I hear myself say. I can feel Ms. Blanchard attentively watching Mulan, like she's ready to step in if things get out of hand.
But Mulan only gives me a dry smile and says, "Let's walk, Princess. It'll be dark soon." And she goes on ahead in her long strides.
Ms. Blanchard falls in pace beside me. "Don't let her rattle you," she says. "I won't let anything happen to us. Stick to the plan."
"What is the plan? You haven't told me anything," I complain. "What's going on?"
"The wardrobe," she whispers.
"The wardrobe?" I repeat. And then it clicks. "Oh, the wardrobe? Like the wardrobe that sent little Odette to Maine?" For some reason, I still think of Odette and me as two different people. "You think it could get us back to Storybrooke?"
"I don't know. First we have to see if it survived the curse, then we'll worry about making it work."
"Where is it?"
Ms. Blanchard hesitates like the answer is painful. "My place," she says. "You wanna see where you're from, Hannah? We're going home."
"This will do," Mulan says after about five hours of endless marching. My legs are numb from walking, my eyes can't stand the green anymore and my throat is dry like I've been eating sand for the last few hours. "We'll make camp here for the night. We just need to find water, collect some firewood."
We're in a clearing, wider than the one in the safe haven. There is nothing but trees for miles and miles. The entire landscape of this place, although beautiful, has began to tire me. After a while, there's nothing you haven't seen. The trees all look the same. The green has been burnt into my eyelids—I see it even with my eyes closed.
"Uh," I grunt in dryness, "if we're hiding from ogres shouldn't we maybe, um, not start a fire?"
"Ogres are blind," Ms. Blanchard tells me and her tone implies that is world-wide knowledge. "They hunt by sound alone."
"Right," I say. "Because that's something everyone would know about ogres."
She gives me an apologetic look. "I know you're out of your element—"
"I'm fine!"
"—maybe you should just stay here while we get wood and water. Guard the campsite."
"You mean the big, empty clearing?"
"It's the safest place," says Ms. Blanchard. "We'll be right back."
With a nod to each other, both her and Mulan walk into the woods. I am left alone with nothing but the green to keep me company. Honestly I don't know what I expected. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks when I come to the realization that I'm the weak link, I'm the useless one in this equation. Here, in this strange land, I'm not a savior—I'm a 21st century princess that needs to be protected.
It is an awful thing to be.
I think about Snow White, who was an actual princess but never once needed someone to have her back. She fought her way through the evil armies of my mother, defeated countless enemies, forged alliances, fought beside her prince… It is still very disconcerting to think she is Ms. Blanchard, elementary teacher, but it does make me feel better.
At least I know she's got this.
I sit comfortably against a tree trunk and within five minutes I'm half asleep in daydreams of my fairytale parents. I realize too late that it's been a mistake to close my eyes. I'm caught extremely out of guard.
I feel the cool blade on my neck before anything else. Then someone's pulling my hair, making my neck more exposed, and a voice whispers in my ear, "Don't move." It's a girl's voice, a little out of breath and definitely very angry. "Philip's gone because of you."
"I… Who?"
She smells sweetly of wildflowers. It overwhelms my nose making me sneeze which almost gets my throat cut.
"Stop that," she says. "I don't know why Lancelot was so nice to you, but you can't fool me. I know you're the reason that monster came after us. You're the reason it's taken Philip."
"I don't know Philip!" I grunt against her blade.
Truth be told, in the back of my mind, the name Philip does mean something. I read about him in the fairy-tale book, how he travelled the land (with Mulan, no less), fighting his way back to the woman he loved—the Princess Aurora. I can, in fact, hear his voice in my mind as real as if I have actually met him.
The worst of it is over. Now that we're together, we'll restore this castle and our kingdom, and as we dreamt, we'll be here always. Fear not. For there are new dangers now, but nothing we can't handle.
That's what he said to her when he woke her from her slumbering.
Next thing I know, the girl is lying on the ground beside me, Ms. Blanchard on top of her. I didn't see her approaching, I didn't hear a thing. I suppose the girl didn't either.
"You think you're the only one who's been separated from the people that you love?" Ms. Blanchard asks her, voice muffled with emotion. "Mulan told me you think what happened to your prince was our fault. You're wrong. It wasn't our idea to send the wraith to this world. So unless you want to pick a fight with me, I suggest you find another way to channel your anger."
Her words send a shiver down my spine—Philip, the wraith… that's not good. It's clear Ms. Blanchard is blaming Regina and I understand why. Regina said the Enchanted Forest no longer existed. She was either wrong (which she so seldom is) or she was lying.
"Enough," Mulan says, pulling Ms. Blanchard from the girl who I assume is Aurora. "Don't talk to her like that."
"She tried to kill my daughter."
"I will deal with her."
It is only when we hear the loud growl that we realize we've been shouting at each other.
"Ogres?" I guess.
"Run!" says Ms. Blanchard taking my hand and half-dragging me into the woods.
The four of us bolt for our lives. Pretty soon Ms. Blanchard has to let go of my hand so we can run properly in this uneven forest ground. She forges on ahead, her feet responding with familiarity while I am left behind trying not to fall on my face.
"Split up!" Mulan shouts and she takes a sharp left. Aurora is right on her heels. I go right after Ms. Blanchard until I do trip on a heavy log and my vision goes blurry as I hit the ground.
As I sit up, it dawns on me that Ms. Blanchard didn't see me fall. She kept on running. And now I'm—
Large footsteps approach. Grunting. Some trees directly behind me are parted to reveal something monstrous. My unmagical brain can hardly process it.
The thing is huge—probably six feet tall or more. It makes a lot of noise due to that. Its skin is a sickly grayish color, its feet the size of a long dining table. Its face is ugly contorted with slits for eyes, toothless mouth and a squashed nose. It is wearing dirty rags and no shoes, and its bald head glistens under the sunlight.
I lie flat on the grass trying to be inconspicuous while at the same time wanting to avoid being stepped on. I wish I could get up and run, but I'm fairly certain my legs have turned to Jell-O. I hold my breath remembering that it can't see me, only hear, and I try to be as quiet as possible although my heart is drumming a death soundtrack for me.
The thing falls to one knee, just a foot from where I am. It bends forward, its giant, misshapen face nearing me, and it takes a deep breath. I feel like my eyes are going to pop out of my skull—it can smell me. It seems like a pretty obvious notion now that I think of it.
When I'm about to pass out, both me and the thing hear a loud whistle to the right. Our heads turn. Ms. Blanchard stands about 4 miles from us, bow in hand. The fierce look on her face is unlike anything I've ever seen. She is Snow White now.
"Step away from my daughter," she booms as she takes an arrow from her quiver and places in her bow. The ogre raises slowly as if mildly interested in this new personage, and when it finally decides to take a step toward Ms. Blanchard she releases her arrow and hits the bullseye—quite literally, she hits the thing in its right eye.
The ogre lets out a horrible shriek that shakes the trees around us. It stumbles backwards and I quickly stand up and back away so it doesn't stomp me. I'm so shocked by everything that has happened I don't know how I find the strength to move. I watch, in horror, as the ogre falls sideways and I keep watching although the thing never moves again.
Ms. Blanchard rushes to my side. "Hannah? Hannah?" She takes my face in her hands and forces me to look at her. It's hard, really, I keep expecting the thing to get up again and eat us alive. "It's okay," Ms. Blanchard assures me. "It's dead. Their weaknesses are their eyes."
"When was the last time you shot an arrow?" My voice sounds a little hysterical.
Ms. Blanchard makes a face, like she's trying not to laugh. She considers my question. "Sixteen years ago. I guess it's like riding a bike." She lets go of me, apparently convinced I'm fine (I'm not—still pretty shocked here), and goes retrieve her arrow from the ogre's right eye. "We should go," she says. "Come on. Mulan will be looking for us."
Slowly blood starts flowing down my legs again. I follow her.
We keep heading north. We have to walk on a line now because the forest has grown thicker and thicker. Mulan leads the way with Ms. Blanchard on her heels. Then there's me and Aurora trailing behind. She hasn't said much after she tried to kill me and Ms. Blanchard threatened her. I guess we're pretending that didn't happen. Still, I feel a little guilty about her prince. If the wraith took him (or his soul) I am partially responsible, regardless of what Ms. Blanchard said. Because I was the one who insisted on saving Regina. I have always been the one who falls for her lies.
"Aurora, you've gotta keep up." Mulan's tone of voice is contained, patient, like she's talking to a small child. I wonder if she likes Aurora—I thought she did by the way she defended her before, but now I can't be sure. I wonder if she likes anybody.
"Sorry, but I'm not exactly dressed for the woods," the young Princess replies. She is right, of course. She's wearing a fancy long lavender gown, a shawl and a delicate flower crown on her head. I wouldn't be surprised to find out she's wearing high heels under that. And if I'm having trouble keeping up in jeans and sneakers, Aurora has very good reason to keep falling behind.
"Then maybe you should've listened to me and stayed back," is Mulan's sharp answer.
None of us says anything after that, until it's way after dark and we have reached the edge of the woods. Mulan is holding a lit torch ahead and Ms. Blanchard points north. "We're here," she says. "That's our home."
The trees make way to a breathtaking sight. Out in the ocean, connected to land only by a large wooden bridge is the castle of every little girl's dreams—or better saying was—now it's in ruins. I look at Ms. Blanchard whose eyes are fixed in her old home and I can, somehow, easily picture her there.
With a deep breath, fighting away tears, Ms. Blanchard guides us the rest of the way. I feel awfully inadequate. The small voice in my head keeps reminding me she is my mother and maybe I should try to make her feel better. Maybe I should reach out, take her hand. But I feel awkward about it. Still feels like it isn't my place. I find myself wishing David was here. He would know what to do.
The inside of the castle is even more impressive with high walls and large windows. But it's a mess in here. There are broken chandeliers in almost every room. Furniture has been thrown around. Curtains have been torn to shreds. Family heirlooms have been smashed into pieces. There's a faint smell in the air—mold and ocean water.
Ms. Blanchard doesn't linger in anywhere in particular—in fact, she seems to be doing her best to ignore everything around her. The memories must be painful, I realize, and again I wonder if I should be the one to comfort her when I still am the daughter of the one who did this to her, who gave her this pain.
She guides us to the nursery. I don't really understand what it means until I'm actually in here. The room is dark and damp, but I can see it wasn't always like this. There are toys and delicate ornaments broken in the dirty floor. A crib lies sideways to one corner. From the ceiling hangs a dozen of little glass swans.
This is little Odette's bedroom. This is my bedroom.
I'm not ready for how that makes me feel. I feel robbed. I feel like all of this was taken from me. Life was taken from me.
My eyes fall on the wardrobe near the window seat. It is made from a magical oak tree. The intricate design on the doors are familiar to me. "It looks just like the one in the book," I say, heading straight for it. I decide to do exactly like Ms. Blanchard's and I try to ignore all these old belongings that should've been mine. I focus on the task at hand.
"Aurora," Mulan calls, "come with me. We'll stay watch at the gate." I don't look back, but I can sense them leaving the room. Ms. Blanchard has gone to where the crib lies.
"I never thought I'd see this place again," she mutters. Against my will, I spin around. She has a stuffed giraffe in her hand, old and damp. "This room. Your nursery. You never even got to spend a night."
I feel a tight clutch in my chest, but I can't cry here. If I do… well, I'm pretty sure she's going to cry too and then what are we going to do?
She glances up at the glass swans, a dreamy look in her face. "Odette," she says and for a second I wonder if she's just decided to call me that to see if I'll answer. "It means 'white swan'. When our people heard that was to be your name, they started calling you 'the swan princess'. There were banners welcoming you to the world. For a while everyone was so excited, they even forgot the curse was coming to destroy everything they held dear."
The Swan Princess. I can't help but smile at that. There are worst monikers. Much, much worse. I, Hannah, have never felt anything like a swan, but maybe Odette would've. Maybe I'm the ugly duckling to her beautiful swan.
Ms. Blanchard turns her back at me, eyes following the thorn wallpaper. "This is the life I wanted you to have. I was going to teach you how to walk in here, how to talk, how to dress for your first ball. David would teach you how to dance." She let out a bitter laugh. "We never got to do any of it. We never got to be a family."
I don't know what to say to that. I'm sorry my mother did this to you? To me? To us? I'm sorry your worst enemy got to do all of these things you long for? That she taught me to walk, talk, eat and kick men in the crotch?
"We can now," is my lame-ass answer. "We just need to get back to Storybrooke first. So how do we get this to work?" I gesture to the wardrobe hoping Ms. Blanchard will stop staring at the giraffe in her hands.
Indeed she does. She puts the giraffe down and comes toward me. She opens the wardrobe doors revealing absolutely nothing. Not even an on switch.
"We'll have to get it back to the island," she tells me. "Hopefully someone there has access to enough magic to make it work again."
"How are we gonna carry this thing?"
Before Ms. Blanchard can answer, a booming voice from behind us says, "With the help of an old friend."
"Lancelot!" Ms. Blanchard exclaims, glancing at the door. "What are you doing here?"
"We heard about the ogre attack and I had to make sure you were alright," he says coming inside the room. He's wearing full body armor now. He left hand rests on the hilt of his longsword.
"Oh. Where are Mulan and Aurora?"
"I sent them to find food. Tonight we'll make camp and in the morning we'll head back." His eyes fall on the wardrobe. "So… this is it… the portal you were after."
"The same one Hannah went through. It's how she escaped the curse."
"Remarkable." There is a strange glimmer in his eyes as he examines the wardrobe from top to bottom. It looks almost like… hunger.
"Only…" Ms. Blanchard sighs, "there's no magic left."
"A portal this powerful," Lancelot scoffs, "there must be another way to recharge it."
Ms. Blanchard frowns. She turns to her friend watching him warily. "Why are you so interested in the wardrobe?" her voice is calm and collected, but I identify something underneath it—doubt.
Lancelot makes a face like he thinks her question is out of place. "Well, I just want to get you home to your husband, your boyfriend," he says to me, "and your other mother. They must miss you."
Ms. Blanchard looks at me, too, for the briefest of seconds and then she unsheathes her sword in one swift motion. She points it threateningly at Lancelot with her right hand, at the same time pushing me away with her left one. "Stay away from him, Hannah," she warns me. "He is not who he says he is. There is only one person you told about Regina."
The name comes to me like in a nightmare—Cora.
