/|\ Paradise /|\
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Several days pass, and Emma remains in her depressed state of mind.
She's laying on her bed next to her trunk, dresses spread haphazardly around her when her mother enters the room.
"Emma?" She says softly. Emma grunts in reply.
"Oh sweetheart," Snow sighs, sitting next to her daughter and stroking her hair. "You let him behind those walls of yours, didn't you?"
The princess lifts her head out of the crook of her elbow, stray blonde strands of hair sticking to her face. "What are you talking about?"
Her mother continues to soothingly stroke her hair, and Emma feels herself relax under the touch. "You've had that wall... for a long time, Emma. Ever since I could remember..."
Emma is struck with such an acute sense of déjà vu that she finds herself fighting the urge to hyperventilate. It takes her several moments for her to realize that her mother is still talking. Quickly, she tries to tune back into it.
"...it may keep out pain, but it also will keep out love."
Emma fumbles on her bed, twisting around in her dress as she tries to sit up, her hazel eyes meeting the identical ones of her mother, her chest heaving slightly. "You've said this to me before."
Snow's eyes widen, her face losing her usual rosy blush. "What?"
Emma gazes at her mother, blinking rapidly, her vision flickering. One second, her mother is in front of her, with her long black hair and elaborate gown, and then there is another image of her. While this vision is the same woman, their hair was drastically different – the second flash has short cropped hair, with delicate strange clothing.
A choked sob threatens to escape from her throat. "I'm going insane," Emma whispers, her eyes filling with tears. It feels like a load if off of her shoulders and chest, and now she feels so unbearably light that she begins to shake.
"Emma," Her mother reaches out and pulls her daughter closer to her, resting her head in the crook of her own neck, her other hand rubbing her back in slow circles. "Tell me what you need."
"There's something wrong with me," Emma gasps out, frantic to take in air and ignoring her mother's inquiry. "I see things, I see things that I can't even comprehend. I see a world that shouldn't exist – doesn't exist!"
Her mother is very still, and Emma continues to babble to hide her full-fledged panic attack. "I – I hear things. Flashes of these phrases that I have never h-heard, but they're so familiar that I actually think I've lived it before. It's like these visions are my home, not this place, not this castle that has turned into my prison. I want to go to this place, to this world, where we are older and is so strange but welcoming all at once."
"We?" Snow questions, her face and tone carefully schooled to show calm. "Emma, who is we?"
Emma freezes, and then she just whispers, "The Huntsman."
There is a tense moment of silence, silence so utterly complete that her ears begin to ring, muffling everything around her. Panic clutches at her insides, and Emma suddenly wonders if she has said too much. But she opens her stupid mouth again and says more. "I know him, Mom. I've always known him."
The mattress creaks underneath them as Snow shifts her position carefully, her hand still stroking her daughter's blonde locks. "And how do you know him, Emma?"
Her response is a muffled whisper. "I don't know."
"Yes you do know, Emma," Snow says quietly as she rubs her hand in circles on Emma's back. "Just think about it."
All that she wants to say is at the tip of her tongue, constantly mocking her. She doesn't know, she doesn't know where she knows the Huntsman, and all she wants is answers.
"I don't," Emma admits, her chest shaking with barely concealed sobs. "I don't – don't. Know. I don't know."
Pup looks up at the sound of Emma's cries, her ears pricked upright as she observes the scene in front of her.
The two stare at each other for a while, the room growing quieter and quieter by the passing second. Emma rakes through her brain, over analyzing every memory and every flash she had experienced of this other world, and Emma opens her mouth to say something –
A high pitched shriek can be heard echoing around the castle. Scuffling sounds, the obvious signs of a struggle make Emma sit up, her mother already standing to her feet. Pup pulls herself up as well, her teeth bared and a menacing snarl escaping her jowls.
The scream sounds again, and everyone is frantically pushing open the door. The stone corridor is lit up by the sunshine, but even the sun couldn't hide the horrors that await them, the rays reflecting off of the crimson, staining the hall in a dark reddish color.
The red is everywhere. Blood.
The patrolling guards lie at her feet, their armor slashed open, their life blood dripping and staining the stone floor. Emma barely has any time to process what is in front of her when her mother begins to herd her back into her bedroom.
Snow is babbling. "Stay here Emma, I'll go get guards and get your father, you'll be fine. Everything is fine."
Emma barely pays attention as she cranes her head to look over her mother's shoulder, and she lets out a cry at the sight of another bleeding body propped up against the wall.
"Delly!"
She pushes past her mother and she comes to a skidding halt next to her handmaiden, her knees scraping against the harsh stone. She ignores the stinging of her new cuts. "Delly, please open your eyes, look at me!" Emma turns her head back to see behind her, to call for help or just something, only to find her mother disappearing down the hall and around a corner. Good, she thinks. She's going to get a healer or guards or her maybe even her father. Everything is okay.
Everything will be okay.
Delly's brown eyes appear from beneath her eyelids. Emma gives a shaky grin, tears rolling down her red cheeks. "What happened, Delly?"
Delly groans and she spits up some red blood; it drips down to her chin. Emma barely hides her cringe.
"Rebels," Delly gasps, her fingers ghosting over the stab wound on her stomach almost absentmindedly. "They're h – here."
"Shh, it's okay," Emma soothes, fighting down the panic that seems to be clawing up her throat against her will. She shifts her position so she is able to pull Delly into her lap. She grunts a little bit, but she rests her forehead on top of Delly's brown hair. (She ignores the way blood soaks into her own clothes and stains her skin with the bright red that makes her flashback to when she was almost killed as a child.) "You'll be okay, I'm here."
Delly coughs, a bubble of blood escaping her lips. Emma wants to dry heave at the sound of the sickening gurgle.
"Run, Your Highness," Delly murmurs, her voice growing fainter and fainter. Her breathing stops.
"No," Emma says, her face and voice blank and devoid of any emotion. "No no no no. No no. No. Delly!"
Pup lets out a whine next to her as she continues to shake Delly's motionless form. "Delly, come on get up. Please."
She isn't sure how long she sits there, but finally the crashing and the echoes of swords against swords rouses her from her stupor. Emma blinks, her eyes stinging, but she realizes that smoke is billowing into the hallway.
Coughing, Emma gently puts down the body of Delly, a mantra of a constant string of I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry filling her head. The guilt is like poison, it seeps into her deeply and grabs a hold of her stomach. She grabs the wall for support and pulls herself to her feet; she thinks she might vomit. There is a brief moment of vertigo but she leans against the wall and continues down the hall, Pup keeping pace next to her. Both of them pant.
She's shaking slightly, from shock or adrenaline she isn't sure, but suddenly a body crashes into her and she loses her ability to breathe. Masculine arms reach out to steady her, and Emma squints her eyes to see who it is.
"Pinocchio?" She says, her voice incredulous. "What's happening?"
"We gotta get out of here," He ignores her, pulling her down another long hallway. Emma hears more cries from downstairs, in the main hall – where she was only hours earlier.
They're storming the castle! Emma screams internally, but keeps her mouth shut. She can't open her mouth, the smoke is billowing up around her like a heavy fog, itching her throat and irritating her nose.
Pinocchio pulls her along quickly, their feet pounding against the floor as they whip past corners, taking multiple short cuts. He keeps muttering to himself as they storm down a winding staircase, coming closer and closer to the action and the fighting. Pinocchio keeps hissing to himself under his breath, and Emma tries to tug her hand out of his grip, but he doesn't let go and only moves faster.
Her lungs begin to ache as she coughs, her palm cupping over her mouth to keep all the smoke out. Pinocchio coughs too, but he doesn't pause. In fact, he quickens his pace, his strides progressively growing longer and longer then her own.
Emma tugs at his hand, the heels of her feet dragging across the floor. "Stop, I got to go find my parents!" He does not listen, instead he throws her an exasperated look over his shoulder. "Gods, Pinocchio, stop!"
More screaming resounds around the castle, echoing off of the walls. Emma's cold hands begin to sweat. Pup ran in circles around the two, as if she is trying to herd them to safety, her teeth baring at the smoke and any unseen enemy.
She isn't sure how long they run, it could be minutes it could be hours, but finally they reach the dungeon. Pinocchio thrusts her into the wooden door, pushing past the empty and cold metal cells until they reach the last one. The floor is covered in hay and straw, with one measly barred window too high up to look through.
"Throwing me in jail won't protect me," Emma hisses venomously, her fingernails digging into her palm, resisting the urge to start punching him.
Pinocchio closes the cell door with a loud clang; she's trapped while he is calmly watching her from the outside, locking the door. Emma launches up to the bars, clinging onto the cool and rusty metal as she fixes her steady glare at Pinocchio. "What the hell are you doing?" she growls, her knuckles turning white.
"Underneath the hay in the left hand corner of your cell is a trap door," He begins slowly, emphasizing his words.
"You think you can just leave me in here to – I … what?"
Pinocchio grabs one of her hands that is clutching the bar, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Follow the tunnel. You'll turn up by the stables. Get a horse, the fastest one that is there. Steal it. The gray dappled horse you have now is too recognizable."
"Pinocchio...?" Emma breathes out, her eyes widening as she notices the tears beginning to form in his eyes.
His blue eyes appraise hers for a second, searching them. Emma's mouth opens slightly, her eyebrows wrinkling as she shoots him a confused and heartbroken look, blinking back her own tears. From behind her, Pup begins scratching at the corner where the supposed trap door is, digging through the hay with her paws.
"We can get the rest of the castle out through the door, Pinocchio, come on," Emma pleads, shaking the cell doors fruitlessly.
A large crash can be heard from upstairs. Emma's breathing speeds up; so does Pup's digging. She barely hides her chocked back sob.
Pinocchio is looking behind him, down the hallway of cells to the winding staircase. She reaches through the bars to grab Pinocchio and pull him in for an awkward hug, the coldness of the bars burning into their warm skin and separating them. She starts trembling when they pull away, the crashing noises growing increasingly louder.
Emma turns away and scuffles to her wolf sister, helping her pull away the crinkly pieces of straw, ignoring the scratches she gets from the rough stone floor and when Pup's claws accidentally scrape her. She can still sense Pinocchio just standing there, shuffling his feet.
"Emma," he says, and she turns around to look at him, her blonde curls sticking to the small drops of sweat on her face. "Two more things."
She turns back to her digging. "Shoot."
Pinocchio rummages around in his pocket and pulls out a small leather bag and tosses it towards her. It skids for a bit before hitting her feet. She picks it up carefully, feeling the gold clanking against each other. "Buy food and a bow with that."
Emma puts it into the pocket of her cloak and nods silently. Her fingernails scrape the ground, which she finds is wooden instead of the cold stone of the floor. A small smile crosses her face when she pulls open the trap door. Air rushes up at her, surprisingly cool, but it is a blessed relief when she lets out a sigh, the sweat evaporating on her skin. Pup jumps down into the darkness, and Emma eases herself around to give one last look at Pinocchio.
"Last one," He says, his voice cracking. "Your mom and dad told me – before I got you – to tell you to find someone."
Emma inches her way down into the hidden cave-like tunnel. She finally reaches the bottom, already covered in cobwebs. She rests her head on the stone floor of the cell and looks at Pinocchio with questioning eyes, waiting for him to continue with one eyebrow raised.
Pinocchio's face is blank of any expression. "You have to find Graham."
Emma's heart constricts, but she doesn't know why.
"Who?"
Pinocchio just stares back at her. "I don't know who he is. King James and Queen Snow said he'll protect you."
Emma's hand searches for the wooden door, preparing to close it again. Her heart races faster, her vision swimming slightly as she turns to look at her childhood best friend's face – perhaps for the last time.
"I'll try." She finally whispers back.
"I know," he says quietly. He stares at her for a minute, both of them blinking rather comically at each other, before he turns around on his heels and sprints down the hallway and up the stairs, gone from her view.
Emma lets out a weary breath and slowly closes the creaking wooden trap door above her with a loud bang.
She is instantly surrounded by darkness, her eyes not used to the shadows. She feels the shudders of the castle above her, creaking and moaning in protest on its old wooden foundations. Pup nudges her shoulder with her cold nose to spur her forward. Emma waits for her eyes to adjust to the blackness before she begins to feel around the hole.
There isn't much room, she finds, and eventually she is crawling on her stomach, using her elbows to pull herself forward. The ground is damp and cold, with the occasional squeak of a mouse (or a rat, she shudders to herself) and the rustle of a large insect she hopes will remain anonymous and will never cross her path.
"Okay, Pup," she says to herself, trying to motivate herself to move forward. Her elbows and knees ached from the scraping of the hard ground. "Have to keep going. Have to get out of here."
Pup makes a grunting noise of acknowledgment, her head ducking to avoid hitting it on the low rough ceiling.
She isn't sure how long she crawls through the secret passageway, but eventually it grows lighter and lighter, the musky air being replaced by a light fresh breeze. She quickens her pace, her elbows stinging and dripping blood down her arms and around her fingers from the harsh rocks.
Emma gasps for breath as she suddenly stops, a sharp rock cutting into the center of her palm, a long streak of red marring across the otherwise smooth hand. She grits her teeth as the blood wells up and makes a sickening sloshing noise when she makes a fist. Pup makes a whining noise, the high-pitched sound shaking Emma out of her momentary pause, and she pulls herself forward once more.
Horse, she thinks to herself. I have to get a horse, food, and get a bow. Then find Graham – it's my heart I need to find it – even though she doesn't know exactly who this Graham is. It isn't much of a plan, but it is all she has right now.
The earth beneath her turns soggy as she gets closer to the real word. As she gets closer to the opening, her senses are immediately assaulted by the strong scent of hay and horses. She stops shuffling forward at the mouth of tunnel. Pinocchio is right, she muses to herself as she inches forward, her eyes flickering around the open to take in her surroundings.
Seeing nothing, she pulls herself out, holding back a grunt of pain when her cut hand digs into the dirt and begins to sting even worse than before. Pup grumbles behind her as she maneuvers out of the hole as well.
The exit of the secret passage comes out beneath the roots of a large oak tree, at least a hundred years old. Emma leans against the trunk for support, shivering slightly from the cold. She hears commotion behind her, in the direction she knew the castle is in, but she doesn't turn around. In fact she sprints forward towards the stables. She ignores the way stones press up against her shoeless feet, sticking to her soles and digging further into her skin with every step she takes. She hadn't had time to get shoes before fleeing the castle.
She doesn't slow down when she reaches the large wooden structure, instead she barrels through the door and continues sprinting down the stalls. Eventually, she skids to a halt in the middle of the stables, panting.
"Hello?" She calls out, turning around in circles to look around her. "Anyone here?"
The only response is from one of the mares snorting in her stall. She isn't sure if she should be upset or glad that no one is in the stables. Shrugging it off, Emma sprints all the way down to the last row, where the wilder horses are. She passes her usual gray mare, the one she has ridden for years. The dappled horse would give her away – there aren't many gray horses in this area, and she was afraid of attracting too much attention to herself.
She considers taking her mother's horse, a friendly brown mare who is very easy going, but she ultimately decides against it when she reaches the section of the stables that held the war horses. Pup sniffs the ground idly, taking in the scents of the barn.
Emma looks at the war horses; all six of them looks back at her steadily, unblinkingly. They're a variety of colors, as well as huge, but they all had one common love: running. These horses were bred to run, run into the thicket of battle with no fear. Yes, she decides, she'll take one of these horses.
Most of the horses are a mottled brown color, but she stops in front of the stall with the buckskin horse. It is a lovely yellow color, with some black on her legs and on her ears. There is a small spot of white on her muzzle. Emma takes a quick look at the name tag that is carved into the wood of the stall door: Beetle. Perhaps it is a strange name for a war horse, but she smiles at the kind blue eyes regardless. She pulls her riding cloak closer to herself as she slips open the door. The horse – Beetle – automatically begins to look excited as she trots out. The horse is easily taller than her father. It takes several moments for her to secure the saddle properly, and when she finally does finish her task, the horse is pacing and fidgeting, ready to start a journey.
Emma closes the stall doors, hopefully so no one would notice this specific missing horse. It is a futile effort, but anything to buy time will be helpful for her. It takes a second to climb on top of Beetle, but when she does, the horse whinnies at her. Emma pats her neck and looks down at Pup. Her wolf sister blinks back up at her, her ears pricking up for any approaching sounds.
Emma holds the reigns to Beetle, steering her in a circle before facing the entrance of the stable. Nervously, she shifts her position on top of the horse and slides her bare feet more securely into the stirrups. She clicks her tongue against her teeth and dug her feet into the horses side.
Beetle rears back onto her two back legs, letting out a loud whinny, before bursting forward and into a fast canter. Emma lets out a startled gasp at the speed, while Pup barks and quickly follows after her.
The stable whips by in a flash of indistinguishable colors. The force of the wind pulls back her hood, exposing her long blonde curls. They exit the stable in barely any time at all and are winding down the only path that brings her to the mainland. The path leads to the closest town in the kingdom to the castle.
It takes several seconds for Emma to realize that everything is bathed in an eery orange flickering light. Beetle doesn't stop though, she continues at a fast-paced canter, going deeper and deeper into the woods. Finally, Emma turns around to look back at her home, and what she sees stops her heart.
The castle is burning.
Her entire body begins to tremble, and she is seriously tempted to stop Beetle and go right back home. The castle eventually disappears from view, covered by heavy layers of branches and leaves. The rhythmic pounding of hooves against the forest floor calms her, the fallen autumn leaves crunching undertow. I want to go home, she thinks to herself, ignoring the stinging of her tears dripping down her face.
I have no home. Not anymore.
She thinks of Pinocchio, of Delly, of her mother and her father and the knights and the handmaidens all living in the castle, all inside the burning inferno that is (or was) her home – oh gods, what if they're all dead oh gods – and she lets out a sob; the cry is masked by the loud hoof beats and crackling leaves.
She thinks of her tasks he had given her before she crawled out to safety. She thinks about the only things she has right now: the clothes on her back, Pup, and Beetle. While it is little, all of them are extremely valuable to her. She will fight with tooth and nail to keep them together.
She leans forward so her head is next to Beetle's neck, half standing in the saddle to urge the horse faster. Pup barks from her position ext to the cantering horse, enjoying the run. The cool wind whips across her face, chilling the tear tracts that slowly drip down her cheeks. She ignores the cold sting and spurs the horse onwards.
She doesn't turn back.
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I know I know! I haven't been here in a long time and this chapter was delayed... and I am terribly sorry for that. But I gave you a long chapter this time, over 4,000 words! Hopefully that makes up for my absence.
I am overwhelmed with your response to this story guys, seriously, I love all of my reviewers very much. And I have so many future ideas for this story and I'm so excited to introduce them to you guys. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Here's a preview of the next one:
"The castle is on fire. The thick smoke spreads up into the sky, the blackness contrasting with the orange and pink colors of the sunset.
He stares for a second, disbelief plastering across his face, and his vision flashes a deep red color, almost like the color of blood. He feels his body fail under him, like his legs are unable to support his own weight, and he desperately clings to the branch for some sort of balance.
Emma."
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