Hey darlings.
While I am still very excited to write this story; and I am still writing, I promise; I'll have to delay posting for a bit.
I just got surgery on my stomach yesterday, and while I am very well and recovering nicely, it is very tiring, and I don't see myself being able to write for long periods of time just yet.
I'll have to stop updating, unlike I'd planned, for at least a month-but I will be using that time to finish this story. It's just about finished-it's outlined and planned, it just needs writing.
I hope you guys all understand, and I hope you'll all stick with me.
I'm sorry I have to do this, but my health has to come first.
Here's a quick sneak peek though, to tie you over until I can start updating again.
Love,
Annaelle.
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Emma can feel the exact moment Leia's heart stops beating. It's a heart wrenching, unerring realization, but she knows—she knows the very instant she can feel the clear, impenetrable shield Leia has conjured shatter beneath her bruised palms—she knows when she watches her daughter's body drop like a puppet whose strings were cut.
She knows when her knees nearly buckle as the pressure that is holding her upright suddenly disappears.
She knows when she hears Killian's agonized cry as he reaches their daughter's now lifeless body.
She nearly chokes on the silent tears that run down her cheeks as she drops to her knees next to Killian, her fingers trembling as she reaches to wipe away the thin line of blood that trickles from the corner of Leia's mouth.
It hits her then, how even in death, her daughter is almost unfairly beautiful—even with her eyes glazed over, the colour frozen halfway between green and blue, her skin unearthly pale and her limbs spread out in unnatural angles.
And it seems so wrong.
So incredibly, horrifyingly wrong.
How is it possible that Leia, who was young and beautiful and strong and good, had to die to bring some semblance of HappHHEJDN H
Happy Endings back to them?
She barely registers Killian repeatedly pressing his lips all over Leia's face, begging her to wake up, to come back to them—it doesn't occur until much later that he's attempting to wake their daughter with another True Love's Kiss. When it does finally occur to her, she cannot even muster up the energy to feel annoyed with him—why would she?
He truly loves their daughter, even after only knowing of her existence for mere weeks.
It has worked before.
At least he has the faith to try again—he has faith in his love for their child.
She wishes she would have had that kind of faith.
She wishes she could say the same—perhaps if she'd had that kind of faith in her love for Leia, Leia would never have felt the need to travel back in time and fix things. Leia wouldn't have sacrificed her own life and Happy Ending for Emma's.
Emma doesn't know how long she and Killian sit on the cold, wet grass, cradling their daughter in their arms, before her parents reach them.
It could have been hours, even days—she doesn't know.
She doesn't care.
Leia is dead.
"Emma. Killian." Her father's voice is soft and gentle, as is his hand when he lays it on her shoulder, but it is also a sharp stab to her heart, to remind her of a reality she doesn't want to know.
A reality so grave and horrible it has cost her daughter her life.