It's a foggy day on his funeral. It's as if the sky veils herself in mourning, the way Emma does. She looks down at her lap, her blonde hair falling in front of her face. She's wrapped herself in all black: coat, scarf, and pants. Mary Margaret stands next to her, tears falling freely. The smell of rain tints the air.
Regina stands the closest to his grave, giving the eulogy for him. He clenches his fists and wonders if she truly means the words she's saying.
He walks over to Emma, grateful that no one notices the fog drifting in the wake of his footsteps. He's right in front of her, so close that he could lean his forehead against hers. But he doesn't. Instead, he places his hands on her shoulders. To steady her. He hears her whisper his name between the tears she silently sheds.