Day two.

Mid-day.

We are unable to focus, Swan and I. Sleep deprivation and the terrible gut feeling one gets when told that their children are either being exploited or killed has surely been enough to feed our adrenalin, though. Wonderful thing, that adrenalin! I was explained recently by David how all that brain chemistry works. Marvels I never knew and never would have known had I not joined this odd royal family.

I miss my children. Terribly, I do. And I sometimes feel like breaking down as we head towards the mountain that holds our children and countless other infants captive. I am not looking forward to what Travis Bailey has described as "heaps of children's bones". Even I, being an infamous pirate, would never have dared harm an infant, and having my own makes this notion especially appalling. I am sure even The Crocodile feels apprehensive of the sight, especially in light of the fact that he too is the father of a wee lass.

I do not want to tell Swan what I fear… I do not wish to burden her with more than what she already carries. But I can't help but wonder about whether or not our little Liz is still among the living. It aches in places I can't even begin to describe, but it is an unavoidable thought that keeps rolling back into my mind. I can't allow her to fall into that thought, or we're both lost.

The temperature here is cold, as cold as Storybrooke. It aches me to think of Henry and the babes in that place. If it kills me trying, I WILL retrieve my children and as many infants I can from this hideous setting and I pray Swan has the strength to fend off this villain. I've yet to see her fail.

Day two.

Thirteen hundred hours and seventeen minutes.

We've reached the foot of the mountain. Swan looked especially beat. I would offer to carry her on my back but I know I'd most likely get scoffed for even considering that as an option. Our guide, sailor Bailey, has given us all a sample of this realm's magic: A plant. The juice of that fruit is some sort of power booster.

I will save mine for later purpose; I still have my strength. Swan, however, she's fairly tired. There's something about this realm that doesn't quite suit wizards, it seems; Regina and the Crocodile don't look their best either.

Maybe this fruit thing will help Emma. For the moment, it would be a good idea if we rested a while.

Day two.

Fourteen hundred hours and eight minutes.

I wish I didn't have to see this.

Bailey was right; heaps of bones, all pertaining to wee children, scattered at what looks like a vent, all sizes imaginable. The sight alone is demoralizing emotionally, and I must confess I used the excuse of relieving myself to weep. I could not let Emma see me do so; she is shaken, I know her enough to see that, but she has her mind set on recovering our little ones and the last thing Swan needs is for me, of all people, to falter.

We are at the main gate and having to walk on top of such a dreadfully sinister open-air catacomb is heart-wrenching, to say the least. There is a bright side: there are no fresh carcasses.

We've reached a gorge and at the top, what looks like a shaft, large enough for a single adult. We have decided to enter one buy one and one after the other. Rumplestiltskin has volunteered to be the first, insisting Belle be in the middle. So I followed the crocodile, with Regina behind me, then Swan, then Belle, then Snow, and David at the very end, to watch over our backs.

I shall not write any further until I have something to write about, whether it be this very same fateful day, tomorrow, or ever again. Our fates are in the hands of a former sailor and my Swan.

I pray all will be well and that we may all emerge victorious from this nightmare.

Come to think of it… where the bloody hell is Bailey?

Day three.

Oh-one hundred hours.

Emma Swan-Jones reporting or checking in or whatever this thing requires.

So, Killian has asked me to fill in his log for him. He can't do it himself now. I can't even imagine how he's managed to keep it up all this time, carrying this tiny notepad in his satchel. He's wounded… pretty badly too.

My life is starting to crumble down between my fingers and there's not a fucking thing for me to do about it. My children are all still missing, my husband is lying unconscious in a prison cell, and all of us who had power were suckered by some guy who apparently ripped us all off by pretending to be a crewmember of Hook's. Those damn berries were enough to diminish whatever magic we all had. So here we sit, in a dungeon, in the dark, with me barely able to write and my husband's head leaning on my lap.

I won't be surprised if he dies. They all die, anyway: Graham, Neal… But still, he's breathing. If only I had me one ounce of my power left, I might be able to heal that gash across his side and his chest…

The worst part of it all is the screaming. I can hear the children in the mines. It's like Indiana Jones' Temple of Doom, only real. And worse.

This is not the time for me to moan, but god, I miss my babies. All of them. I miss Henry and his constant whining about sex and girls and awkward teenage crap that seemed so pointless back in Storybrooke. I miss Liam's attempts at talking and how he laughs when Killian baby-talks him. I miss my baby girl and her cooing and her smell, and I am on the brink of completely falling apart, now that the father of my children is down and out for the count.

Still… we are all still alive.

I have not yet lost hope; and I don't care how many times Killian insists that I leave him here and go find out children… NOBODY will stay behind. Either we all leave, or we all die. That's final.

He's stirring. Asking for water. My heart is broken, I have none to give.

If tears were of any good to quench his thirst…

I do remember the guy there telling us about magical creatures… fairies. Perhaps if we could contact a good fairy from this realm… we will see. For now, I just hope Killian doesn't get any worse. The bleeding has stopped at least. I hate blood, I've never been able to handle it… but somehow, being his blood, I did.

I have plenty of time later to deal with my traumas with Dr. Hopper. WE WILL get out of here. WE WILL find our children, my brother, Belle's kid and any other child that needs to go home to his or her parents. I can feel henry's faith in me; he would never falter. I've read some of Killian's entries and I can't blame him. Maybe this time it's my turn to be strong for him and for me o be at his side.

So here's to victory… and whatever color it may be. As my Pirate stated, our fates are all in my hands now. I'm the friggin' savior, I won't go home empty-handed. I can feel my children are alive, and I will not leave until this son of a bitch wizard's butt is smashed into the ground.

Day four.

Oh-four hundred hours and forty-five minutes.

We came, we saw, we kicked your ass, you son of a bitch!

As it turns out, there was another savior in the midst. Why didn't it occur to me before? Gold had said it: He is the son of the Savior and the grandchild of Rumplestiltskin: Henry. Henry is our hero of the day!

The battle went down like this:

We spent the night in the cell, dampness and dark. I kind of… well, prayed for a fairy or for some light of any sort, until I fell asleep. Killian was feverish and I think I was probably the only one there (aside from my mom who's pathologically optimistic, ALL of the time) who still had hope.

I'd forgotten that henry had already learned to surf his way through dreams… and being in the same realm, he easily found me in the darkness of my mind. He told me he was well, but that he was hiding; and that soon he'd set us all free.

Seems the evil, baby-killing wizard wields a mean pipe. He can actually shape-shift. He supposedly hunts for baby girls for him to sustain his youth and vigor. (Ever heard of Botox, bitch?)

I'm getting sick and tired of these fiendish assholes, coming into our lives with an attitude. There was Zelena, then the White Witch, now this jackass.

Still, not six hours later, Henry did show up at our cell.

I have never in my life been so happy to see anyone.

(Just a note: I wish I had Killian's eloquence to write this, so baby, if you read this after we get home, please don't get too judgmental of my lame-ass English, not all of us can speak in poetry. Thank you.)

So, Henry let us out and told us that the purpose behind the cell we were in was to deprive us all of our hope. It apparently had a spell. And it was starting to work. But seeing him again suddenly made (literally) all the torches light up and we were able to see where we were walking. My dad had Killian slumped over his shoulder and I really, really hate that he's in so much pain and sick and… anyway, we found them, all the children.

Having regained my hope and the faith in myself, I saw this wicked shitbag from hell come towards us. A little light magic with that can of whoop-ass, you jerk? (Reminder: Thank Regina later. She's making GREAT progress as a white witch. Henry's been a good influence on her, definitely).

It wasn't easy; the guy had minions of all sizes, and I don't mean the cute, funny, yellow little whatchamacallits from the movies. I'm talking flying shit here that would put Selena's monkey's to shame: Badass minions. Killian stood straight and (I've never loved him more) managed to find at least enough strength to fight off some of those, as he calls tem, 'monstrosities'.

So while the A team that I call my family was fending the beasties, I dealt with The Pied Piper. He was tough; not kidding. I think those bumps on my back will definitely bring about some nasty bruises. That flute of his was kind of like Selena's green cameo: It was a tether to all his magic. It was tough, because every sound that came out of it either summoned more minions or made me dizzy or delirious.

We sustained a non-stop battle for a solid hour. But it wasn't me who defeated him: Henry did. He somehow saw me pinned against a corner with a ray of evil power held against my throat… and light came out of his hands. He threw him about like softball (kudos to his Physical Ed teacher. I'll give him a fruit basket when we get home) until he dropped his flute. Rumple collected it (it will look nice back in his shop) and then, with all our help, placed him in a sealed flask, which we all together (Henry included, my handsome little wizard!) burst into an explosive flame. The shockwave sent us all flying backwards, but immediately after, the whole mountain started to crumble away into thin air. There were so many children!

Most of them started cheering and immediately started running back to the village.

Still, All of us searched through the thousands for our babies. The first one to emerge was my baby brother. I feel for my mom and dad, they keep having to find their kids after losing them…

There are plenty of children here… and I am glad, terribly, terribly glad and relieved to say…we all found all of them. The little babies included. My Lizzie, in one piece, slightly dehydrated but fine. Liam, sleepy, drowsy and with a small cut on his brow (god that IMP!), Rumple and Belle's little girl… they're all well.

The one I'm worried for now is Killian. As soon as the fight was over, he folded back to the floor. He looks awful and I can't wait to get him feeling better. Rumple still hasn't regained enough power and, like I told Killian, magic works somewhat differently here; a healing spell might backfire.

However, there's also the matter of at least two hundred children (most come from the Enchanted Forest) to take home.

I'm the savior… I can't just leave them here; I have to take them back to their parents. After losing MY kids, I can think of nothing more relieving than having your child placed back in your arms.

So it seems we might have to spend a couple more days in Hamelin. Killian can get some medical attention and we can find some beans or some other means to travel back home.

Will write more as soon as I have any news.

NEVER, ever been prouder of my son! Our son! (Neal, wherever you are, take a look and see what you did, lol; your son's a friggn' hero, and his stepfather's done a heck of a good job raising him to be one. Be at peace, Tallahassee, I'm sure you're as proud as I am. He's in good hands.).