I had another strange dream. One of the little girls got lost in the woods, and the dark-haired man appeared again. I can never remember his face. It's like he doesn't have one. But I don't think it's Killian because the girl was scared. Me, too, dreaming about it. That's how I know it isn't him. In the other dreams, I was happy and safe. I'm not sure what this one is supposed to mean.

Sometimes, it seems my sleeping life is better than my waking life. There's adventure, love, freedom, happiness, comfort, magic, family, and friends. Everything I don't have. Why did that feel like a lie? I don't have those things—Again. It's like a buzzer inside, signaling my brain to pause.

Adventure.

Not much, unless being chased by a flying monkey and a sheriff while on a quest to find my parents counts.

Love.

Nope. But I do love this room and Granny's. And the library. And the docks. But is it love? Or is it a strong like?

Freedom.

No foster home! Whoo! No Diane. No Agatha. No Curt. No abuse. I can do anything.

Happiness.

Not sure if that's what I'd call it, but I'm less glum than how I usually am.

Comfort.

This bed's definition. Emma's arm around me at the docks. Granny's food. Shopping with Mary Margaret. Walking in Storybrooke with Henry. Talking with Killian.

Magic.

Doesn't exist. Next.

Family.

Still trying to find that. Next.

Friends.

Killian. Maybe Henry. Maybe, just maybe, Mary Margaret.

Adventure, freedom, comfort, friends.

Four out of eight. Half.

I have adventure, freedom, comfort, and friends. Friends. How bizarre? The impossible is becoming possible. Killian was right.

A dove perched outside my window coos and peers in. It angles its head, then flies away, its wing flapping against the glass before taking off.

I'm about to roll on my other side and try to fall asleep again when music plays from behind my door. I recognize the song—"Only You" by Yazoo. My body fills with delight and is no longer willing for extra sleep. I'm up and out of bed, scurrying to the living room.

Mary Margaret adjusts the volume of a record player. A Lenco L 78 SE 1980 record player.

"Don't turn it down," I say, standing outside my room.

"Bella, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"No, you didn't. I've been up for hours," I fib.

I shuffle over to her by the loft stairs and look down at the record player. How many vinyls does she have?

"Do you like the song?" she asks.

"Yes. I love old songs."

"I play it every morning. It helps set the mood for my day."

"Emma and David don't mind?"

"Not entirely," David says, walking into the kitchen. "It depends on the day." He opens a cabinet and takes out three mugs.

"Well, I'd love to wake up like this every day," I say to Mary Margaret.

"Would you like to see my other records?"

Too excited to speak, I smile and nod my head.

Happiness.

* * *

I walk to Granny's, wearing the same outfit as yesterday because I don't feel like I've worn it long enough. Also, it makes me confident. Mary Margaret sees the best in me, so I'm going to wear clothes that reflect that. No more lazy outfits.

All I can think about is her collection of records. She has a bunch, and most of them are from the '80s. It feels as though everything in Storybrooke is from the '80s. I've noticed that many people have old phones—Blackberries, flip phones, and Nokias. I don't believe I've seen a single iPhone, except for Emma's. Laptops are old, too. They're big, chunky, and have terrible displays. The TV in the apartment is a box. The appliances in the kitchen belong in a grandma's cottage. The cars, too, are vintage models—many from the '80s and earlier. I wonder why that is. Small towns have access to modern technology, don't they?

Henry sits at the counter, eating pancakes and drinking hot chocolate. He wears a prestigious school uniform with a red tie and a black blazer. His coat hangs open around him, and his scarf drapes over his neck.

"Hey, kid," I say, confused. "Shouldn't you be at school? It's seven-fifteen."

"The bus leaves at seven-thirty. School starts at eight."

"Alright. You've got some time."

"It's going to be canceled tomorrow, though."

"Why? It's not some kind of national holiday, is it?"

"No. All three schools are having an emergency meeting about protecting students from Pan if he returns. After he kidnapped me, they want to ensure the other kids are safe."

"Did I ever mention you and your town are crazy?" I take a seat next to him.

"You might have on several occasions," he says, smiling.

"Good." I smirk.

"Thanks for ditching me yesterday."

"Sorry about that. Some guy was yelling at me."

"Weren't we supposed to find your parents yesterday?" He brings a fork-full of syrup-drenched pancakes to his mouth.

"Right. We were. Sorry. I know I got mad, but your grandma wanted to take me shopping."

"Are you sure you're not pushing it off?"

"What? No. Why would I?"

He shrugs a shoulder with a "Hmph."

Why would he think I want to push off finding my parents? They're important to me, and I want to find them, no matter who they are.

"So, if you don't have school tomorrow, what's on the agenda?" I ask.

"Nothing for now, but later I thought we could do some research on our own. We can try looking in my book for answers."

"Right, your storybook." I tip my head to the side and push my hair out of my face. "'Cause it knows everything about Fantasy Land," I mock.

"Fairytale Land."

"Uh... Seriously?"

"Have you visited any new places?" He picks up his mug and drinks some hot chocolate.

"The docks. The water calms me down." It's the first place I could think of because of Killian, but I instantly realize it was a mistake to mention it.

"Did you..."

"Did I what?"

"You know? See him?"

"Be more specific, Henry." I know where he's going with this.

"Hook. Did you see Hook?"

"Um, no."

He knows. He's staring at me like he knows.

"Okay, fine. Yeah. I saw Hook. His name is Killian, by the way. And I spoke with him. We connected. Big deal."

"You shouldn't have done that," he scolds. "He's a villain. He might turn you against us."

"He's not what you think. He's different... He's my friend."

"Seems like he already did. Sooner or later, he's going to hurt you, just like he did before."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it. But never see him again."

Are you freaking serious? "You can't tell me who to be friends with or not. This isn't like you."

"You don't know me. You've been here for four days. I've lived here my whole life. I know who should be avoided, and he's one of them."

"You have poor judgment. He's kind. You can't control my life, kid."

"Listen to me!"

"Henry!" My breaths come in short and fast due to the tightness in my chest. "...I can't believe you."

"You can't believe a lot of things."

Tears threaten to form in my eyes. They must be so red. I made a new friend, and I'm being told to forget him. To think, maybe, Henry was a friend, too. I'm losing two friends, and I didn't get the chance to know them. I just met them. I guess that voice wasn't wrong, after all.

"I got to go. And don't look for me after school. I'm going to a friend's house." He gathers his things.

"Again? What about finding my parents? You said we could do some research."

"Don't worry. We'll get to it after I meet my friend."

"But we're behind. I've had to do so much by myself while you were—Who knows where? And I've had no luck."

"I said, 'We'll get to it,'" he says, loud.

"It's the whole reason I'm here, Henry," I say, leaning in to get his attention. "So, you can help me."

"We'll find them. But, right now, I got to go." He jumps off the stool and strides out the door. Such a powerful stride, too, for a child.

I don't understand him. He should be helping me. He promised. If he wasn't going to do anything, he shouldn't have brought me here. He shouldn't have baited me to Storybrooke with false promises.

He told me to stay away from Killian, but all I want to do is run to him.

Whoa. Where did that come from?

The thought frightens me more than Henry's mood flips. Did I say what I think I said?

Run to Killian?

But why? I barely know him. And, yet, I feel like I know everything about him.

"Don't mind him," Granny says from behind the counter, assuming my apprehensive face is from Henry's words. "He must still be shaken up from Neverland."

"Right. Maybe," I say, acting as though I know exactly what went on there... Not that it exists or anything. It doesn't. It's a story... Right? Oh, God! I'm questioning reality. How did it get this far? No wonder things seem too good to be true. I must be in one of my dreams.

* * *

According to the neon clock between the two menu boards, twenty minutes went by since Henry left. It felt like an hour. I still can't believe him. I don't do well with ultimatums anyway, but his is unbelievable. Who does he think he is to boss me around? If anything, it should be the opposite. But it's my fault. I gave him too much power too soon. He promised a family, and I jumped. I have to rely on everything he says, though most of it's ridiculous. Him leading me is one thing, but to tell me who to be friends with is quite another. He doesn't have the authority to tell me who to befriend. And the audacity of him to go to a friend's house—again—when he said he would help me. He's breaking his promise. I don't think I like him anymore.

Pity. I was beginning to.

Ruby's behind the counter, and she comes to me. Her chocolate hair's teased and tied in two long ponytails, and she wears a red headband that matches her crimson streaks. "You know? Moping doesn't make things any better."

"I know. Everything's complicated. Everyone wants me to remember all these things, but I don't know what. Did you know a flying creature chased me the other day? And it wasn't a bird, trust me."

"I told you this town isn't so quiet. Two weeks ago, it almost blew up."

"Blew up?"

"Everyone would've died if it hadn't been for Emma and Regina." She grabs a paper bag and prepares a to-go order.

"I don't think I'm going to bother asking any more questions. Every time I do, I get more... and confused."

Her eyes dart until she says, "So, is there anyone in Storybrooke you have a strange connection with?"

I lift my eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Rumor has it you're from the Enchanted Forest."

"Henry said it was Arendelle."

She ignores what I said. "It's a good thing you escaped the curse. We were all Regina's puppets until Emma broke it." What she says is nonsense, yet it has me intrigued, so I lean in. "When we were cursed, we all felt this strange connection but didn't know why. After Emma broke it and we remembered, we knew why—we were friends in the Enchanted Forest." She finishes packing the food in a brown bag and sets it aside.

"Are you saying that, deep down, your subconscious remembered everyone?" I ask, swiveling my mug by the handle.

"You should've seen the romantic tension between Mary Margaret and David. They were fascinated by each other but couldn't remember why." She sees my puzzled face. "Sorry if this is confusing you more."

"It's fine. I'm used to it by now."

"If you need any help, let me know."

"Thanks."

"Nice outfit, by the way."

"Ruby! Quit talking and get working," Granny shouts from the kitchen window beside the end of the counter.

"Stop yelling at me!" Ruby gives me a "Can you believe her?" look and leaves to take some orders while she and Granny continue arguing.

The best thing to do is to go h—to the apartment. It may be seven-forty, but I'm exhausted. I could use a nap. And one of those Pop-Tarts Emma keeps in the cupboard. Maybe I could mess around with the record player. I want to know which songs sound the same and which are different when played on it.

I want to try writing again.

I've brought my guitar to my room. I have my real songbook. The two things I need—I have. It's about time I put on my big girl pants and write through the pain. The best songs come from pain. Why shouldn't mine?

* * *

"Hey," David says from the dollhouse kitchen when I walk through the apartment door. I'm not sad he's here, preventing me from getting back to writing.

In fact, I smile.

"You look good."

"Thanks," I say, going to the counter as he washes the dishes. "Mary Margaret took me shopping yesterday."

"Yeah, I know. I saw the bill."

"She insisted. I told her it was too much."

"Ah, it's okay," he says, wiping a plate with a dishcloth. "You deserve it."

"You don't know me."

"Yeah, but I'd like to. Wanna head over to Granny's once I'm finished here?"

I breathe through my teeth. "I just came from there."

"We can go another time, then."

I sigh.

He dries his hands and says, "Everything okay?" then places them on the counter with a look of concern on his face.

"Henry yelled at me."

"Henry yelled at you?" he asks, squinting.

"He was mad I met Killian."

"Oh." His gaze shifts, becoming unfocused, but then he looks at me again. "I don't blame him."

"What?"

"Hook's a pirate. I didn't like him when I first met him, either."

"And now?"

He tilts his head, weighing his opinions. "I guess he's all right. He saved me in Neverland, so I owe him one."

"Why does everyone think I'm stupid? Neverland's a fictional place."

"Then I guess that means I'm a fictional man."

I give him a questioning look.

"Prince Charming."

"Everyone's so relentless. Like let it go."

"I know it's hard." The innermost part of his palms lift from the counter as he looks toward the bathroom, trying to find the right words. "But having faith in what we're telling you is the fastest way to, not only finding yourself again, but to discover things that people outside of Storybrooke will never see." He bounces his head to the side. "Winged beasts, for example."

That gets a laugh out of me. "I don't think the people outside of Storybrooke will mind never seeing those."

He smiles and says, "It's tough living the life we have here. And, honestly, I wouldn't trade it for all the gold in both worlds."

"Because this is your home. Because your family's here."

He gives a nod.

"I love that. But this fairytale lingo is something I don't understand. You all believe in it so deeply. I don't think I ever could, but I guess I'm gonna have to survive through it until I find my parents."

He stacks a plate on a pile beside the sink. "You know? Surviving isn't living."

"Says who?"

"Someone wise enough to not let my mother and I live the rest of our lives as slaves. Definitely not naïve at all."

Surviving isn't living? I'm a survivor. It's what I do. It's who I am.

"Surviving is living. It's how I managed to get through the foster system for so long. I survived it this far, and I'm still alive," I say, pushing my shoulders back.

"But you're not living. When was the last time you had fun?" The last time I had fun? One thing comes to mind.

I lean forward and lay my arms on the counter to get more comfortable. "...Yesterday with Mary Margaret."

"There you go. If you keep living like that, not only will you survive, you'll thrive."

"As a songwriter, I appreciate the rhyme." I adjust the cuff of my sleeve for a brief second. "Who was this person?"

"Someone I met a long time ago. She changed my life."

"You better not think I'm her."

"No, of course not. She wasn't a queen. Her name was Joan."

"Joan? What fairytale is that supposed to be?"

"Don't know," he says, straightening himself. "But she's from Arendelle, so maybe you've met her."

"No, no, I didn't," I say, shaking my head. "I'm not a character, and I don't live in your people's fantasy world."

"That's the thing." David moves in close again with a lopsided grin. "We're not characters. The world just thinks we are. In reality, we're in the same boat as what you would call legends. Think of King Arthur or Robin Hood, for example. No one can prove we exist, and that's because they're all looking in the wrong place. Or world, I should say."

I'm sick and tired of people trying to convince me there's a fairytale world. First, there're fairytale characters, then ones from nursery rhymes and Greek mythology, and now, they're making them up. Joan. Who the fuck is that?

"The amount of time it must've taken to craft all this," I say. "That's a lot of worldbuilding."

"Yeah, well, it's a big world. One that's meant to be lived."

My eyes meet his, and I wish I had Emma's superpower. But I don't think I need it. David's eyes are warm and trusting. I don't believe he's lying. Though, just because he believes in Henry's stories doesn't make them true.

But there are some things people can't fake—emotions. Genuine ones are found in the eyes. Blank eyes—fake emotions. True ones come from deep within and appear when we don't want them to. We hide them as best we can. I do. If what David says is true, he'll have emotional memories from this so-called "Fairytale World."

"How'd you do it? Go on after giving Emma up?"

He takes in a deep breath. "To be honest, I don't think I could have. But it helps when you can't remember her. We were cursed moments after she was born, and by the time Emma broke it, she was a grown adult. We missed out on everything. Her first words, first steps... Everything." His eyes turn pink, and their outer corners slope downward.

A tear runs down my cheek, and I wipe it away.

"Bad things happen, Bella. But we got to keep living."

His phone gets a text, and he takes it out of his pocket.

"That's her. Another winged beast sighting." He leaves the kitchen and goes to the door.

Whatever is going on in Storybrooke... has some truth in it. Which parts of it are authentic—I don't know. Magic may not be real, but other worlds are. Earth has known this for over a year. Perhaps, there is a fairytale world. Those stories had to have come from somewhere.

I turn my torso toward the door. "Hey, David? ...Thanks for sharing that with me."

He forces a smile and heads out of the apartment.