He kisses me.

And then my eyes flutter open to the golden hue of my room. I wish the night had been longer. I want to be in my dream world's depths with him. We were in a jungle, having the most absolute fun—fun I never have in my waking life. He was gorgeous, with shimmering emerald eyes and light brown hair. Or was it dark blonde? I don't know. The dream was hazy, but the emotions were vivid.

That boy... I had a flutter in my chest. I have it now. We were flying across the twinkling navy sky. But whoever he is, he's not real.

It was a dream.

The man who appeared in my previous dreams was in it, too, but I still can't remember his face.

I stretch under the quilt and look toward the window covered with a gossamer curtain. Light shines through, making every plain, old object seem beautiful. They're given life. Hope.

The morning birds sing with joy. They must sense my lovey-dovey feelings.

It was a dream, and I need to let it go.

But it felt more than a dream. I've never wanted to return to one of the wild ones. They always made no sense. This one did. Even if magic was involved.

My lips pull into a smile as I sink deeper into the pillows. It was much better sleeping in a bed than in my car. The tightness in my neck and back already loosened. I want to stay here all day. Some peace and quiet have long been kept from me. It's nice to have it again. It's good to be somewhat alive again.

At the boardwalk, I try to figure out what to do next. To find my parents, I could knock on every door in Storybrooke, but that would take forever! I wish there was an easy way—one that's faster. There're "Lost Child" posters, so why can't I make "Lost Parents" posters?

That's dumb.

If only Mayor Mills could give me town records. They should have the address of my parents. Their contact information. Their photographs. Their photographs. How nice would it be to see my parents' faces? To know what they look like? To see their bright eyes and smiles? I want to know if I look like them. What I inherited. I want to know.

"Bella?"

I turn to see who said my name, but there's no one.

"Oh, my gosh! Bella!"

I look the other way, and someone throws themselves at me, squeezing me to pieces.

What... is... happening?

There's a cluster of red hair in my face.

Oh, my God. My mother is hugging me. My mother is hugging me!

My heart beats a mile per minute. I hug back to keep myself from jumping and twirling like a child going to Disneyland. This is insane. Is this real? My eyes fill with water, but I stop myself from crying. I have no idea who this is.

The woman lets go and has a huge smile on her face. She has hazel eyes. Huh. I imagined my mother had green ones. They'd be a nice contrast to the red hair.

"You're so young."

I cock my head back.

"You look exactly the same," she says, looking me up and down.

"Um... What are you talking about? Who are you?"

"What do you mean? It's me."

"Aurora?"

"Don't be such a codfish," she chuckles. "It's me, Ariel. Don't you remember me?" We stare at each other in silence. Her eyes become pink, and she frowns. "How can you not remember me? We were close friends." Why does everyone want me to remember something? How does the news keep spreading? So far, everyone I've met knows who I am.

"Sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about," I say.

A man standing nearby comes over and places a hand on the woman's shoulder. He has black hair and smells like fish. "Is everything alright?"

"No, Eric." Tears fall from the woman's eyes, her chest heaving. "She doesn't remember me."

What has become of my life? First, Aurora and Phillip. Then, Snow and Charming. And then, Belle and the Beast. Now, Ariel and Eric? Who's next? Cinderella and the other Charming? Why are there two Prince Charmings? I've always wondered.

"Why are you crying?" I ask. "You don't know me."

"I did. I did know you," she says with confidence. "In the Enchanted Forest, remember? We would talk all the time, and you would complain about Hook."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, remember? How he changed and started treating you like an ordinary crew member?"

"You have the wrong person. Henry said I'm supposed to be a queen, not a pirate."

"A queen? I thought you were a princess. Do you know where from? You didn't back then."

"Uh, Arendelle."

"Oh, I love Arendelle. It gets super cold, though."

"I've been to Arendelle on several occasions," Eric says, proud. "Queen Elsa's coronation was the last time I've been there. What an event that was? I assume this means you are Princess Anna."

"You're Princess Anna?" Ariel says, astonished. "I've only heard good things. I should have known you'd go on to do something extraordinary after leaving Hook's crew."

I ignore everything she said because none of it's logical or matches up with what Henry said. I guess this woman went rogue. "By any chance, do you two know Phillip and Aurora?"

"Yes. Eric, didn't you used to go hunting with Prince Phillip?" she asks, turning to him.

"Yes. The last I saw of him, he was going to save Aurora."

"I'm sorry. Save Aurora?" I say, leaning closer.

"Yes." His face fills with worry. "He said she was put under a curse. I haven't seen him in years."

"Years?"

"Why are you looking for them?" Ariel asks me.

"Henry said they're my parents."

"Oh, my. I wish we could be a better help."

"It's what it is, I guess."

How foolish am I? I really thought she was my mother? Ridiculous. Each second I spend in Storybrooke is one second closer to insanity. Is there anyone here who doesn't believe in fairytales? But what that couple said brings up more questions, regardless of being idiots.

Save Aurora. Save. Save her from what? Maybe she was sane. My dad was trying to save her from here. He had to be. Then he was sane, too. Their names must be a coincidence. Yeah, that has to be it.

But what about Ariel thinking I'm a pirate? She said I knew Killian. That's not true. I've just met him. Besides, Henry says I'm supposed to be a queen, but Eric and Killian think I'm a princess. Henry couldn't have left things out, could he? He did withhold vital information from me before. And I know there's more. Is it possible this "Anna" person is a pirate princess?

Look at me, questioning all this. None of it's real. It's all make-believe. I need to find my parents and get out of here before Henry's stories consume me.

From a distance, I see Killian on the ship's deck. As I get closer, he takes notice of me.

"Ahoy, there!"

"Hi!" I say from below.

He leans over the side. "What's wrong?"

"How do you know something's wrong?"

"I know you."

"No, you don't," I whisper.

"Come aboard." He moves out of view.

I go around the massive ship and walk up the gangplank. Once I step on the deck, I'm transported to another world. Ever since I re-watched the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, I wanted to be on a ship and go on a swashbuckling adventure. I never thought one of those would come true.

Timbers creak from the soft waves rocking the vessel, and the canvas sails flap and billow as wind flows around them.

"So, what do you want to talk about?" I say, looking at my feet.

"Why don't I show you around first?" He smiles.

"Okay," I say, shrugging.

He opens his arms and steps forward. "Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger."

"Excuse me?"

"This is my ship. Beauty, isn't she?" he says, watching the sails.

"She's incredible." All the sails are white, except for one—the mainsail. "Why is there a black sail?"

"If you don't want to hear any more absurdities, I suggest you don't ask that question."

"But I want to know."

"Don't let curiosity get the best of you."

"Why? 'Cause it killed the cat?"

He stares at me like a blank slate, not understanding my joke. I cough.

"Alright, but only because I've taken a liking to you. And just so you know, that is a very rare thing."

I half smile.

"Not long ago, Peter Pan kept Henry hostage on Neverland. Swan, Regina, the Charmings, Blondie, the Crocodile, and I went to save him. Now," I watch him, confused, as he gestures his hand, "after we saved him, Regina trapped Pan's shadow in this sail here, turning it black."

"Isn't Peter Pan the good guy?"

"Not at all, love," he says, facing me. "That child is a demon. I never thought I would say this, but I thank the Crocodile for trapping him in Pandora's Box." This is getting crazier by the second. Now, there's Greek mythology.

"Crocodile?" I ask, folding my arms. He can't know I overheard him yesterday.

"The Dark One, Mr. Gold."

"You confuse me," I tease.

He smirks. "I tried to warn you."

"Let me get this straight. Mayor Mills trapped Peter Pan's shadow in that sail?" I point to it.

"Aye, love."

"And are those feathers?" The mainsail is covered with some kind of soft, fluffy material.

"Aye. Pegasus feathers. When sewn into the sail of a ship, they can make it fly."

"Okay."

He raises an eyebrow. "Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

He hums. "I didn't think you could handle it," he says, grinning.

"I can handle it. It's just downright madness. I told Emma I'd try to believe in all this, but it's ridiculous. Because I can handle the insanity, doesn't mean I believe it."

"You'll get there," he says, nodding.

"What makes you so sure?"

He glances to the side, smiles, and says, "Let me give you a tour of my ship."

"It's a ship. What else is there to see?" I gesture my hands around. We're above deck. It's an open space. What more can there be?

Killian winks, and I grimace. He leads the way to below deck.

I'm getting that scary, murder-like feeling again, but I trust him this time. Nothing happened then, and nothing will happen now.

I walk down the ladder to the second deck and join him in a small space where ropes and sacks hang from the ceiling.

"The crew's quarters are on the fourth deck, but I don't think you'd fancy seeing those," he says. "The Captain's quarters is above, below the poop deck, but we'll get to that in a moment."

I continue to follow him through multiple pathways, ducking under nooses, chains, and lanterns, until he stops at one of the doors.

"This here... This is a special room."

"Why's that?"

He lowers his eyes to me, lost in memory. "Because it belonged to a special person."

"Your friend?" I ask in a near whisper.

He nods and holds the door open for me.

"Such a gentleman," I tease. He smiles, and I walk inside. It's a tiny storage room with shelving on the back wall. Most of the shelves and compartments are empty and full of dust and webs.

"I stored away her belongings. This room used to be filled with them," Killian says beside me. "I hope one day I can return them to her."

"Could you tell me about her?" I sit on a long wooden crate turned into a makeshift bed by the door. There's a thin mattress and some blankets on it. "If that's okay."

"Aye, love. What do you want to know?"

I shrug. "I don't know. What she was like, what she liked, ...why she didn't forgive you."

Killian hesitates. "If only I had the answer to that last part." He grins to himself, looking at his feet, but it fades. "My friend was caring and saw the best in everyone, including myself. I don't know if Henry told you, but I was a villain."

"He said you still are."

He eases down, sitting next to me. "Most people still view me as one, including Emma."

"Well, ...I don't."

"You don't?" He cocks his head back, not expecting my response.

"No. I can tell there's more than meets the eye."

He gives a small, sad grin. "That's why you remind me of my friend. She was also courageous and headstrong and stood up for what she believed in."

"She sounds cool. What did she like to do?"

"If there's one thing she could spend the rest of her life doing, it would be to make the most beautiful music."

"Really? I love music."

"I can see from that enormous smile on your face. That song of yours was beautiful, love."

"Thanks. There's more where it came from. I used to write songs a lot."

"Her voice was beautiful, like yours," he says with a bow of his head, and I smile. "It could soothe the most haunted soul."

"That's deep."

I once again get a look of confusion from him. How old-fashioned is he? Does he not understand slang or common expressions?

"Singing makes me happy. It... makes me forget my pain, the system, the cruelness of all these people—" I almost cry, remembering it, so I bite my lower lip to help hold it in. "Music is... like magic. It makes you feel so many emotions. You relate to the singer and writer, and, for a brief moment, it makes you forget."

"Your song yesterday made me forget my sufferings, as well. The pain of losing my friend, the death of my brother, wanting to get my revenge on the Dark One for killing the woman I loved, and everything else."

"I'm sorry those things happened."

"It's alright, Palmer. We all have our tribulations."

I examine his face. Something about it is familiar...

Oh, my God.

I can feel my eyes grow wide, and my breathing becomes heavy. The air is thick. The only sound is my heart beating in my ears while I stare at Killian.

It's impossible. It can't be him. How could it be him?

"What is it?" he asks.

"Jungle," is all I can say.

"What?" he asks, eyebrows stitched together.

"Does that mean anything to you? A jungle?"

He pauses and looks down. Then, he lifts his head back to me and says, "Neverland."

"Huh?"

"It's all Neverland is. One enormous jungle."

Killian's the man from my dreams. No, not like that. From my actual dreams. I may not remember his face, but I remember how I felt in them. It felt like this. Though, how is that possible? How could he appear in my dreams when we've never met until two days ago? But the thing is, we have met—when I was a kid—once upon a dream. That's why it's easy for me to pour my heart out to him and connect with him. I never bring down my walls. He may be troubled in the brain, but I want to spend more time with him. I haven't connected to another human being in so long. This is a miracle. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm thankful to have met Strange Pirate Man.

"What is it?" he says, concerned, like I'm worth worrying over.

"Nothing... What's next?" I breathe.

He walks to the door and recollects himself. "It's time for you to see my part of the ship." He grins as though nothing awkward happened.

"What's that?"

"The Captain's quarters, of course."

The Captain's quarters is a decent size compared to the other room and far from uncomfortable. Like the other cabin, the walls are white paneled. A built-in bed is on the left, facing the door, and has a thicker mattress than Killian's friend's cabin. The stern windows are above deep windowsills that serve as shelves for several nautical souvenirs. A dark table with four matching leather-cushioned chairs is in the middle, and on top are volumes and a vintage tea set. Behind it stands an old golden telescope. A lantern hangs from the center of the beamed ceiling but doesn't give much light.

"Nice room," I say, stepping further in.

"Glad you like it, love."

I walk to the table and graze my fingertips on the china teapot. "You've got a lot of cool things here."

"And I've got another right here." I turn around, and Killian pulls out a brass spyglass from his coat's pocket. "Want to test it out?" he says, offering it.

"Sure." I take it from his hand, extend it, and hold it to my eye.

When I lower the antique, I catch Killian smiling at me. He's looking at me like there's something in me worth looking at. He's admiring me, and my cheeks heat from embarrassment.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just..." a muscle in his jaw twitches, "you looked like her for a moment."

"You must really miss her."

"Indeed, I do."

I spy through the hand-held telescope again. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Aye."

I lower and close it. "It kinda has multiple parts, but..." I place the spyglass on the table. "Do you know what became of her?"

"No. I haven't seen her in years."

I pick up the spyglass and give it back to him. He moves to stand by the table while putting it in his pocket, and I walk to where he had been. I take a blue medieval leather-bound book off a shelf and open it to a random page. The other books around the room have different textured covers, including cloth, paper, canvas, and leather.

I turn my head to Killian and say, "Next question. Do you wonder how she turned out?"

"Of course. There's not a day that goes by where I don't think of her."

I don't know what else to say. This is depressing. A lost friendship. I lost some friends before—some to death, but this is to the greatest level—one I never knew could exist. It's sweet how two people can be so close.

"How old was she when she left?"

He points his hook at me and answers, "About the same age as you."

I focus on the book's pages. What I can gather is that it's about being a navy soldier who works for the king.

"Can I ask you a question?" Killian says.

"Sure," I say, not looking up.

"Why aren't you afraid of me? Everyone in Storybrooke despises me, ...except you."

I look at him now, not expecting that question. "That's because I don't see you as an evil person. Okay, I'll admit, I did at first. But I saw something in you that changed my mind."

"What, exactly?" he says, shaking his head.

"I'm not so sure myself, but I guess it was more of a feeling than anything else? I can also see it in your eyes. They're the windows to the soul, after all." I turn back to the book.

"Where the bloody hell did you learn that?" he says in a guttural tone that sends a shiver over my skin.

"I don't know," I say, defensive. "I've always known it." I try to concentrate on the book. I can't. I glance over at Killian again and search to find the right words to say, but I can't.

"Please remember, Bella." He moves closer to me, and I back up into the bookcase, bringing the open book to my chest. "You have to remember me teaching that to you."

"Teaching me?"

"Clearly, you remember some things. Deep down. You know them to be true. In your heart. Listen to it." He points with his ring-covered hand. "I know you feel something's right between us. That's because it is."

My head moves from side to side. "I'm not who you think I am. I'm just a poor, little girl still waiting for her happy ending."

"And one you shall have. I promise."

Everyone saying I'm a character who's lived a magical life is infuriating. Yet it depresses me. I want that life. That's the life I've always wanted. One with a family and a purpose, but I know it's out of reach. I can't have it. It's not real, and it's not meant for me. I'm not that lucky. It's one of the reasons why I refuse to believe in all this shit.

First of all, it can't happen. Not only because magic doesn't exist, but because the family I always wished for may not be how I expect it to be. What if my birth parents are cruel—worse than Curt and Diane? What if they gave me up because they hated me? What if they don't want me to find them? What if they're dead? What if I'm not as happy as I think I'll be when I find them? I don't want to find out.

"I... kind of need to go now."

Killian scrunches his face. "So soon?"

Is this connection real, or is it because he thinks I'm someone I'm not? How do I know he won't betray me like Emma?

This is different from Emma. I feel like I've known him my whole life. And that scares me. I'd love to stay here and chat more, but... I'm not meant to have friends. I'm not even meant to have allies. This is too much.

The universe is a cruel bitch.

"Yeah. It's almost seven-thirty, and I haven't been to Granny's once this morning." I smile at my joke. He does, too. Finally, one he understands. My grin grows from my satisfaction.

"I'll go with you," he says, shuffling to the side to give me space.

"Uh—That's okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'd rather..." my heart plummets to my stomach, knowing this will hurt him, "go alone."

Sure, it's nice having people appreciate me around here, but I'm not used to it. It's weird—almost too good to be true. If I'm being honest, I'm waiting for them to turn on me like everyone else—like Emma. It's only a matter of time. And I don't want Henry to see me and Killian together. He'd freak out about how I didn't listen to him.

Killian's eyes become distant and dark, making me want to collapse in tears. "Alright, love." His voice shakes a little, but he forces a smile. "Off you go."

I move out of the Captain's quarters with him. "You know? Your ship could use a restroom."

"Why does there need to be a room for resting?"

I laugh. "You're funny. I'm glad we're friends."

His face brightens, hope filling his eyes. "You think of us as friends?"

It was an Oedipan slip. I didn't know I felt that way. And now that it's out, I like that I feel this way. I have a friend? Me? I wonder when it'll blow up in my face.

"Yeah, I mean... I'd like to think so. Is that alright?"

"That is perfectly alright."

We smile at each other.

This feels nice. Friendship feels nice.

"Well, see ya later." I giggle.

"Bye, love."

A friend? I never thought I'd have one of those. I guess things are changing for me here. The best part—it's only been a little over two days. The third has just begun. At this rate, I'm sure to find my parents by the end of the week. I almost stop paying attention to the little voice saying it'll all end—that I'm not meant for happiness. Storybrooke seems to be proving it wrong.