The bitter cold pierces my skin and gnaws at my bones. Trudging through the treacherous terrain, my breath comes out in misty clouds. Each step is a battle against the relentless gust and blinding snow. I can hardly see more than a few feet ahead of me. The biting gusts whip the snowflakes into a frenzy, sticking to my white hair and eyelashes.

"Anna!" a distant voice calls out through the howling wind. I strain to listen, but the elements conspire against me, muffling it with their icy grip.

A sword unsheathing cuts through the air.

Panic surges through me, and I cry out in protest, "No!"

I stand before the blade, raising my frosted blue hand in a feeble defense attempt.

My legs betray me.

They go numb, turning to solid ice and leaving me immobile with the fatal weapon inches from my outstretched palm.

The frost creeps into my heart, my strength slipping away as the freezing cold takes hold of my body. With my final breaths, my thoughts turn to the people I love and the life I've lived. I'll never get to say "Goodbye" or tell them how much they mean to me. Yet even in the face of death, a glimmer of hope remains, knowing my spirit will live on and my loved ones will always remember me.

As the cold envelops me and the sword descends upon me, I release my grip on life at peace with the knowledge that my journey in this world has come to an end.

I jolt awake, drenched in sweat, my heart racing like a wild stallion. Weakness consumes my body, and the weight of my vivid visions burdens my mind. They've grown stronger and more frequent, but I never expected my dreams to become just as menacing. I'm afraid now that each time I close my eyes, I'll be transported to a world of darkness, pain, and death. I miss flying with the boy in green. Where was he tonight? Why this? Why this nightmare?

I wish Whale and Hopper could've found something wrong with me—something tangible. A physical ailment to explain my visions instead of dismissing them as memories and anxiety. Their reassurances to relax offer minimal comfort when each vision is a brush with death. These visions—what I see—fill me with a perpetual sense of impending doom.

What if they're a warning? A premonition of my death? I died in this dream. I froze and got struck down. The thought tightens my heart, constricts my throat, and brings tears to my eyes. No matter how hard I try, I can't escape these visions. They haunt me day and night, leaving me suffering as though I'm losing my sanity.

I'm tired. I want peace. I want to live.

To do so, I must continue living good moments and do my best to ignore these visions.

But as hard as I try today, everyone comments on how exhausted I look.

Mary Margaret and David's eyes widen in concern when they see me, offering understanding if I wish to sleep more. Emma teaches me how to color-correct my dark circles with makeup, but I still appear as though I have the flu and a severe case of insomnia. At Granny's, Ruby keeps suggesting a double shot of espresso, while Granny insists I try her special soup, convinced I'm sick.

I avoid people as much as possible until Henry finishes school and bring him to Be Our Guest Café. We settle at one of the two exterior tables.

As Henry takes a bite out of his croissant with cheese, I glance from my grilled chicken sandwich to him. It's strange, considering I haven't known him for long, but I feel guilty for not confiding in him about my visions sooner. If anyone has a clue about what I'm experiencing, it's Henry.

"Not that I believe in all this," I begin, my gaze fixed on him, "but do you have any idea why I'm having these visions?"

"When you saw your picture in my book, a small part of you believed. That's why it shot magic at you. I'm sure your visions are pieces of your memories coming back."

"Ever since they started, I've had this constant feeling of déjà vu. One vision made me think I met David before arriving in Storybrooke, but I didn't."

"You must have met him in the Fairytale World. What were your other visions?"

"I was in a jungle for some of them—Actually, no. Those were dreams, so who knows if that's connected?" I wonder aloud, noticing Henry's sudden interest as he sits up straighter. "In one vision, I was at a farmhouse. That's the one I saw David in. And in the last one, Killian made an appearance. Each time I get them, they're more powerful. The pain intensifies, my balance fails quicker, and they're clearer. They're getting worse, Henry. The one you witnessed had sound when none of the others did. They're even spilling over into my dreams now." I take a sip of iced tea, attempting to soothe my frayed nerves.

"If they're getting stronger, that means you're believing. Keep it up. Maybe they'll become so clear, you'll remember who you are."

"I'm not going to believe in all this nonsense. These are stories, not real life. How many times do we have to go through this?"

"You don't believe? 'Not that I believe in all this, but,'" he mimics me in an irritating voice, "means you do. You just won't admit it. If you won't admit it to me or anyone else, at least admit it to yourself."

I narrow my eyes at him, a surge of infuriation rising within me. How dare he mock me with that grating voice? He knows I rely on him, and he revels in the fact that I have no one else to turn to for help. It's going to his head, and he's taking advantage. I hate it.

"God. Can we have one conversation where we don't talk about magic, remembering, or believing? Just one. It's all I ask."

"You're the one who brought it up."

I stare at him. I did, didn't I? "...Eat your food."

"Hey, guys," Delilah says, stopping at our table. Her sudden presence catches me off guard.

"Hey," I say with a forced smile.

"Hi," Henry mumbles, his attention focused on his food.

Delilah gestures down the sidewalk and says, "I was passing by, and I saw you guys." Her eyes widen when she notices my drained appearance. "Oh, my gosh, Bella. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, waving a dismissive hand. "Just a nightmare, that's all."

She turns to Henry, concern etched on her face. "She looks exactly like Graham did, doesn't she?"

"Not helping, Delilah."

"How's your story coming?" Henry asks with a smug grin.

"Oh, great." Delilah glances at her notepad. "I just need a few more witnesses to interview." She gives me a pleading face I swore only puppies could make.

"No."

"Please," she implores, clutching her notepad to her chest and bending her knees.

"You saw it. You don't need my quote."

"Yes, I do. It attacked you."

"Almost."

"People want to read what that was like for you."

"Terrifying."

"Oh, come on."

"Others will be more than happy to give you a quote. You don't need me."

"But there are no other victims. And the people who were more than happy, GMS snatched up. I can't write about them. No one will buy the paper to read a story they already watched on TV. This is my chance to write an article for the Daily Mirror. Your story will be exclusive to the paper."

"Why is this so important to you?"

"Because if I can get this story, maybe my boss will give me a permanent job. I could be a writer—or an editor. This will be huge for me. Please."

I remain silent, contemplating her plea.

"All I do is bring people coffee and run around Storybrooke, getting notes for them to write articles. I get to write this one. I want to show people I'm more than an intern. I can do more than carry six coffee cups at a time."

I turn away, gazing through the large window into the bustling interior of the café. The interview could provide a temporary distraction from my visions. It could be good for me. Besides, spending more time with Delilah would strengthen our friendship. What more do I have to lose?

"Fine."

"Yay! Thank you so much. We'll meet later to talk about it. You won't regret it, I promise." Delilah scurries off with a skip in her step.

"Imbecile," Henry mutters under his breath.

"Excuse me?"

"She's too cheerful."

"What's wrong with that?"

"It's annoying. I'm sure the only reason she's friends with you is to get the scoop on the new girl in town. All she wants is a permanent job at the Daily Mirror."

"I'm sure that's not true," I say, doubting myself. But I trust Delilah. She wouldn't use me.

"Her mother isn't so great, either. She's a trespasser."

"Goldilocks. Right."

"You know how I told you the other day that Snow White was a bandit?"

"Yeah, and?"

"All our stories are different from how they were told. Like how Peter Pan is the villain. And like Goldilocks."

I cross my legs under the table and lean back in my chair. "She's a villain, too?"

"No, but her story is different. It has nothing to do with actual bears. Just the Bears, as in a family name."

"Okay?" I say, dragging out my response.

"And she wasn't a child. She was fourteen."

"Go on," I say, inspecting my nails.

"She stumbled upon their cottage in the woods. Do you know why she was in the woods?"

"Why? Because it's the Enchanted Forest, and everyone was in the woods?"

"No. Well, yes, that's true, but no. Each day, her father would make her go to the village to steal supplies from the market because they were poor. She took a different route one day because a fallen tree blocked her usual path. By the time she found the Bear's cottage, she was exhausted. That's why she broke in, ate their porridge, and slept in their beds. She could have picked berries and slept under a tree."

"So what? That's Delilah's mother, not Delilah."

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"No. It doesn't," I say, recognizing shades of Regina in him. I didn't realize Henry harbored such resentment toward the Storybrooke residents. Until yesterday, he seemed like a positive, carefree boy with no hard feelings toward anyone except for Gold and Killian. Besides canceling my meeting, Delilah hasn't given me a reason to speak ill of her, and I doubt she ever gave one to Henry. Either he's gotten comfortable enough to express his true thoughts to me, or he's experiencing hormonal mood swings. If he says anything negative about those who are kind at heart, like Mary Margaret, David, Ruby, or Emma, something's up with him.

* * *

Henry and I step out of Any Given Sundae, the ice cream shop next door to Granny's, and stroll along the sidewalk.

"This might be the best ice cream I've ever had," I say. "Of course, I say that about anything with chocolate, but I really like chocolate. It's an obsession. If I ever have a boyfriend, he can skip the flowers and hand over the box of chocolate."

A good distance away, Belle emerges from a boutique, carrying two identical shopping bags. I don't know how that's a trigger, but it's a trigger.

An electric surge of pain seizes my head, and I grab hold of Henry's shoulder to steady myself.

"I can help you."

"Uh, I'm Belle."

"I'm Anna."

"It's my aunt. She's up to something."

"Belle! I can't pull myself up!"

"Just hold on!"

"Belle, hurry!"

"I'm coming!"

"Aaaah!"

"Anna!"

"You'll have to excuse us, but this is family business."

I struggle to catch my breath, coughing and tightening my grip on Henry.

"Bella, breathe. Just breathe," he says in a soft voice. "It's okay."

My breathing slows as I watch Belle cross the street, but I'm still overcome with adrenaline.

"What did you see?" Henry asks.

"Th-There were a lot of flashes, but...the one I-I could see most clearly was me and B-Belle on a mountainside. There was a storm, and...I fell off. And I heard another w-woman's voice...My aunt."

"If she's in Storybrooke, she might know where Aurora is."

"I don't want to find her," I say, fear coursing through me.

"But she—"

"No. My mom's name may be Aurora, but she's not the princess, Aurora. And that woman's voice didn't sound very happy-go-lucky. Maybe my aunt's a villain."

"Yeah, sure. She's related to you."

"The villain is always someone you would never expect."

Henry tenses, pausing for a moment. "Can you let go of me now?"

I retract my hand from his shoulder. "Oh, sorry." My gaze falls onto my splattered ice cream on the sidewalk. The cone must've slipped from my hand. "I feel bad for my ice cream. It was so good. And it was chocolate."

David's truck drives by, honking at us. My heart jumps out of my chest, expecting him and Mary Margaret to scold me for being with Henry when he's grounded, but they drive on. Henry and I wave at them as they pass.

"Those two think they know everything."

"Henry!" I say, whipping my head to him.

"They do," he says, his face hardened. "Mary Margaret thinks she can solve everybody's problems with hopeful advice. If she were to explode, it'd be pouring rainbows and unicorns."

"She's your grandmother. And her hopeful advice helped me."

Henry turns his head in the direction the truck disappears. "And David always tries to help people to the point of smothering them. He thinks he can make sense of everyone's issues."

"Yeah, I can see that one, but he means well."

"Put the two of them together—" he shudders, "run."

"But you're super close with them."

"Yeah, so?"

"So why say those things behind their backs?"

"Would you rather I tell them to their faces?"

"No," I blurt. "Don't do that. They're both kind people. Everyone has flaws, but that doesn't change what's in their hearts. Lighten up, man," I say, pushing his shoulder.

"I'm only stating facts."

"Whatever you're stating, keep it to yourself."

"What are you doing with my son?" Regina's voice cuts through the air as she slams the door of her parked car. She clicks her way over to us, her heels setting fire to the pavement with each step.

My stomach plummets deeper and deeper the closer she gets. I'm not prepared to fight her today. She's going to take Henry. She's going to ruin what's been a perfect—almost perfect day.

Regina's a bad moment. She's going to win.

I won't let her win. I've worked too hard for this.

"Cool ride," I say, playing nonchalant.

"We're hanging out, Mom."

"You said you were going to the library, not gallivanting around town with a criminal. Not to mention, winged beasts are on the loose." Excuse me, what?

My mouth grows dryer. "Criminal?" I repeat, crossing my arms.

Her death stare finds me, and I resist the compulsion to quiver. "Someone broke into Gold's shop last week and stole a pirate costume."

"I-I don't know anything about that."

"Of course, you don't. Henry, we're going home." And just like that, she's won. Regina gestures for him to follow and strides back to her car, a black Mercedes-Benz that must be from the '80s. Everything's from the '80s.

"Bye, Bella. Thanks for today."

"Sure, kid."

Henry drags his feet over to Regina, who stands by the hood with folded arms and a fiery glare. He gets in the car, and the evil mayor shuts the door.

Regina approaches me with a gaze that could kill an immortal and invades my personal space. I move my head away from her, attempting to regain some of it.

"Stay away from my son, or I'll make your life hell," she warns, her words laced with venom.

I give her a sly grin, doing my absolute best not to laugh in her face...even though it's what she deserves. "Watch where you step."

Her eyebrows furrow, and she glances down, lifting her foot out of the chocolate ice cream that looks like dog shit on her black pump. She shoots me a scowl filled with hatred.

"Not the best day to be wearing black, is it? Brown would've been more like it."

"I suggest you watch your tongue before I pluck it out and feed it to the crows."

I snicker at her words and the mental image they create. What a drama queen?

But when a crow caws in the distance, I stiffen. How did she cue that so perfectly?

"You may think you're clever, but trust me, I am a master of pain, and I will make you regret ever coming to this town. So unless you want to spend the rest of your days in agony, I suggest you do exactly as I say and don't even think about defying me."

During my time in Storybrooke, I've never seen Regina's car drive down Main Street. I've never seen her at Granny's, and now she's parked in front of it? "How'd you know we'd be here?"

"I didn't. I was driving by, and I saw you."

"You were driving by? Why don't I believe that?"

She lets out a dry laugh. "You think I was spying on you? If I were, I would have taken my son the moment I saw you with him."

"But you didn't. You waited. Why?"

"You think I have the time to spy on a teenager? I have a life, you know?"

"No, you don't. From what I hear, everyone in this town hates you, so you have no friends that you'd be on your way to visiting right now. All you have is Henry. And if you do have a life, why are you here, bullying a sixteen-year-old...Your Majesty?"

The amused expression on her face is a warning sign for what she's about to say, and I don't have the time to prepare myself for the blow. "You seem to be perspiring quite heavily. Is the weight of the world already too much for you to bear, Miss Palmer? I suppose some people aren't cut out for life in Storybrooke."

"And I suppose some people aren't cut out to receive the love of their son." It shoots out of my mouth before I know what I'm saying. Do I regret it? Sorta. Does she deserve it? Hell, yes.

Regina's glassy, pink eyes betray her signature smirk and stone-hard façade. I won, but I don't feel good about it.

"I don't need this," she hisses. She turns and waves her hand as she returns to her car. I take it as her saying, "See ya later, loser," but a small puff of dark purple smoke covers her foot, and the ice cream is gone! GONE!

I stare at her shoe with wide eyes and fill with adrenaline all over again.

In one graceful movement, Regina gets in the car. She starts the engine and drives away. I watch as she departs and continue watching well after she's turned around the corner.

What just happened?