Henry—the lucky bastard—gets to skip dinner. He's been at a friend's house all afternoon. This may be Henry's last day of groundment, but he's working on a project with this friend, so Regina allowed the visit and staying over for dinner. If it's taking this long to finish the project, I bet they're not working on it at all. They're probably playing video games, watching movies, and spreading rumors about new girls in town. The usual stuff boy friends like to do instead of homework.

Regina and I eat dinner together—with no buffer. It's the most awkward dinner I've ever had. We spend the first twenty minutes in quiet tension until Regina coughs into her napkin to clear her throat. After another fifteen minutes, I clink my glass on my plate while setting it down. Then one of us finally speaks, with Regina asking again what I'm planning to do now, and again, I have no answer. Leave town and go back to the foster home? Stay? Leave and live on my own while avoiding the system for the next two years? I don't know. Life's hard. I'm starting to think I'm not strong enough for it.

Afterward, I change into more comfortable clothes; a black tank top and grey sweatpants. I roll down the waist of the pants a couple times because, apparently, a size medium for some brands is a large for others. I don't care. They're sweatpants. They're not supposed to look good on anybody.

As I untuck the comforter from Regina's guest room bed, giddiness swells within me at the chance of sleeping on the queen-sized mattress. A queen-sized mattress. I've never been given the opportunity to sleep in any bed larger than a full. Tonight will be glorious. If I won't end up crying myself to sleep about today's ruthless events and rerun all my life's regrets, fears, and ghosts in my head like episodes of Friends.

I hated today. It sucked. My eyes are puffy and heavy from my pity parties earlier, and I may or may not have had more afterward.

The uncertainty about my parents is a constant companion, nagging at me like an itch I can't scratch. They could still be somewhere in Storybrooke. I need to go to Regina's office and find documents on them, but she fucking won't let me. There must be a Storybrooke census somewhere in the Town Hall or library. Every town has one, right? To keep track of the population? How could I convince her? She's as stubborn as those old ladies who always request to speak with the manager.

But what if Regina's right? The DNA test results are right? What then? What now?

The thoughts spiral into doubt and frustration, churning within me.

Henry's involvement stings. He led me on a wild goose chase, avoided, and then refused to help me for this? Was it all a prank? To get my hopes up only to shatter them later?

But he wasn't the sole conspirator.

I got my hopes up for nothing. I led myself astray and set myself up for disappointment. At the start of all this, I knew there was a slim to nothing chance of finding my parents here, but I came anyway to escape like Regina said...like Henry said. I'm a runner, but I wouldn't take back this experience for anything. I just wish I found my mom and dad. That would've made this experience everything.

The waterworks burn behind my eyes, so instead, I focus on my anger rather than my sadness. I haven't seen that sucker for two days, and that includes today. Henry's either avoiding me or been busy...Busy, my ass. He knows I'll punch him in the face if I see him, so it's for the best I haven't encountered him. Actually, it's for his best—not that I care or anything. But, man, do I want revenge? When he gets home, could I push him down the stairs and make it look like an accident? Probably, but I'd never push a child down the stairs...Maybe into a lake—if they can swim, of course.

Got it! I could return the favor and spread rumors about him. Whereas Henry's rumors are false, mine will be true. How about the one where he told me he'd kill Mr. Gold? I could also "slip" that he said Mary Margaret thinks she can solve everyone's problems, how David smothers people, and Hook is a villain who can't be trusted. I could also tip Regina off about how Henry spends a lot of time at his friend's house. It's possible she doesn't know about all these frequent visits. I'm sure she also doesn't know about him trying to start a tiff with a group of teenage boys in a gas station parking lot. Or that he hit Curt over the head with his storybook, knocking him unconscious. I don't care about these things, especially the last since it was in my favor, but I'm sure Regina would most definitely care. So much so, I think she'd increase Henry's groundment to a month or two.

A sly smile forms on my face while I finish untucking the sheets and fantasize about sweet, sweet revenge.

And then the last person I want to see walks through the door and says, "Hey."

"Hey? You almost ruin my life, and you say, 'Hey?'" The nerve of this kid. "You know I didn't push Chloe." I'm about to vent about the events his actions caused, but he interrupts me.

"I know."

I stop myself from beginning the rant. "What?"

"I said, 'I know.'" He knows? He fucking knows?

"Then why did you tell everyone I did? Everyone hates me!"

"I told you they couldn't be trusted, but you wouldn't listen, so I had to make them not trust you." A dark expression clouds Henry's face, an unfamiliar intensity in his eyes.

"Congratulations. It worked. But you also did something else. Now I don't trust you."

"You will again, eventually." The nerve!

I suck in a breath to prevent myself from ripping his head off. "You're a piece of work, kid," I say, my arms stiff against my sides.

"I warned you they'd all turn against you, and it didn't take much for them to, am I wrong? I had to show you what you weren't seeing. Just one little white lie, and everyone saw you as a villain. Then Regina asked if you've ever hurt me, so naturally, I had to tell her about when you hit your foster dad's car."

"But you didn't get hurt," I say through clenched teeth.

"That part I left out."

"They were my friends, Henry. I was beginning to—"

"They're not your friends. If they were, they'd have given you the benefit of the doubt and listened to your side of the story, but they didn't...not even Hook." His words linger in the air, each one a small cut. I can't believe he'd do this to me. He was my friend—my first friend in this town, and now he's another person who wants me gone.

He told Hook. Hook knows, and I couldn't prevent it. I've lost him, too, all because of a maniacal child.

"You should leave Storybrooke. No one likes you anymore, and your parents don't seem to be here. You should go back to your foster home. You said it was two more years, right?"

"I don't want to wait two more years!"

"It's nothing, really, compared to eternity."

"In that house, it is an eternity. You know what? Get out. I don't want to talk to you—I don't want to see you."

"You'll get over it. You can't stay mad at me forever," Henry says as if he knows me better than I know myself.

"Watch me," I say, my voice cold and final.

Henry turns around and goes for the door, my mind racing. I don't want him here, but seeing him leave intensifies my anger, fueling my determination to make him understand how he's wrong. "You're a horrible child!" He walks out the door, and I follow him, my resentment boiling over. "I should've never—"

Regina appears outside the guest room, Henry halfway down the hall. The only thing stopping me from making contact with her is my hand gripping the doorframe. Her presence stokes the fire since she's been a constant source of trouble in my life—a thorn wedged in my side. The frustration simmers inside me.

"How long were you out here?" I force the words out and guise them with calmness.

"Long enough," she says. "Can we go inside?" I'm reluctant to let my enemy into my room, but this is her house. And she helped me.

I back up, giving her space to enter. She comes in, head lowered, and closes the door behind her, so Henry can't hear.

"I'd like to apologize," she begins, facing me. "I have no clue why Henry would ever...It's not like him. And as his mother, I would like to apologize on his behalf. I am so sorry." She keeps surprising me today. Why is she being nice?

"I don't get it. He was my friend, and then he turns the entire town against me? He said none of you could be trusted. He badmouthed the Nolans and Mr. Gold. It doesn't make sense."

"I don't know what's gotten into him. He seemed fine after we saved him from Neverland. That damned Peter Pan must have put a spell on him or brainwashed him to not like us." Regina crosses her arms, her frustration mirrored on her face. It kind of looks like the one I make when I'm fed up with Math.

"Or the Lost Boys hypnotized him," I say, playing along with the insanity.

"But you're right. This doesn't add up. Henry would never spread lies about anyone, especially you. Before Greg and Tamara snatched him, he wanted to find you so badly. He said you belonged here."

"I was starting to believe it, too...but not anymore."

"I'll deal with Henry later, but right now, we need to go see the Charmings," she says, taking determined steps forward.

"We can't." The mention of their name fills me with panic. How could I confront them after what's happened? I don't want to see them, especially not Emma. They'll tell me to leave. They'll scold me. I cannot go back. Besides, I'm not over my banishment. If I do return, I might break something...of Emma's. "Emma exiled me, and I don't think I can stand finding out how Mary Margaret and David see me now."

"They won't see you any differently, trust me. And...I can talk to Emma."

"Good luck because she was super adamant about hating my guts."

"After she knows the truth, she'll understand, but you have to come with me."

"Why? I'm the last person she wants to see right now, and she's the last person I want to see."

"She has to know what Henry's done, and she should hear it from you. Then I'll talk to her."

"She won't believe me. And I doubt she'll listen to you, of all people in Storybrooke."

Regina leans closer, her eyes locked on mine. "Trust me, Bella. I will make things right for you." She pauses, taking a deep breath. "I promise you, Emma will listen to me. I know how to handle her."

"Emma Swan's not the kind of person one can just handle."

"Maybe not," she says complacently, "but it's the only way to get your life back in order and figure out what's wrong with Henry."

* * *

Tears trace wet paths down my cheeks as I unburden my soul. I recount every detail—the fight with Chloe and the heart-wrenching moment she fell out the window. I leave nothing out, the weight of the loss and guilt heavy on my shoulders.

David and Emma listen with a compassion that mirrors my sorrow, their eyes reflecting the pain of my story. Regina tries to comfort me by placing a hand on my arm. I twitch from the still unfamiliar gesture of kindness, from her, especially.

"How tragic?" I could picture Mary Margaret saying if she were here and not at a school board meeting.

"Henry went around spreading lies to the people of Storybrooke, claiming that Bella killed her, even though he knew the truth," Regina adds when I finish.

"Why would he do that?" David asks.

"It must be something Pan did to him. He skipped school, hid out by the well, spread malicious rumors—"

"Tried to ruin my life."

"So you think Pan put a curse on him?" Emma's skepticism colors her tone, her face exhibiting the ridiculous idea. It is one. And we all know it.

Regina posits, "He clearly did something to his brain."

"Ever think he might've gone mad? All those fairytale ideas you encourage him with finally ensnared him, and now he's convinced it's all real. He's trying to scare me into believing delusions and remembering stuff that never happened."

"It did happen, Bella," David says, "and they're not delusions. Any new visions lately?"

"Visions? What visions?" Regina asks, curiosity etched on her features.

David lays out the whole concept, including the episode where I was screaming for myself to stop fighting him, and explains how he thinks the flashes are my memories returning from my subconscious.

"Like Graham," Emma says, arms folded. "And then he died."

"According to the autopsy, Graham died of natural causes," Regina says, her gaze flickering downward.

"Bullshit," Emma mutters.

"Either way, that's why I tried so hard to live good moments. If I'm going to die, too, I want to have lived a good life. With friends and people who care about me. But Henry ruined that."

"No, he didn't. I'll make sure everyone knows the truth," Regina asserts.

"How?" I ask, concerned about her approach. She could twist the situation to her advantage, further pitting the town against me. All of this—all Henry's done has been in her favor. She knows I'm broken. She's aware of my visions. She could send me to the hospital or an asylum and lock me away, tossing out the key. Why did David have to bring them up? It's not like anyone can help. I went to doctors, hoping for a diagnosis, but they couldn't find anything wrong. Nothing plausible.

I've tried to ignore the visions, but they're intensifying. They're entwined with my reality, and I don't know how much longer I can hold on. Loneliness is the worst part. I can't share my visions with anyone without sounding like a crazy person. No one understands the lengths of the situation. I don't want to burden people with my fears, so I'll keep it all inside, pretending everything's okay.

But it's not okay. I'm drowning in a sea of my own fears, and I can't reach out for help. Maybe dying will be good. That way, I could escape the constant torment of my visions.

How could I do that to these people—let alone consider it? They don't deserve to suffer for my anxieties. I wish I could be strong enough to fight my visions—to find a way to live without the constant fear of death, but I don't know how.

"You'll see," Regina says with a smirk.

After she leaves, Emma says, "I'm sorry, Bella. I should've known or at least asked for your side of the story."

"Yeah, you should have. But it doesn't change the fact that I was exiled from this apartment based on dumb rumors."

David looks at me with sympathy in his eyes. "We're sorry for what happened. Emma was just trying to protect our family." Protect their family? What about me? What about how I'm innocent?

I take a step back, creating distance between them and myself. "You know what? I don't want to talk about this anymore. I just want to figure out what's going on with Henry and move on with my life."

David nods, relieved I won't argue with him anymore.

"If you completely hate me," Emma says, "I get it."

"I did." Shifting from one foot to the other, I hesitate. "But I gotta admit, it did look bad."

"You're welcome back. Your room's as you left it."

"Thanks."

"And I promise, from now on, it won't be as easy for someone to turn me against you. I think I was trying to find something to condemn you, and for that, I'm sorry." Her words echo in my mind until their power sinks in. Despite my hurt and resentment for her quick acceptance of Henry's lies, I detect the genuineness of her remorse. As much as I want to hold on to the anger, it won't do me any good in the long run. Emma's my friend, and I miss her. I want to believe her when she says she won't let anyone turn her against me again. Maybe it's time to let go of the grudge and forgive her. Isn't that what friends do? Besides, if it was the other way around, without a doubt, I'd believe my son over some random stranger.

"I accept your apology, but you were right. I'm trouble, and I don't think I'll ever stop being trouble."

"I figured as much." Emma grins, her hands tucked in her pockets. "You're a teenager, after all."

"And for the record, Mary Margaret and I never believed those rumors, especially since we heard them from Hook." A pang of worry hits my chest like a gong.

Hook knows.

Henry told the truth.

If Hook informed the Nolans, does that mean he believes? I don't want him to believe any of the rumors floating around about me. Our friendship's important to him, and the last thing I want is for him to distance himself because of some stupid gossip. I hope he was as discerning as David and Mary Margaret. He's been through so much already, and he doesn't need more drama and strife in his life. He doesn't need to lose another friend.

"Hook—Is he okay?"

"He's fine. He didn't buy into it, either. Said if he found out who'd been tarnishing your name, he'd stick his hook in their back."

Emma's eyes widen. "I'm gonna go find Henry."

"He's at Regina's," I say as she grabs her red leather jacket from a chair.

Stuffing her arms into the sleeves without untucking her hair, Emma opens the door behind me. "Thank you."

I let out a sigh of relief. Hook has become a true friend to me, and the thought of losing him over petty rumors makes my stomach churn. But hearing he and the Nolans never believed them is a load off my shoulders. It gives me hope that things could go back to the way they were before. That I could have my life in Storybrooke again.

"So what happened with the necklace?" David asks.

"My mother gave it to Ashley as a gift," I say, clasping my hands behind me.

"And the DNA test?"

"No matches."

His eyes slant downward at the outer corners. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I'm used to disappointment by now."

"You shouldn't have to be."

I shrug, not knowing what else to do or say. Soft, vulnerable words don't come to me as easily as those filled with daggers. I'm used to people fighting me, not comforting me.

David steps forward and wraps me in his arms. I rest my head on his shoulder, taking comfort in his embrace. His words ring in my ears, a reminder of what I deserve. Yet in this moment, with his arms around me, maybe, just maybe, there's hope for a brighter future.

* * *

I'm content with sleeping in my room rather than Regina's glamorous guest room with its queen-sized bed. I missed mine here, even though it's a twin. I peel the blankets back and plant my face into my pillow to give it a sniff. Clean laundry and rose petals. Mary Margaret must've sprayed a pillow mist while I was away.

It's good to be back. It's a comfort I hadn't anticipated. It's astonishing how a single night could stretch out like years. I can't imagine sleeping anywhere other than in this guest room that's all mine, decorated just for me, and a room away from three people I admire and can't picture living without.

It's as if I've come home.

This is home. This is where I belong.

Soft, fuzzy flutters dance within my body when a gentle knock thuds against my door.

"Got a minute?" Emma asks, peering in.

"Sure."

She enters, presenting a mug crowned with whipped cream, and clicks the door closed behind her. Funny enough, she's wearing an outfit almost identical to mine; a black tank top and grey sweatpants. When she reaches my bed, she hands me the mug. A generous sprinkling of cinnamon speckles the whipped cream.

"Cinnamon?" I remark with a smile.

"Oh, sorry. I should've asked."

"No. It's perfect." I've been meaning to try hot chocolate with cinnamon for a while, thanks to Henry, and now I get to. Thanks, Emma.

"I want to apologize for yesterday," she says, easing herself on the edge of my bed.

I adjust myself into the crisscross-applesauce position. "You already did."

"I know, but I was wrong to kick you out. Where did you sleep?" Emma asks, a casual shrug accompanying the question.

"Gold's shop."

"Really? He let you?"

"No," I drag out.

"You broke in, didn't you?"

I give a sheepish grin. She knows me well. A little too well. "He didn't mind that much."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Then go ahead. Use your superpower," I tease, then take a sip of hot chocolate. Absolutely delicious.

Emma does what I suggested, studying me for a while before saying, "You didn't kill her."

I lower the mug, my heart pounding in my chest. I thought this topic was over. I thought I'd never hear about it again after today, yet here we are.

Wait...She's on my side? She said I didn't kill Chloe. She believes me. What?

"But I don't know why Henry lied," she continues.

"I'm not sure, either. All I did was try to be nice to him. Although, I guess calling him 'crazy' each chance I got was bound to have consequences." Stupid, stupid, stupid. I could smack myself silly right now.

"No. Henry's not vindictive like that. When I called him 'crazy,' he ran into the mines to prove the curse was real. He tries to save lives, not destroy them." Mines? Storybrooke has mines? For what? Pixie dust?

"We're definitely gonna talk about that mine situation later, but what's wrong with him?"

"Don't know. He's not the same these days. He acts weird around me, and you saw how he acted in front of Mr. Gold. He hardly recognized his storybook the day we returned from Neverland."

I lean over in shock. "He carries that book around with him everywhere."

"So you see my concern."

"I've seen some pretty nasty kids in my day, but none compare to what he did to me." I gesture at the door as though these kids and Henry are lurking outside the room. "That's not a plan a twelve-year-old comes up with."

"He's different, that's for sure. I'm worried about him. I thought he was adjusting from Neverland and coping with everything he went through, but I expected it to pass after a few days. It's been longer than that, and he's gotten worse."

"Could be puberty."

"It's not puberty," Emma says with a grin.

"Going through some changes? Sounds like puberty to me."

"Has he said anything to you?"

"Why would Henry talk to me about puberty?"

"About what Pan might've done to him." Oh. That makes more sense.

"You know I don't like this crazy talk."

She leans forward, balancing herself with a hand on the bed, causing a slight dip in the mattress. "Bella, I don't care whether you believe it or not. I need to know. Has Henry talked to you about Pan?" Damn, she's serious. About a fictional character that doesn't exist. About Peter Pan, a young boy who dresses in tights and flies around, luring children to an island in the middle of nowhere and making them wear animal costumes and dance around a campfire like a bunch of imps. Which makes me wonder...Are the Lost Boys a cult? The dark side of Disney, everyone.

"Yeah, sometimes."

"And?"

"He said he forgave him. That Pan had his reasons for whatever he did."

She leans back, taking her hand off the bed, but the dip remains. "That doesn't sound like Henry."

"Well, he said it."

"Did he say anything else? About any of us?"

My body goes frigid. Emma's going to see right through me, isn't she? I can't tell her what Henry said about Gold. Can I? I wanted to before. Why can't I now? "No."

"You're lying." Damn. I knew she'd figure it out. Her gaze remains locked on me, probing my eyes for lies.

"Stop looking at me like that," I say with a shudder, unable to take it anymore. "Like you're peering through my soul. It's violating."

"You know I'm not using magic, right?"

"Duh, I'm not ten."

"I'm observant. I can spot the tells for when someone's lying, and you—are lying."

"David smothers people, and Mary Margaret would explode into rainbows and unicorns." Damn, she's good.

Emma's mouth opens. "He said that?"

I nod, ashamed of saying it myself.

"Well, he's not wrong."

"But it is wrong," I say.

"I'll deal with it. Don't worry. You'll be anonymous."

"Then how'd you find out?"

"I'll be vague. I'll tell him he can't go around badmouthing people."

"Or spread rumors that could ruin a person's reputation."

"I'll tell him that, too." Emma gets up and says, "Welcome back."

There go those soft, fuzzy flutters again.

Emma opens the door to let herself out, but I say, "Hey, Emma?"

She turns back, attentive.

"Thanks for the hot chocolate."

There's a slight tug at the corner of her lip. "Good night, Mini Me," she says, referencing our similar outfits. It would appear Emma has a humorous side.

"Good night, Adult Me." She closes the door behind her, but something crucial comes to mind before it shuts—something that might explain Henry's strange behavior. "Oh—You might want to make sure that friend of his is a good influence."

Emma widens the door's gap with a curious expression. "What friend?"

"I don't know their name, but the one Henry visits all the time."

She regards me with a blank stare.

"He's always at their house?" I say, hoping to clear it up, but she continues her vacant gaze. "I'm starting to think you have no idea who I'm talking about."

Emma shakes her head, her hand still on the doorknob. "Henry doesn't have a lot of friends." That's odd. Is it, though? I don't have many friends, either. But it's not the quantity of friends that matters; it's the quality. A single true friend is all a person needs. No one—and I mean, no one—would rather have a hundred friends who'd ditch them in a heartbeat over one who stands by them, knowing them better than they know themselves. Maybe that's who this possible lousy influence of a friend is to Henry—his quality pal.

"Well, instead of helping me find my parents, he's always telling me how he needs to go to their house—His friend's, not my parents'—Anyway, it's weird how often he's over there. For hours, too. I don't know. Maybe this friend is a girl?"

"When was the last time he visited?"

"Today. He was there for dinner."

She ponders over this information, then says, "Thank you. Night."

"Good night."

When Emma closes the door, a twinge of guilt bubbles in my stomach. I'm not sure why I feel guilty—I did nothing wrong—but it's there. Like I've ratted Henry out somehow. Did I get him in trouble by bringing up his friend? Why do I care? He almost ruined my life in this town. A reputation is all a girl has. Yet here I am, ashamed of the information I revealed to his mom. What happened to wanting sweet revenge?

Storybrooke changed me. No doubt about that. Though, I must admit I miss my tough, revenge-seeking side a little bit. Okay, fine. More than a little bit.

* * *

During breakfast, I learn Emma shared with Regina the information I told her regarding Henry's friend. They meet at the apartment and consult Mary Margaret, hoping to gain insight into who Henry hangs out with at school. She supplies a few names, acknowledging she's no longer his teacher and doesn't see him as often. According to her, these kids are all decent, and it'd be astonishing if any of them influenced Henry into skipping school, badmouthing his family, or spreading reputation-shattering rumors about new girls. Emma and Regina make it a point to interview these poor kids after school to gather more intel.

I take the day to answer Regina's question—What am I planning to do now? I come up with various possibilities, such as returning to the foster home, staying in Storybrooke, or residing here for two years before setting off to live on my own in either New York or Boston. Despite my love for New York City, Boston seems to be the better choice because of its proximity to Storybrooke.

But the fact of the matter is—I have no parents.

Everything I've done or attempted wasn't enough. No matter what I do, I'll always be an orphan. Although I have friends now, I have no family. No traditions or heirlooms to pass on, except for that snowflake necklace...if Gold spoke the truth. There'll be no Thanksgivings or Christmases to celebrate, no one to bestow wisdom upon me, no mother-daughter days, and no father-daughter dances. Nothing. Zilch.

Just emptiness.

Staying solo at Mary Margaret's place leaves a weird, creepy-crawling sensation beneath my skin. I wish I could erase the knowledge of the letter sender breaking in, but I can't. It's like someone's watching me. Ruby warned me at the very start that Storybrooke isn't always in a state of pure peace and bliss, and I see what she means. But if the Nolans find it safe to leave the door unlocked twenty-four/seven, it must be, right? I want to believe that, but how can I when someone infiltrated the loft to leave me a letter?

I pace around the apartment, searching for items that seem out of place. A meticulous scan of doors, windows, and locks proves they're all untouched by an intruder. However, that doesn't make the situation any less chilling. Instead, it dials the creep-a-meter up a notch. I refuse to believe the trespasser waltzed in through the front door without a care. It's too obvious. Figuring out how they've done it remains an itch in the back of my mind.

My investigation leads me across the open space next to the kitchen and dining table and into Mary Margaret's sleeping area. I cross the threshold between two partition walls; one white with a frosted window and the other red brick. Trespassing into Mary Margaret's private quarters leaves me wary, but it's for the good of the family and myself.

I do a quick lap around it, gliding over the sand-colored flooring. Scanning my surroundings, I note the white iron bed with an embroidered quilt, a brick accent wall painted white, a large window with a gossamer curtain, and a brown upholstered armchair covered in a fuzzy throw blanket. I push the bed aside to access the window, but there're no signs of a break-in. Next, I lift a patchwork quilt covering a yellow piece of furniture at the foot of the bed, then refold it, not finding anything hiding underneath.

A vintage aquamarine dresser with a shelf for storage stands on one side of the room. Next to it is a short, golden clothing rack with a single white cable-knit sweater. Nothing out of the ordinary over here.

Convinced nothing appears amiss in the entire loft, upstairs and downstairs, I plop onto the bed and run my hand over the quilt, a beautiful design of peach and mint green florals. The room's atmosphere is airy due to its bright colors, natural light, and princess cottage vibes. Sitting here lends a new perspective of the space, and that's when I reconsider the floor vent near the bed. The unwelcomed visitor could've entered through it, slick as Black Widow on a mission. I remove the metal grate, finding nothing suspicious. And I don't think anyone could've come in through here. Too narrow.

Then how did the letter sender do it?

I take a closer look around the loft and observe all the incredible details that give it such a quaint character. The heavy medieval lock on the door is something from a fairytale...or Fort Knox. The exposed brick walls show off their battle wounds from past decades, and rustic pipes on the ceiling are a reminder of the building's industrial background. This place is way more than four walls and a roof. It's a time capsule with all these stories woven together. And who knows? One of those stories might lead me to the mysterious stalker.

* * *

A late lunch at Granny's includes Mary Margaret, David, Emma, and me. I maintain a quiet presence, but not too quiet that it'd raise suspicion. Emma reveals she and Regina reached a big dead end after interviewing those kids. None of them have been hanging with Henry recently, and he hasn't visited any of their homes in the past few days. However, there's one common denominator—Henry's different.

The rest of the day finds me secluded in my room, lost in a numb, nowhere state.

Floating.

Time seems to disappear as I try to answer Regina's question.

Mary Margaret knocks on my door to tell me dinner's ready, my only sign it's night.

I say I'm not hungry.

Two hours pass—so it seems. It could be months. Years.

Emma and Mary Margaret take turns knocking on my door, asking if I'm alright—if I need anything. That's how I know they truly care about me. I'm not some girl crashing in their apartment. I'm their friend. Even David knocks here and there.

I lay in bed and gradually return to Earth, rolling onto my back. My phone screen commands my attention. I've delayed responding to Agatha's text because I'm not sure if I should, but if the cops and system are searching for me, then let them search. I was wondering when my old world would tear up my new one. Agatha almost did last week.

I don't want to go back. Like ever. Who would? Here, I'm happy. I have friends, as strange as it is to finally say. It's such a foreign concept it may as well be the Fairytale World they all talk about. And I don't have one friend; I have many here. And they believed me. It's time to start believing them.

After what I witnessed on Tuesday with Delilah's bear, I'm more open to the possibility of magic existing. How else could a nine-foot-tall brown bear befriend a blonde teenage girl? That only happens in fairytales—in magical worlds.

I want to stay. I want to stay in Storybrooke. Here, with Hook, Delilah, Emma, Mary Margaret, David, Belle, Ruby, Granny, Neal—everyone, is where I'm happiest. Tears slide down the sides of my face and to my ears because I can't. My mother's not in town. Neither is my father. It's still possible they are, but what're the chances? Not only that, but it was too easy for everyone to turn against me. How long before they do it again?

Jersey's calling me back. I must go, even though it breaks my heart. However, that doesn't mean I can't annoy Agatha and those dumbass parents.

I send the texts.

They can search all they want. They'll never find me.

I'm off the map.