CLOSED ♔ THIS AIN'T A FAIRYTALE

[uncurse]

WHO || Emma Swan, some NPC bitches [closed]
WHAT || Where the fuck is Storybrooke.
WHERE || Not-Storybrooke, Middle of the Fucking Woods, Maine
WHEN || January 26th, 2013
HOW || However the fuck Arden wants

This is a story all about how the savior's life got flipped, turned upside down. And let's take a moment and just sit right here and hear about how she stumbled upon NOT FUCKING STORYBROOKE.

She'd come out of the Veil in Canada - Vancouver, to be exact. And not gracefully. She'd staggered out of the portal, compass in hand, and found herself in the middle of the city - a city she didn't remember.

A city she was fairly certain wasn't the Vancouver she'd left behind, either.

The Shadowkind references were hard to avoid, and as Emma navigated her way from bus stop to bus stop, and finally a rental car shop, it became exceedingly clear that something had changed - and she couldn't help but make the assumption that it had something to do with the fact that magic had been brought back to Storybrooke. Just who else had come back from other worlds?

It only made her more eager to get back to it and her family. Mary-Margaret was going through the portal with her, she should be there - and she should be rescuing David from his sleeping curse. But, when Emma pulled the car off the road at the part of the highway where the exit for Storybrooke was supposed to be, she found that there was no exit. She found that there was no sign for Storybrooke.

It was possible, of course, that they'd torn them down. That the magic had spread and that something had changed. She took to hoofing it, out into the woodlands of Maine, snow jacket belted tightly around her, rubber boots on over her jeans, and beanie pulled low to cover her ears. Each heavy exhale from the hike in the snowy, wooded area caused a puff of chilled air to be visible in front of her face.

Mostly, she was just hoping she'd be able to find the road.

Comments

[behindcloseddoors]

Maybe if she got a really great navigate check...

As she's walking, the snow starts softly falling again, big, fluffy flakes that seem more pleasant than intimidating, unless you're hiking through the woods with no sense of direction. Emma's a dark blur amid the white trees, and it doesn't take a listen check to suddenly hear the crack of a rifle being fired in her general direction.

It sure ain't hunting season anymore.