Chapter Text
1995 JFK Airport, New York
It’s late when they find her. The airport is slowing down for the night. A vacuum is buzzing not far away and the corridors, once noisy and busy, have turned cavernous. A TV is humming nearby and those who do remain in the airport are gathered around it in rapt attention.
She is tucked in a corner, between a chair and drinking fountain. Knees pulled to chest, her arms wrapping around herself. Her tiny body can’t stop shaking.
She gazes up at strange faces, two men, dressed in blue who surround her. If she could read, she’d understand that their badges read Police. But where she is from, guards dress in more elaborate wear.
Guards like Liam. Wherever he’s gone off.
“I’ll be back soon, Princess. I’m just running to the toilet. Stay here,” he had said.
But that had been hours ago.
“Do you know where your mommy or daddy are?” The pair of men ask her.
She shakes her head no.
“Did you come here with a granny or granpy? Maybe an aunt or uncle?” They ask again.
She nods a little, “Uncle Liam.”
She knows he isn’t really her uncle, but she misses him all the same. She thinks of her mother helping her pack a bag a few days before. “Sometime soon my dear, you’re going to go to on a holiday with Uncle Liam. Mummy and Daddy won’t be able to come with you. We’ll find you though, we always do.” She’d given her a kiss and tucked Emma’s favorite, embroidered blanket into her bag.
But as soon as Emma’s airplane landed, she’d lost track of Liam. He’d simply gone and never returned. Feeling alone in the airport, she’d hidden away in the corner hoping her parents will come find her. It’s been hours now and she hasn’t seen them or Uncle Liam. All of her life, she’s been surrounded by people- dressing her, serving her, playing with her, taking care of it- but now she feel so so alone.
“What’s your name?” Asks the man.
“Princess,” She says.
The two men exchange glances.
“Sweetie what’s your real name?” The other man asks, his face sympathetic.
“Princess,” She says.
“Do you think?” The one man asks to the other, wild disbelief in his eyes.
They’d seen the news earlier that day: the small principality of Misthaven, a tiny country lodged between Belgium and the Netherlands, had been host to a violent revolution. The Royal Family slaughtered, a malevolent dictator replacing them. The images from the television have been haunting, streets covered in the dead, flags being ripped, and the fearful faces of those trying to escape.
But this tiny, innocent little girl… she can’t be…
“She’s been sitting next to the TV all night,” He replies, “She probably just picked something off of it. You know kids and their imaginations. Besides, reports say the princess died.”
The other man shakes his head, as if trying to rid it of a thought.
“You’re right,” He agrees, finally.
“Let’s take you to go find your parents or Uncle or whoever,” The other man says, tugging her away.
They don’t find her parents. Or any trace of Uncle Liam. After a week of searching, she finds a place in a foster home in Boston.
2000, Boston, Massachusetts
When Emma is nine she goes to the movies with the other kids in the group home.
In the film, a dashing hero rescues a princess from her tower. She goes on a brilliant adventure and finally reunites with her family. She lives happily ever after, with her family and handsome hero in a big and beautiful castle.
Emma thinks about that movie all day. She thinks about it on the drive home, her face pressed against the car window, her eyes closed in daydream. She thinks about it as she does her daily chores- sweeping the kitchen, cleaning the upstairs toilets. She thinks about it when they all sit down to eat dinner- 14 grubby hands clawing at the night’s offerings. Its spaghetti, which makes Emma’s tummy hurt. She takes a piece of garlic bread and sneaks up to her room- the one she shares with three other girls. She sits on the cold windowsill, wrapped in the thin blanket from her bed, and watches the snow fall.
He must be out there, she thinks, my hero.
She imagines what he might look like. And for a moment she can almost picture him, like a face from another life. Dark hair, blue eyes, freckles, and a smile so white and pure that she trusts him just for that.
She wonders if he is walking down the snowy streets, checking in every house looking for her. “Is there a princess here?” He might ask. “I’m looking for a princess.” Because surely there has to be a place in the world for her that is less painful than the one she is in.
When Emma was younger, she used to imagine herself a princess all the time. In fact, the social workers used to tease her for it. Apparently she’d been found in airport claiming to be a princess. The adults had exchanged concerned faces. When she was older, they’d explained to her that she must have had something so traumatic happen to her that she’d invented a different reality for herself. If this was her imagination, Emma didn’t want to remember the truth.
She dreams of it often- a castle with grey stonewalls, brilliant tapestries, and warm fireplaces. A place where there would be balls and feasts. She wakes from these dreams always convinced that they are real, they must be real. It’s only when she opens her eyes and takes heaping gasps of air that she gets hit by reality and knows that she is far from being a princess. She’s started to dread these dreams.
Emma doesn’t let herself think of it much anymore. There’s been so many times that families have come to group homes, inquiring about who to adopt- but it’s never been her. She knows that she is nearly too old to find a family willing to take her in. The king and queen have clearly never arrived.
But tonight, she lets herself indulge in the fantasies. She’s thought about the king and queen a lot before- but never a hero. Tonight she thinks about the knight in shining armor- the one who will find her and finally bring her home.
The door opens and a face peers in. It’s Kennedy, her older foster sister. Emma likes Kennedy. She has coppery skin and thick, dark, curly hair that sticks out in all directions. Kennedy is seventeen. Next year, she’ll be free to leave the system. Emma sometimes wishes she would stay. She’s the closest thing Emma’s ever found to a sister in this home.
“There you are, Em,” Kennedy says kindly, crossing the room to sit by her in the sill. “I was worried about you. I didn’t see you at dinner and I know spaghetti always hurts your tummy.”
“I didn’t have any,” Emma told her, lifting the last bit of the roll, before tossing it in her mouth, “Just some garlic bread.”
“I see,” Kennedy says, “So, you just escaped to brood?”
“Brood?” Emma asks.
“Think, angstily,” Kennedy defines.
Emma files the word away in the dictionary in her brain.
“Then yes, I’m brooding,” Emma tells her.
“I see,” Kennedy says, giving her a smile and squeezing her hand, “Penny for your thoughts?”
“I was thinking about the movie earlier,” Emma says.
Kennedy nods.
“I was just wondering if there was a prince coming to save me,” Emma tells her, feeling silly and childish when the words come out of her mouth.
Kennedy frowns and bites her lip, as if thinking of the words to say.
“Emma, no one is coming.”
Emma knows that was what the answer was going to be, but it still hurts her.
“But he could be,” She says emphatically, her fantasy appearing before her eyes again, “He could be out there, right now. He could be looking for me. He could be ready to whisk me off to our kingdom to meet the king and queen.”
“What kingdom is that?” Kennedy says, her voice is kind, but sensible.
Emma shrugs, trying to keep the tears at bay. But she can feel that tell tale dryness in the back of her throat.
“Emma,” Kennedy says, “I’m going to tell you some very important things. You are going to have to listen very carefully and never forget them. Do you promise me?”
Emma nods, not sure what respond to that.
“Emma, fairytales are pretend. There are no fairy godmothers, no knights in shining armor, no wishes on a star,” Kennedy tells her.
Emma lets out the sob she’s been holding in. Kennedy moves closer to wrap her in a hug.
“But listen to me, Em, you can be that for yourself,” Kennedy continues, “You have to be your own hero. In this hard life we’ve been given, you can’t rely on anyone else but yourself. You have to work as hard as you can. Promise me you will. You have to work harder in school than anyone else you know. Read as much as you can. Study, ask questions, stay afterschool for extra help if you need it, join clubs, run for class president. Do everything you can to get into college. Because once you have a degree, you can get a good job, make a life for yourself. Promise me you’ll go to college.”
Emma doesn’t really know what college is. She’s never met anyone who has been to one. But she admires Kennedy and knows that she’ll do whatever her clever big sister tells her to.
“I will,” Emma sniffles.
“Do you remember Quinn who lived here last year?” Kennedy asks.
Emma nods. She remembers the older girl with long raven hair and big lips.
“Quinn didn’t have a plan when she left here. She got involved with a bad guy. She started stealing. Now Quinn is in jail,” Kennedy tells her.
Emma’s heart drops. She tries to picture her former foster sister in a black and white outfit and shackles like she saw on the cartoon on TV once. It only makes her cry harder.
“I can’t have that happen to you,” Kennedy tells her, “I care too much about you Emma to let that happen to you. Do good in school. Go to college. Be your own hero. Do you promise me?”
“I promise.”
It’s that moment when Emma stops believing in fairy tales.
2001, Misthaven
When Killian is 12 his gran dies.
He can still remember when he used to live in a castle. He and Liam lived in a small room in basement. It was a good life. There was always lots of food. There was always dancing and laughter and music. He took lessons with the royal tutor.
He can still remember the night when everything changed. He remembers running across the palace grounds in the dead of night- him and Liam and the princess. He remembers how Liam and the princess, a small girl, his friend, not yet five, had turned in one direction towards the airport and the flight that would take them to safety in America. He remembers Liam begging him, “Go to our grans house and hide. Don’t come out till I call you and tell you it’s safe.”
But Liam has never called. Killian stills thinks of him and the princess. He supposes they must have stayed in American and forgotten all about him. Does he tell people that the princess is his sister now? Does he think of him at all?
He can still remember how things got much worse after the King and Queen were murdered. A man name Gold had declared himself the ruler. He remembers how they began rationing food. He remembers how the schools got shut down for weeks, before reopening with different teachers. He remembers how they learned different history, read strange books. He remembers the way everything seemed a little more gray, a little more bleak- or maybe that was just because Liam was gone.
So when his gran dies, Killian has nowhere else to go. He’s never had parents. He hardly has friends. So he just leaves.
She’s been sick for weeks, so he knew it was coming. He’s had a bag packed just in case. A few days clothes, a bottle of water, a granola bar, a toothbrush. He thinks about taking his picture of Liam, but he leaves it on his nightstand instead. Liam has forgotten him, so he might as well forget Liam.
He tip-toes out of the back door and into the cold night air. It’s windy, which is good, because it lets him pretend he isn’t crying. It blocks the sound of his sniffles and it lets him convince himself it’s just the sharp, icy sting that makes his eyes water. It cant’ be his heart breaking. He is trying to be brave and deal with this as best he can. But he has never felt so alone in all his life.
He knows exactly where he is going. The docks. He is going on a ship. Killian has always liked ships.
It is easier to sneak onto the cargo hold than he imagines. While there are strict locks on the borders, not allowing people to come and go, no one seems to be looking for a little boy. After all, he is small and fast, able to duck into the hold and curl up in a corner unseen.
The ship leaves port and he is bound across the channel to England. The water churns and it makes Killian’s stomach heave, something he didn’t expect. He eats his granola bar to try to settle it, but instead ends up expelling it into a corner of the ship. It is cold in the hold, so he takes all his clothes out of his backpack and lays them on top of himself as a makeshift blanket. It doesn’t make him much warmer, but he feels resourceful for it nonetheless.
In the morning, he sneaks out when no one is looking. He realizes that he doesn’t know where to go. He decides to use his money to buy a bus ticket to London. In school, they read a book a boy who lives in an orphanage in London. The boy got in lots of trouble, goes on loads of adventures, but ends up with a happy life and a family. This is what Killian wants.
When he arrives in London, he doesn’t know what to do. He buys himself chips wrapped in newspaper and sits by the river and watches it flow by. It reminds him of the river that flows through Misthaven. For a moment, he feels like a king himself. The whole city is his and he can do anything he wants. He buys five chocolate bars from a nearby shop, indulgent that they don’t ration chocolate here. He buys himself a copy of the book he read in school. Oliver Twist. The cover is shiny and he rereads the whole thing as he sits in a sunny park where there are lots of ducks.
He walks to one castle made of austere grey stone that scares him. It’s tucked a long the bit of the city with the tallest buildings, alongside the water and by the bridge he’s seen in a geography book. He touches it’s walls and shutters, memories of his past dancing before his eyes. As he looks at it, he thinks about the night the castle was attacked.
He still remembers what it sounded like when the Queen screamed.
He leaves this castle as quick as he can.
He walks to another castle on the other side of town. There are guards that walk back and forth in front of it in silly hats. It makes him think of Liam and that is all the more painful. It leaves him feeling empty. It leaves him thinking about the hole in heart that never got to heal.
It’s on that day that realizes he has run out of money. He is no longer a king. He is foundling.
So he sits in a park reading Oliver Twist. He supposes that is what he needs. He needs to find an orphanage.
He starts listening to the accents of the people around him. In his country, they spoke English, French, and Dutch. His accent is different than theirs, but he practices it over and over that night, once the park has cleared and his stomach rubbles, till he gets it perfect. He can’t be sent back home. That’s all he knows.
In the morning, he goes to a police officer.
“I’m sorry, excuse me sir,” He says, “I’ve seemed to have lost my family.”
“That no good, you little chap,” The officer says. Killian imagines him like a character in the book. “What happened?”
“Well, it’s rather funny really, you see I fell and hit my head and I can’t remember anything,” He tells the officer.
It’s a bit of a stretch, but he has always been a good liar.
“Are you going to put me in an orphanage now?” He asks later, when he is at the police station, when they’ve given him a juice box and some crackers, and searched a computer to find his family.
The police officer chuckles at Killian’s naiveté. “Son, we haven’t had orphanages here since the 1950’s.”
That is the moment when Killian realizes that he is not going to be Oliver Twist. He is not going to have a raucous adventure and then find a new family. He is still alone.
2001, Boston, Massachussetts
Kennedy moves away two weeks after Emma turns ten.
“I’m going to college in New York,” Kennedy tells her, “At New York University. They call it NYU. I got a full ride- that means I can go for free.”
A few weeks after she’s left, Emma receives a package in the mail from her. Inside is a letter, telling her about her adventures in college. There is a picture of her room, a dorm she calls it. Emma imagines having a room all to her own. It seems too good to be true. There is a picture of Kennedy and few other girls. “Look,” she wrote on the back, “I made friends!” The last thing in the package is a book called the Red Fairy Book.
“I know we’ve agreed not to believe in fairy tales, but that doesn’t mean you can’t read them,” Kennedy writes.
The Red Fairy Book changes everything. It makes Emma learn to love reading. Not all the fairy tales are pretty, not all of them have happy endings- but she likes that. Some of them are gruesome and horrific, while others are sweet and charming. It has lots fairy tales she’s read before, but many more new ones. She likes the new ones, especially the ones that no one has heard of. They feel like her own discovery. Her own secret stories.
The Red Fairy Book leads her to discovery the library. Allie, the new oldest girl in the home, takes her. She shows her how to get a library card. Emma feels greedy at all the books she can take. No one has every let her take anything before.
She reads her way through the Blue Fairy Book. Then the Green one. Then the yellow. When she’s finished that, the librarian shows her a book called Ella Enchanted, which she reads in just one night. The next day, she goes back and gets three more books, which she finishes by the end of the week.
Before she graduates middle school, Emma Swan has lived in 12 different homes, but she has read 2,678 books. She is very proud of that (the books, not the number of homes she’s been rejected from). The first thing she does when settling into a new home is ask where the library is and if someone can take her to get a library card.
It’s when she’s in eighth grade that she finds herself in her 13th home. 13 is always an unlucky number in fairy tales, she thinks.
She’s knows that it’s a bad fit as soon as she moves in. She asks to be taken to the library, but her new foster father refuses.
“We don’t do libraries here,” He tells her, “They’re a distraction from chores and work that needs to be done.”
She sits idly in her room, flicking through her worn copy of Red Fairy book her first night. She think of a book she read, Matilda, about a little girl with magical powers who escapes her horrible family with the help of a wonderful teacher. Emma imagines herself to be Matilda and spends hours staring at a book on the shelf trying to will it to move. Nothing happens. Emma is not Matilda.
She soon realizes that this new house is worst than her imaginings. Her foster father assigns her an endless list of chores, threatening her with violence when she fails to do them to his liking.
She retreats into herself, becoming withdrawn. It wasn’t like she had tons of friends in the first places, she’s moved around too much for that. But the ones she does have, she pulls away from. She doesn’t want them to know how horrible her life has become.
She stops doing her schoolwork. There isn’t any time and she’s too afraid of her foster father’s fist. Her books, which were once her sanctuary, sit unread of her shelf. Her postcards from Kennedy get chucked in the trash. How can she think about college when it takes all her energy to just survive?
Emma thinks time and time again about running away. But where would she go? Who would she turn to? She would only get in more trouble if she takes off. She can only imagine the pain that would take place if her foster father would catch her escaping. So she stays.
Emma may not have a Miss Honey, but she does have a Ms. Waverly. Ms. Waverly notices when Emma fails time after time to turn into her assignments. She notices how Emma has become quiet and sullen. It’s after class one day that she beckons her over to her desk.
“Emma, is there anything wrong?”
“No, mam,” Emma mutters, “I’m fine.”
“Why haven’t I received your composition yet?” She asks, “You are usually one of the most gifted writers in your class.”
“I just haven’t time,” Emma says.
“Haven’t had time? Emma, you’re 13, what can be taking up so much time?”
And that’s how Emma starts sobbing at her teacher’s desk. Later, she shows the school counselor the bruises on her ribs, the black-eye she’s been covering up with her hair and a bit of make up.
She gets removed that night, taken to a woman in upstate New York. They’re gentle with her. No one touches her anymore, not even hugs, without asking for permission first. The social workers are making her feel safe again and she appreciates it. She has to repeat eighth grade, she finds out, too many incomplete assignments. She feels farther from her dream of college than ever before.
But then she walks into her new house in New York, to a woman named Ingrid, with blond hair and rosy cheeks. She gives her a mug of hot chocolate and a room of her own. And a library card. Emma might just like it here.
2003, Bradford, England
It doesn’t take Killian long to realize that the life he read about in books was never going to happen. He is sent to a group home with the promise of finding him a family that never comes. He is fine without one, he thinks. He never had much family anyway: Just a brother who never came back for him, a gran who died too early. He’s probably better off without a family, he thinks.
They move him out of London and to a town called Bradford, farther north. He immediately misses the freedom and excitement of London. Between the pace of the town, the overcast weather, and loneliness- there is a dreariness that settles inside of Killian.
At the beginning of secondary school, he meets some boys in class. Peter and Felix are clearly up to no good, but after two years of feeling alone and bored- he needs someone, something. And the petty crime the boys partake in- well, it’s the closest thing Killian has had in years to an adventure.
It starts with sweets from the petrol station, slipped into his pocket when no one in looking. Later, it’s little things from PoundLand, knick knacks and small treasures nicked easily. He does it for the rush, the feeling as if he is getting away with something. He has to admit, the stolen chocolate tastes better than anything he ever paid for.
A few months later, it starts to escalate. They realize how easy they can get away with their easy swipes. So why not try for something of higher value?
They start picking pockets. It’s easy, really, to snatch a wallet out the pocket of the man sitting beside you. Or take of the phone of the woman who just happens to be looking away. They get a fair bit from these swipings. Killian starts to dream of things he’ll buy for himself with the money- maybe a DVD player or a device to play mp3s. He imagines the faces of the other kids in the home when they’ll see him with one.
There is a warmth to the camaraderie of the boys. After they’ve collected their treasures, they sit in the alley together drinking hot chocolate bought from the money the boys have tugged out of unwilling wallets. They count their loot, watching their riches unfold before them. Killian feels a bit like he belongs. Killian has not felt like he belongs in a very long time.
It’s after a few more months that they decide to set their eyes on something bigger. Felix has been keeping his eyes on some watches at a local jewelry store. He knows when they’ll lock up each night and when the alarm kicks in. Peter thinks if they time it right, they’ll be able to make off with the watches. Killian starts to picture vacations on tropical islands, maybe a car when he’s old enough. He pictures riches he’s never dreamt of before.
So he agrees to the plan. It takes a few weeks of preparation to get the timing right, the roles assigned. They decide to execute their plan on the last day of school, that way they’ll have their riches to spend all summer.
At first, everything goes to plan. That is, until a man turns around and Killian is caught red-handed holding the watches. He watches Peter and Felix slink off with quiet smirks- leaving Killian to take the fall.
He get eleven months in a Young Offenders institution.
When he arrives, he is angry. He’s mad at Peter and Felix for leaving him behind. He’s mad at himself for ever believing that he could belong to anything, for ever believing that he meant something to anyone.
As he falls asleep in a locked cell room, he finds himself angry at Liam. None of this would have ever happened if Liam hadn’t left. If Liam hadn’t decided that things were better in America, if he hadn’t decided that the princess made a better sister than Killian made a brother- maybe Killian wouldn’t be here. There is a pit in his stomach that knows that Liam would be so so disappointed if he ever found out what had become his brother.
In the middle of the night, when Killian awakes with the old nightmare of the castle under siege, he finds he is angry at the Princess. The princess stole his brother from him. The princess who is off in America living an easy life. The princess who must be too young to remember the terror of that night in the castle. The princess who is too young to remember the family she lost. Killian thinks that not remembering would be a lot easier that living as he does.