⇒ CHAPTER FIVE

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THE HARSH WIND, in its surprising coldness and strength, caused Wilma's eyes to open wide as she felt it on her face, the whirl blowing her hair behind. Instead of a familiar place, Wilma realized she was standing on strange ground, a forest surrounding the open field where she stood — and yet, she felt like she was right where she belonged. It was an unsettling feeling, being so confused, but still so serene at the same time, but she could feel something was off, so the woman looked around more and took her first step on the dying grass. Only then she realized that until now, it had been as if she was floating in the air, but with the step she took, her heel dug into the ground and the uncomfortable rubbing on her feet caused her to look down from the tall trees around the empty property.

Along with high heels, Wilma was wearing a black skirt and a blazer to match — an outfit which she rarely wore, in fact, the last time she had donned those sorrowful clothes were at her mother's funeral. The thought of a funeral made Wilma eventually lift her gaze in curiousity, only for it to land on a group of people, all of them standing evenly across the grass, all of them wearing black, all of them facing another direction. With confusion, Wilma started to walk through the misty air, cautious and wary due to the unfamiliar surroundings, but as she made it closer, she recognized the place to be a cemetery — there was a single, gray headstone resting on the ground with red roses thrown at its feet, and before the headstone, the group of people, crying. The silence that had already grown familiar, turned into sadness filled by their quiet, distant sobs, and the darkness of the situation made Wilma gulp as she took a careful step closer.

It was then, as her eyes met familiar faces, that her heart sank in her chest and the frown on her lips turned into a full-on grimace, fueled by pure terror and utter horror. Instead of finding herself amidst strangers, Wilma was surrounded by something worse — her friends. Right there stood Emma Swan, silent tears rolling on her pale cheeks, and by her side, little Henry. On Wilma's other side was a sight that was equally unsettling — Killian, but instead of being hidden under the usual several layers of leather, he was wearing a fancy suit, with his hair stylishly combed, and his stubble cleaned for the occasion. And he looked quite nice, too, except for the sorrow visible on his face, which shook Wilma. He rarely seemed so... sad.

Wilma wasn't sure if her voice carried, but when she looked in the middle of the group and found Snow White, sobbing uncontrollably, she was forced to speak up. "Mary Margaret?", she tried carefully, her voice echoing throughout the open space, and once her words ceased to repeat themselves, she licked her lips and made another attempt. "Snow?", Wilma whispered, beginning to grow worried and uneasy in the situation, with all her loved ones standing there in a row, crying, shaking, yet seeming so still and strange, like robots. Like ghosts.

But as Wilma eyed the row of people dressed in their finest, she realized that one wasn't there. And the fear caused by the one's absence made Wilma turn around, and she ended up facing the fairly new grave, her eyes flickering over to the gray stone her friends were mourning at.

And on the headstone, was one name — David Nolan.

The heartwrenching sight earned a sharp gasp from Wilma, and as she hauled air into her lungs, her eyes opened again and she sat up. However, now that she observed her surroundings, she wasn't at the cemetery anymore, and her friends weren't crying or wearing their funeral clothes. She was back in Neverland, the green trees of the jungle surrounding her, and by her side sat Snow White, who directed the woman a worried look, but instead of stopping to insist that she was okay — because she wasn't — Wilma let her gaze roam to find everyone else. Regina was there, Emma was too, and on the other side of the camp they had put up in order to rest before resuming their quest to find Tinker Bell, sat Hook and Charming.

A KIND OF MAGIC ↝ Killian JonesWhere stories live. Discover now