A KIND OF MAGIC ↝ Killian Jones

⇒ EPILOGUE

  WILMA ANNE BARTON had always loved stories and fairytales, they were a different reality to escape into, a world to get lost in, a dream that she only wished would come true. Whether it was the brave heroines or the handsome princes, she loved them all, admired their courage and the friendships they formed. She could only aspire to be a hero like that one day.The fairytales were a big part of her childhood, and something she often bonded over with her family — especially her mother, Ellen. The woman read the stories for Wilma before bedtime, and that was partly why she grew so fond of them, why they ended up meaning so much to her.

  "And so, they lived happily ever after", were the words Ellen often closed the book with, and with a smile, Wilma pulled the blanket to her nose whilst admiring her mother with those large eyes. Ellen leaned down to press a kiss to Wilma's forehead, the soft touch prompting the young girl to close her eyes, and when she did, her mother stood up to leave. However, before she could leave the bed, Wilma took her hand, earning her mother's attention.

  "Mom, do you think I'll find my own Prince Charming one day? True love? And live happily ever after?", Wilma questioned curiously, clearly intrigued by the thought, and breaking into a smile, Ellen took a seat on the edge of the bed, well-aware that this conversation could go on for hours. For years now, Wilma had expressed interest in becoming a princess herself, or a fairy, or a famous warrior, and those kind of talks usually lasted for a while — she had so many questions, so many dreams.

  "I think, one day, you will find someone who makes you very happy. Someone who will love you unconditionally, and would do anything and everything for you. Someone who will stand by you through thick and thin, through your worst moments, and wipe your tears away and give you comforting hugs when you need it the most. Now, I don't know if it'll be a prince, necessarily, but I think what matters is that they love you, and you love them", Ellen explained, squeezing her little girl's hand. "And yes, hopefully, you will get to live together happily ever after", she smiled, and mirroring the cheerful expression, Wilhelmina nodded.

  "Sleep now, my princess. Your happily ever after awaits", Ellen whispered once more, and after pressing one last kiss on her daughter's forehead, she left the room.

  And behind, she left one very hopeful little girl, determined to find her true love one day, not necessarily a prince, but someone equally charming, for sure.

———

WILHELMINA WAS HAPPY. After everything she had gone through, after all that heartache she had to deal with, after the struggles she had to face, she was, at last, happy. Life in Storybrooke wasn't perfect, by any means, but Wilma wouldn't change a thing. She had an amazing godson, the most incredible friends, a new family and most importantly, true love. If only her mother could see her now.

  Wilma stood in her room at the inn, her eyes staring at the desk resting against the wall. Atop the desk was a letter, mailed to Wilma Barton, from a place she had nearly forgotten — but then again, how could she ever do that? It seemed her father had gotten her letter, and there it was, his response waiting to be opened, waiting to be read, and even though it took Wilma a while, she eventually found the courage to do so. After celebrating the birth of Snow and Charming's baby — prince Neal — at Granny's diner, Wilma had returned to her room with a smile on her face, but at the sight of this letter, it now faded away. She didn't know what to think, but perhaps she didn't need to — she just needed to see what her father had to say.

  "Wilma, dear,

  I'm so terribly sorry for everything. I was hoping you wouldn't have to find out, that your abilities would never be triggered, but I have the utmost faith in you and your strength. If anyone can deal with this, it's you, Wilhelmina. You are the bravest, strongest, most incredible person I know. You got that from your mother.