Cheers to Forever, Love.

Prologue

Once upon a time there was a universe – a universe identical to all of its siblings. The stars aligned the same, the planets orbited their chosen star, and everything else was the same, except for the lives of the people inhabiting those planets. You've heard one version of events, seen movies about them, read stories about them – but you haven't heard the original tale of the Saviour and her Storybrooke.

Freya appeared to be like many other girls in her early twenties. She loved to spoil herself every now and then; she enjoyed expanding her collection of old and unusual items such as books or writing utensils. But she wasn't like any other girl in her early twenties in the sense that... Well, she wasn't in her early twenties.
Freya was nearing on nine hundred and fifty eight. She was also a Vampire/Witch Hybrid known as a 'Heretic'.
She had to drink blood to survive, but could still find pleasure in Human food, she could walk in the sunlight so long as she wore her enchanted Lapis Lazuli ring, which she kept glued to her left index finger, she could also (to a certain extent) read minds, compel Humans and other Supernatural beings to do whatever she wanted and plant or alter dreams. She never let her weaknesses bother her, but Vervain was always a struggle. Vervain was a herb that, in any form – including in the blood stream – caused a fair amount of temporary damage. When ingested, it felt like she'd vomited razor blades, when inhaled, it was like trying to inhale through your nose whilst your face was a little too close to a log fire, to the touch, it was as painful as branding. A few too many Humans knew about the effects of Vervain for Freya's liking. On multiple occasions, she'd had run ins with the locals of towns she had stayed in and so had to move.

But for most of her life, Freya had felt as though something was always missing from her life. She'd had many a romantic fling, whether it be for one night only, a few months or a couple of centuries, but nothing felt truly real; she began to feel as though true love really was a myth.
Until she met Emma Swan.

Emma was a child like any other in the foster system. Gloomy, with the almost constant underlying look of loss and emptiness. But Emma had a certain spark about her that intrigued the Heretic greatly. Even in her lowest moments, Emma had a glint of something magical in her eye. Hope.

It was mid 1996 when Freya fostered Emma. She felt it was a good thing to hopefully make a life better whilst trying to fill a void in her own.
Emma was fourteen, had clearly seen some crap in her life and Freya felt she related to that.
As though it were as the most natural thing on Earth, Freya and Emma quickly became best friends - practically sisters.
But one stormy night in Portland, Maine changed all of that forever.

It was two in the morning when Freya took a seat in her favourite armchair by the fireplace, taking a sip of her beautifully aged Scotch as the log fire crackled and popped a few feet in front of her.
For what felt like the thousandth time since she received the few pieces of paper in front of her, she stared down at them, a nervous butterfly feeling in the pit of her stomach.
The adoption papers almost glowed orange under the hue of the fire, practically begging to be signed.
In small frustration, Freya sighed deeply, got up and went to Emma's bedroom door, opening it slightly as silently as she could without waking the sleeping teen.
Instantly, Freya felt content. Seeing her soon-to-be daughter so peaceful and perfect, it made her wonder why she was so worked up about asking Emma if she would like to be adopted by her.

Walking towards her own bedroom, Freya took one last gaze around the top hallway of the huge old house. In her bedroom, she put her Scotch glass down on the table next to her bay window seating, completed by the picturesque view of the Fore River.
With that, Freya pulled her knee high black boots over her jeans, threw on her black biker jacket, finished her Scotch and left the house without a sound.

Freya walked to the only place she knew of besides right next to Emma where she could find true solace – the Eastern Promenade.
She strolled down the waterside trek, hands in pockets and hood up, humming a tune her mother used to sing to her almost a thousand years previously. Freya had grown up on a Viking settlement in Norway, so her head was filled with plenty of songs that reminded her of home.
Despite the East wind blowing the storm in as hard as it could, Freya felt peaceful in her surroundings, imagining she was on the edge of the world.
But in a matter of seconds, all that changed.
A particularly rough gust of wind blew, almost pushing Freya off her feet. She steadied herself using the hand rail on the water side of the trail, but that was when she saw it – a huge circle of brightly glowing orange-y reds opened up in the water, no less than ten feet in front of her.
She gasped, feeling a mixture of nervousness, curiosity and a little bit of fear, but moved towards it to get a closer look anyhow.
But, just a couple of feet from the water's edge, something that could only be described as an upside down tornado opened up from the circle and sucked her in.

By the time Freya awoke, the sun was high in the sky.
She felt a familiar rocking, followed by the realisation that she was cold and damp.
Freya opened her eyes, seeing the faces of many men looking down on her.
"Captain, she's awake!" One of them shouted.
"Aye, out of the way then." The Captain's rough, English tone came slightly muffled through the crowd of people. Like the red sea, the men parted as Freya sat up, rubbing a bump on her head, of which she didn't know the origin. "You alright there, love?"
"I'm fine. I must've fallen into the water and hit my head or something. Would you mind taking me back to the mainland?" She asked, her voice instinctively becoming a slightly more 'posh' version of her usual English accent.
"The mainland? That's more than two day's sail, lass. Which realm is home?" Freya finally looked up to the man answering her questions, raising her eyebrow at his choice of terminology.
He was tall, extremely handsome with dark brown hair and beard scruff and wearing a lot of leather.
"Portland. My daughter's there, she must be worried sick."
"I've never heard of this 'Portland', love, but I can assure you, I'll make sure you get back to your daughter." He held out what Freya originally thought was the Captain's left hand, but upon proper inspection, it was a metal hook.
Freya frowned, placing her hand on his forearm for assistance as she stood up, head still very fuzzy.
"What's your name?" The Captain asked.
"Freya. Freya Klay." The Heretic answered, honestly.
"Well Miss Klay, my name is Captain Killian Jones, though reputation would have me as Captain Hook, and this is my crew. Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger." He smiled brightly.
Freya was convinced she was dreaming, but before she could do so much as utter Emma's name, she blacked out once more.