Disclaimer: I own nothing from Once Upon a Time.

. . . . .

Prologue

I can hear them all going mad in town. There are shouts, cries, screams . . . Joy, pain, anger. Oh, yes, I'm sure every emotion, every last one – and in its most powerful form, too – is spilling onto the streets of Storybrooke. But all of that chaos, it's background noise. Because what's going on out there is meaningless when I have it all going on in here, in this little bedroom, in this little boat . . . My boat? My bedroom? It's me, it's mine, but it's not.

It's Callie's. Not –

"Adalia."

I say it out loud for the first time, my old name – my real name. Saying it is a mistake. It amplifies it all. The memories, and the feelings, the sights and – and the people – from my past – from Adalia's past –

You are Adalia!

"Adalia . . ."

I'm pacing. What the bloody hell am I still doing in my room? Next thing, I'm on deck. Deck! Hah! That's a laugh . . . This isn't a deck, not compared to –

But it's home.

No, it's not. Home is –

You haven't had a home in years.

Adalia. You haven't had a home in years.

The sea. I look out at the sea, lit up by the sun, welcoming me back. Me. Adalia. Not Callie. Callie was fiction. A story. Callie never existed. Or if she did, she's dead. Or dying.

Which means all of it never existed or is dead or is dying. The Sheriff's office. School. Cade . . . Cade?

And the fencing club! The bloody fencing club!

I almost laugh, but I can't, I can't catch my breath enough to do so.

In town, I'm sure there are celebrations. Sure, people will also be infuriated. The Queen will probably be dead before the day is out. People will want to return to the Enchanted Forest. But they're reunited with themselves, with their loved ones, their real loved ones. Oh, today will go down as a happy day . . .

But not for me, not out here. Not on this dock, not on this boat, not in this heart.

Oh, but the sea . . .

You, me, a ship, and the sea.

Daddy.

Daddy, I'm sorry.

Ignorance is bliss. That's the saying. And my ignorance was so blissful for so long, but now the cat's out of the bag, isn't it? No more bliss. No more teenage girl with a beautiful boyfriend and freedom and a peaceful life ahead of her.

The thing about forgetting that your heart is broken is that, as soon as you remember, it's like it's breaking all over again. And when you remember all at once a hundred different reasons it should be shattered, then it's shattered a hundred times over again, and you want to scream, because the pain is impossible to contain. And I try, but remember? My lungs aren't working quite right.

The sea. I smell the salt, I close my eyes, and Callie dies.

I open my eyes, Adalia. I am Adalia. And a deep, dark calm sweeps through me, as thick as blood.

Hundreds of heartbreaks, hundreds of things I can't fix.

. . . . .

"I can't go with you."

"Of course you can. You don't belong on this ship. You belong with other children. You belong with me . . ."

"My father –"

"Doesn't love you. Not like we can. Come with me, Addie. Come with me."

. . . . .

I can't fix that. I can't fix that.

There is one thing I can fix.

The oldest thing of all.

I'm steady now. My boat moves to the sound of my heartbeat as I reach for the edge. I look out at sea, the one thing Callie and Adalia both knew and loved and lived and breathed and needed, and it lights a long-dead fire in my heart. Adalia lives.

I live. I am alive.

And I have to go skin a crocodile.