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(3) The Winter Thoughts

• Short fic

Spoiler warning for chapter #52 and onward - mentioned characters, mentioned location

Note: edited

It came to Emma's attention that she loathed the winter.

Or the late fall, November and December, or whatever. Whichever name you'd call the point when leaves began to lose color and rot, and roots died, and the land turned white as the walls of Grace Field, and the cold drove her inside where she was confined and worth little to nothing, and she couldn't stop friends from being shipped out like product.

Emma got anxious whenever November rolled around and clouds got thicker than ever. The third day of the month was the worst, when she'd remember a certain ivory face with matching snow hair and icy lake eyes, and – nonono don't throw up – his memory was just so overwhelmingly bitter. Emma had to choke back the thoughts and nausea every time.

Days like these were painted in Norman's colors.

Emma hated it.

She wished that all her memories of him could be summer warm and dandelion soft, but they would never be.

She was reminded of her own powerlessness and the fact that her living right now was imperfect, because without Norman it would not be the same again. The rational side of her speaks but not louder than its counterpart. There wasn't much more to do, when she was wounded and isolated and had every hope stripped from her once faced with the racing clock and their limited options, but could she have done more?

Could she have done something different?

Emma thinks about that a lot, not just concerning Norman, but everyone and all the actions she took.

The worst feeling in the world, at least to her, was guilt. It hung in each of her limbs and pulsed through her blood. It held her back and yet also drove her. She wanted to see the world for Norman. She wanted to be happy for Ray. She wanted to grasp freedom for her siblings and her friends. Rarely are Emma's wants just for her, even though she still considers them selfish. No, she wants for other people. She desires and fights for other people.

And in the same way, she was hungry that December evening for her family. She was going to hunt, not only for herself, but for them too.

She was driven into the cold that night by those thoughts. Could I have done something different, better, fixed the situation so it could be how I wanted it, that's what she thought, and she'd craft it into reality. It propelled her forward, through the trees and the snow and the aching ice. It was a grim night, a night like tendrils of gray and navy blue, a danger so fresh, and if she were completely honest, Emma would admit she knew there would be no animals in the forest that night. She knew there was little luck and that she was probably causing another inconvenience to everyone. But dammit, if her legs still moved and her hands still knew how to draw an arrow to a bow, then she'd make the inconveniences worth it. She'd find something in the dark and the cold, she'd bring it back, she'd be worth something for once when the winter came. She'd never writhe in helplessness and let a life go ever again, whether it was one she'd lived with or the one she'd offer on the table.

But then she felt it, the moment it crossed the trees, the burning pair of ten thousand eyes and a body that dwarfed her so intensely, she could almost laugh. She was more angry than scared. She hated feeling so small and useless. She had a bow, she had the skills to hide and hunt and fight, but she hadn't heard the demon through the snow, and now all she could do was run. With Ray in front of her now, who she'd inconvenienced even more.