The Girl With Lost Memories - Parts 1 & 2 (An OUAT Fanfiction)

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 32: 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐻𝒶𝓅𝓅𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝒯𝑜 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝒽𝒶𝓂

The visions plunge me into a dark and questioning state of mind. Doubts plague my every thought, uncertainty looming over me, leaving me wondering who and what to trust.

Did I meet David before and forget about it? Has someone warned me that all magic comes at a price?

The night Delilah fell. The moment I touched the bones.

What triggered the visions?

One of those events must've served as the catalyst. The common chord is the surge of energy that zapped me. I don't know what caused those bursts, but they set everything in motion.

Mr. Gold set everything in motion.

Or could it have been Henry's storybook?

I don't know who wrote or illustrated it, but it must be a novelty item specific to Storybrooke that depicts the townspeople as fairytale characters. Maybe it's sold in a gift shop or at the Visitor's Centre. I'll investigate later after seeing a doctor. Going to a clinic is the last thing I want to do, but I need a scientific explanation for what's happening.

Mr. Gold's words echo in my mind, sending a chill down my spine and a wave of chaotic shivers up my arms.

"You okay, Bella?" Emma's voice cuts through the turmoil. "You look shaken up."

I've heard those words before. "All magic comes with a price."

The line continues to nag at me, worming its way into my brain until I pinpoint its source.

"I'm fine. Weird dream."

"Been there," David chimes in, lifting his mug to reveal spilled coffee in the depression of his saucer.

"I think we all have," Mary Margaret adds from her place next to me in the booth. The fear on their faces suggests they're referring to that netherworld they've told me so much about—a dream realm of perpetual torment, engulfed in eternal flames with no escape.

Granny's has a sparse population this morning, with customers huddled in small groups. Tension hangs thick in the atmosphere as if everyone is waiting for something to happen. The only sounds are the refrigerators' soft hum and the click of utensils against plates. The familiar cheerfulness that usually permeates the place gives way to unsettling anxiety, like an impending storm will unleash its fury and engulf everything in its path.

Or it's just me.

My fingers tremble as I spread out my map of Storybrooke, searching for the location of the hospital. The streets blur together, my concentration disrupted by the persistent echo of Gold's phrase in my head.

"Going somewhere?" David says, raising an eyebrow.

My head snaps up, and I force a nod to expel any suspicions. "Mm-hmm."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Emma presses, eyeing me with concern.

It's funny how something you yearn for can leave you feeling different from what you imagined. People in this town care about me in ways I never thought possible—in ways I never thought I deserved. I like it, but it's exasperating. Comforting, but exasperating. Sometimes, I wish to be invisible again. When I was a mere face in the crowd, not who the crowd was there to see.

"Yeah, I-I'm fine," I say, trying to sound convincing.

"You seem distracted." Emma studies me, her eyes intent.

Sensing their collective focus on me, I deflect their attention with a little trick up my sleeve. "Flying monkeys on the brain."

"I think it's safe to say that's the case with all of Storybrooke," Mary Margaret twitters.