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

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 41: 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒪𝒻 𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓃

The bitter cold pierces my skin and gnaws at my bones. Trudging through the treacherous terrain, my breath comes out in misty clouds. Each step is a battle against the relentless gust and blinding snow. I can hardly see more than a few feet ahead of me. The biting gusts whip the snowflakes into a frenzy, sticking to my white hair and eyelashes.

"Anna!" a distant voice calls out through the howling wind. I strain to listen, but the elements conspire against me, muffling it with their icy grip.

A sword unsheathing cuts through the air.

Panic surges through me, and I cry out in protest, "No!"

I stand before the blade, raising my frosted blue hand in a feeble defense attempt.

My legs betray me.

They go numb, turning to solid ice and leaving me immobile with the fatal weapon inches from my outstretched palm.

The frost creeps into my heart, my strength slipping away as the freezing cold takes hold of my body. With my final breaths, my thoughts turn to the people I love and the life I've lived. I'll never get to say "Goodbye" or tell them how much they mean to me. Yet even in the face of death, a glimmer of hope remains, knowing my spirit will live on and my loved ones will always remember me.

As the cold envelops me and the sword descends upon me, I release my grip on life at peace with the knowledge that my journey in this world has come to an end.

I jolt awake, drenched in sweat, my heart racing like a wild stallion. Weakness consumes my body, and the weight of my vivid visions burdens my mind. They've grown stronger and more frequent, but I never expected my dreams to become just as menacing. I'm afraid now that each time I close my eyes, I'll be transported to a world of darkness, pain, and death. I miss flying with the boy in green. Where was he tonight? Why this? Why this nightmare?

I wish Whale and Hopper could've found something wrong with me—something tangible. A physical ailment to explain my visions instead of dismissing them as memories and anxiety. Their reassurances to relax offer minimal comfort when each vision is a brush with death. These visions—what I see—fill me with a perpetual sense of impending doom.

What if they're a warning? A premonition of my death? I died in this dream. I froze and got struck down. The thought tightens my heart, constricts my throat, and brings tears to my eyes. No matter how hard I try, I can't escape these visions. They haunt me day and night, leaving me suffering as though I'm losing my sanity.

I'm tired. I want peace. I want to live.

To do so, I must continue living good moments and do my best to ignore these visions.

But as hard as I try today, everyone comments on how exhausted I look.

Mary Margaret and David's eyes widen in concern when they see me, offering understanding if I wish to sleep more. Emma teaches me how to color-correct my dark circles with makeup, but I still appear as though I have the flu and a severe case of insomnia. At Granny's, Ruby keeps suggesting a double shot of espresso, while Granny insists I try her special soup, convinced I'm sick.

I avoid people as much as possible until Henry finishes school and bring him to Be Our Guest Café. We settle at one of the two exterior tables.

As Henry takes a bite out of his croissant with cheese, I glance from my grilled chicken sandwich to him. It's strange, considering I haven't known him for long, but I feel guilty for not confiding in him about my visions sooner. If anyone has a clue about what I'm experiencing, it's Henry.