Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━
GRIEF WAS UNFAMILIAR to Kaelyn. She had mourned a few times before in her centuries of life, but so many years had passed since she had last tasted the salt of tears on the plump of her cheek that she found it to be a new feeling altogether. Distancing herself long ago had prevented her from ever being weakened by the fate of others or their actions, but that wasn't possible with Baelfire.
She slept uneasily, drifting in and out, her dreams haunted by times the pair had spent together on the wild island of Neverland, when he was just a boy and her smile still lit up her face rather than darkened it. She replayed their final conversation in her mind, the silence that had engulfed them, as if they were strangers again. That was the end of their decades of knowing each other.
In the moments that Kaelyn had failed to act and Mary Margaret had sucked her back and wasted her time, Baelfire was being killed and she had been idle. There was so much more that could have been done before his time was up. As always, morality was a concept Kaelyn often forgot about, so easy to keep herself alive no matter the circumstances. She found she had all the time in the world, it was hard to forget others were living on borrowed years. But her friend's time was up and that was it– gone.
The finality grounded Kaelyn, as she woke with more energy than she had expected, but knowing in the heaviest part of her chest that it was not a dream and she would never see Baelfire again; not in the Diner having breakfast, not strolling with Emma, not in Mary Margaret's house reading stories with Henry. His time was up, his story ended. For his faults and moral high ground he had developed in recent times, he had been her friend, a piece of her past that she could never quite let go. He had known her, so she had kept him close.
Her hand stung under the water as she wiped down her face, tracing the dark circles under her eyes. She could've healed the wound on her hand easily, but didn't, as she watched the water run red under the sink until it turned clear. She wouldn't waste energy on closing the wound– not when she could save it for something far more important.
The anger had not disappeared, if anything it was stronger. A deadly force simmering just under the surface that Kaelyn was prepared and willing to wield with lethal precision. And she knew full well who she wanted to use it against. The specifications of Neal's death were never clear, but she knew Tamara had at least shot him, and Greg had tortured Regina, and the pair cared for each other. Kaelyn had long ago learnt the best revenge didn't necessarily have to involve harming the target.
She headed downstairs minutes later with her hand bandaged and in a worse mood than ever before. She knew where she was going, and her pride would not stand in her way of, for once, seeking out the Saviour. Revenge had always been something she prioritised.
People shot the brunette wary looks as she stormed through the Diner, and Ruby briefly looked at her, but seemed to think better of stopping her for a chat. Kaelyn wondered if people knew yet what had happened, that there were two people amongst them prepared to kill. And that Neal had paid the price first. She wondered, quickly, if someone had yet to tell Henry, or even Gold. She figured not, since Gold would've been at her doorstep in a second blaming her for it.
