[ emma struggles. it's not something new; fitting into this town is like trying to fit a puzzle piece that doesn't belong. she tries and she tries, but unless she snaps the corners, no one is going to break. there's henry, with his metaphorical pom poms, cheering her on and believing in her like no one else has ever in her life. her own flesh and blood is more successful in life without even realising it; he takes it and he holds it tightly to him, always questioning, always fighting. she didn't realise there was another member on her team, also oblivious to who she was at her core, always cheering her on but in a subtle way. graham was one of her first friends here; she figures he'll be among her last.
there are large shoes to fill with being sheriff. she doesn't know the town like she knows the back of her own hand. her usual methods are unorthodox. the mayor breathes down her back like she's waiting for the perfect opportunity to push her hand into her chest cavity and rip her heart out. she knows there's a hole in her chest she refuses to acknowledge as it cripples her, but it's where graham's memory is. he takes up so much space, even when he's no longer here, that she sometimes feels like she's suffocated in his scent and in the notion of him being in the same room. she misses him like a heartbeat.
she has her head on her desk - or his, as it's never really truly been hers, has it? it never will be and she knows she'll never properly claim it - and her hands grip her hair so tightly she wants to tear it out. he haunts everything; from the smell that lingers to the prison cell she temporarily called home to every little crook and cranny in this office. she cannot stop thinking about graham, about the huntsman without a heart, and that stupid fairytale that doesn't quite fit her in it. sometimes henry says he'll come back; graham is dead, his fake counterpart, but the huntsman still lives. emma doesn't think so, though. life isn't a fairytale. it doesn't abide by any rules, fictional or otherwise, and the universe still spins on while good people are taken too soon and those with rotten cores still keep going. ]
Ugh. I don't know how anyone does this job without wanting to shoot themselves.
[ she's thinking too much tonight, about what ifs, fairytales, and alternate realities where she's a princess of the palest but most beautiful princess in all the land and there's a huntsman who means more to her than anyone could possibly understand. she thinks if she stays like this and ignores the real world that it'll go away. considering she goes around pretending she still has a heart, she thinks it's possible. it stopped caring about anything that wasn't henry's happiness when graham collapsed in her arms.
life lesson learnt, world; happiness is unattainable. ]
AJKDLS OMG HOW DID YOU KNOW I LOVE THESE TWO? prepare for depressing textwalls.
there are large shoes to fill with being sheriff. she doesn't know the town like she knows the back of her own hand. her usual methods are unorthodox. the mayor breathes down her back like she's waiting for the perfect opportunity to push her hand into her chest cavity and rip her heart out. she knows there's a hole in her chest she refuses to acknowledge as it cripples her, but it's where graham's memory is. he takes up so much space, even when he's no longer here, that she sometimes feels like she's suffocated in his scent and in the notion of him being in the same room. she misses him like a heartbeat.
she has her head on her desk - or his, as it's never really truly been hers, has it? it never will be and she knows she'll never properly claim it - and her hands grip her hair so tightly she wants to tear it out. he haunts everything; from the smell that lingers to the prison cell she temporarily called home to every little crook and cranny in this office. she cannot stop thinking about graham, about the huntsman without a heart, and that stupid fairytale that doesn't quite fit her in it. sometimes henry says he'll come back; graham is dead, his fake counterpart, but the huntsman still lives. emma doesn't think so, though. life isn't a fairytale. it doesn't abide by any rules, fictional or otherwise, and the universe still spins on while good people are taken too soon and those with rotten cores still keep going. ]
Ugh. I don't know how anyone does this job without wanting to shoot themselves.
[ she's thinking too much tonight, about what ifs, fairytales, and alternate realities where she's a princess of the palest but most beautiful princess in all the land and there's a huntsman who means more to her than anyone could possibly understand. she thinks if she stays like this and ignores the real world that it'll go away. considering she goes around pretending she still has a heart, she thinks it's possible. it stopped caring about anything that wasn't henry's happiness when graham collapsed in her arms.
life lesson learnt, world; happiness is unattainable. ]