For years she's been coming here. She doesn't know why. She comes because it's one of the few places, not her home and not the school, where she feels almost certain. She doesn't know what that almost certainty is of. Only that it settles, with less purchase than a butterfly, somewhere deep in her stomach, trembling but true.
She runs her fingers over the railing, watches the water run along the rocks, and sometimes for a the barest breath of a second she swears she almost hears something. Someone. Thinks if she turned fast enough, something would be there. But it's only ever wind. Only ever the wind and her foolishness.
There's nothing here. No one else. Every time. Every day. Every month. Every year.
It is, as it has always been, only her and the troll bridge and the long dark night.
Mary Margaret: I used to know my way.
For years she's been coming here. She doesn't know why. She comes because it's one of the few places, not her home and not the school, where she feels almost certain. She doesn't know what that almost certainty is of. Only that it settles, with less purchase than a butterfly, somewhere deep in her stomach, trembling but true.
She runs her fingers over the railing, watches the water run along the rocks, and sometimes for a the barest breath of a second she swears she almost hears something. Someone. Thinks if she turned fast enough, something would be there. But it's only ever wind. Only ever the wind and her foolishness.
There's nothing here. No one else. Every time. Every day. Every month. Every year.
It is, as it has always been, only her and the troll bridge and the long dark night.