#apologies to any french people who see this. yes i know its not a crepe but what else do i call this

[bow-ties-and-daydreams]

took all that tasty eat-the-damn-strawberries inspiration and made the worlds lowest effort "crepe" for breakfast. tortilla, nutella, and berry bits microwaved for 30 seconds makes a decent enough approximation for me!

[secret-captain-swan-blog]

Castle on the Hill

English Literature PhD student Emma Swan just needs money to pay for her last semester of grad school tuition. Killian Jones has always dreamed of opening a bookshop but has never been able to afford it. So when the small principality of Misthaven is looking for their lost princess, the pair decide that this might just be the perfect money making scheme.

A Multi-chapter Modern Day + Lost Princess (think Rapunzel/Anastasia-esque) + Book Lovers in a Coffee Shop AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 20606/ ?

Prologue (Part 1 + 2) // Ch 1 // Ch 2

Read on: Ao3

A million thanks to @katie-dub for beta-ing. Her wonderful advice helped push this chapter to be so much better than it was before. Much love chica :)

The worst part about this whole situation is that Emma now has to leave Mamie’s. She had just gotten comfy, started her morning - well, now afternoon - routine. But with Mr. Super-Hot-And-Wants-To-Offer-You-A-Lot-Of-Money lingering in the coffee shop, she needs her own space to process the offer.

So, she packs up her things and heads out of the café. Mamie’s is in a part of Misthaven called Old Town. Emma likes Old Town with its winding streets and ancient buildings. It’s got a smattering of high end stores that have opened up there after Misthaven’s economic revival. The weather is fair today, so there are a fair amount of people at outdoor cafes, drinking on terraces. She knows she could stay close to Mamie’s and grab a sunny seat at a different café. And yet, she’s restless and decides that she needs more space between her and Killian.

Emma crosses the bridge to the more modern part of the city. The university is here. Universities are soothing to her. Libraries, classrooms, students studying on the quad - all of these are familiar to Emma. There is the buzz of a new semester alive on campus that she loves. The campus sits on a hill overlooking the town.

She hasn’t spent that much time exploring the campus yet. She received her student ID and turned in her paperwork a few days before, but for the most part she’s spent her last few days working on her applying for visa, setting up her apartment, fighting jetlag, and guzzling Mamie’s cappuccinos.

She thinks about taking this time to explore the library and finding a book to take her mind off the situation for a couple hours, but she knows she doesn’t have that luxury. So instead, she collapses onto a bench that overlooks Old Town.

From here, she can trace the outline of the town. There are the towers of the main Cathedral, and smaller spires of a few others. The opera house rests along the river, with a distinctive domed roof. The most predominant feature of Old Town is the large castle perched on the opposite hill. It’s a mess of turrets and tall grey walls, with sprawling grounds extending backwards into the forest and hills beyond. There is something about the castle that makes Emma shiver. It’s austere. It’s dazzling.

Emma gazes up at it for a moment. She knows enough from her research to know that the Queen doesn’t live there anymore. The prime minister’s offices are there, as is parliament. It’s a government building, no longer a home. Emma thinks of the events that happened there - the first revolution, the slaughter of the Royal Family - or, well - at least part of it. Then another revolution and suicide of a dictator. Emma understands why no one would want to live there.

If she were the princess, she would have been born there. She thinks of the dreams that haunted her childhood - castle hallways, dresses that rustled when she walked, running across palace grounds at night. She knows that they were just her childish imaginings, but well, she’s never had a home. She’s never had a starting point to her story. Who is to say she isn’t the lost princess?

There is a lot of her that thinks that this plan is stupid. She’s not a princess. She’s the opposite. She’s the kind of kid who was constantly unwanted. She’s had to scrape her life together with her own bare hands.

But, she’s curious. What is there to lose? She could have a chance at money - enough to do more than just finish her degree and pay off her student loans. That’s the only reason she’s giving this offer the time of day.

There is more though. She could have a chance at a family. She had Ingrid at one point. She has Belle now. But she’s never a real family - no mothers or fathers or aunts or uncles. If this somehow works, if she somehow charms the queen into thinking she is her daughter, then she’d have a home. She’d have someone who care about her.

What is she thinking ?

Emma pinches herself, shaking the thought of family from her mind with vehemence. She’s only made it this far because she’s relied on herself. She’s only made it this far by not letting anyone in. She has her walls and fierce independence because it’s been the only way for her to survive. She doesn’t need a family. She doesn’t need this plan.

But, isn’t this plan the best solution to her problem?

She was literally just waiting for something to fall in her lap and it did. Duke fell in her lap. Blanche Neige fell into her lap. She’s taken advantage of each of those opportunities and used them to get ahead. So shouldn’t she, in her very plucky nature, take advantage of this opportunity to get ahead?

Yes, she should. She squares her shoulders. She is going to give it a shot. Not because of sentimental things, like family, like home. Not because the guy who offered her this opportunity is sex-on-a-stick. She’s doing this because she needs money. She needs to finish her PhD. That’s it.

He’s waiting outside the restaurant a half hour early. It’s nearly dusk and the streets are milling with activity. Young and old couples, families of tourists, small packs of teenagers making their ways to restaurants and bars to begin their evening. Their fluttering of moment sends a feeling of anticipation into the air. He wonders if she’ll show.

Emma.

He can’t believe she’s called Emma. What are the chances that this girl he randomly found would not only be blond and American, but also named Emma?

And her chin, she has the same dimpled chin that the princess did.

It’s just enough that he thinks they might be able to pull this off. He lived in the castle. He technically knew the lost princess. His brother was the last one to see her alive.  If anyone could have found the real princess - it’s him.

And, well, if anyone is going to convince the queen that she is the princess - it might be this girl.

That is, if she shows up.

He waits a half hour till it’s the time she’s supposed to be here. Then his eyes are on his watch as he waits for five minutes to pass, then ten, then fifteen. Maybe she isn’t coming. She was really skeptical. It was a lot to throw on someone who was just minding their business.

It’s probably unrealistic anyway. She must have a family of her own. She must have friends she cares about. She’s probably just here on holiday - she said something about research right? She can’t just give it all up to pretend to be a princess. So what? So he can open a bookshop? His life is pretty good. He doesn’t need anything more and he doesn’t need to draw a random girl into this messy plan. It’s good that she hasn’t shown up. She’ll be better off without this plan.

“Hey,” a voice interrupt his thoughts, “Killian, right?”

It’s her. She’s changed from earlier. She wearing a sundress and a jean jacket. Her hair is up in a ponytail. Her glasses are gone too, revealing mossy green eyes.

She is still gorgeous.

“Emma.” He says, not trying to sound so surprised.

“Sorry, I’m a little late,” she says, “I just-“

“No need to apologize,” he replies, “let’s just get dinner, shall we, love?”

He ushers her into the restaurant. It’s a nice place. He used to go to school with the owner’s daughter, but she died in the revolution. He wishes he was he here for that. He should have died for the country instead of her. Those in the revolution were braver than him.

They are seated in the back, in a table he requested in advance because it’d be more private. He doesn’t want to risk someone overhearing his plan. He asks the waiter to bring over a nice bottle of red.

“So,” he says, beginning to ramble, his hesitations coming back. “Have you given it any thought? Because I was thinking about it and it was unfair for me to even put you up to this. It was selfish-“

“No.” She interrupts him this time. “It’s actually perfect. Granted, I’m not really the kind of girl who does this kind of thing. I’m not anything close to a princess. But I really, really need money.”

“Fair enough.” He says, “I understand that the fiscal reward makes it all worth it. So if you aren’t a princess- just who are you, Swan?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she says, raising her eyebrows.

Just then, the wine arrives. He nods at the waiter to let the lady taste it first. When she gives a small smile and nods, he beckons at the waiter to pour two glasses.

When the waiter is out of earshot, he raises his glass, “To our potential business arrangement.”

She lifts her glass back and then takes a few huge gulps. “We should talk about specifics.”

“Yes, precisely,” he replies. “But look, I see the waiter heading back over. So let’s order, shall we?”

“Shoot,” Emma says, flipping through the menu, “I haven’t had time to look yet. What’s good here?”

“Well, Misthaven cuisine is mostly a mix of French, Belgian and Dutch foods,” He explains quickly, “It’s the best of both worlds really. You’ve got the superb pastry and crepes of France. The excellent chocolate and chips from Belgium. Then there is amazing cheese from Holland. Honestly, you can’t go wrong with anything.”

Emma’s face is still baffled as the waiter approaches for the order.

“Ladies first,” he says, turning to Emma.

“Um, I’ll have the crepe,” she said, her forehead adorably wrinkled.

The waiter nods and turns to Killian.

“Pour moi, le steak-frite, s’il vous plait,” He replies.

The waiter jots their order down and is off again.

"See, love, you survived,” Killian says.

“I think I’ve had a crepe before at like iHop,” Emma tells him.

“What’s iHop?” he asks. It’s his turn to be perplexed.

“It’s like a really cheap pancake place,” Emma starts, “Nevermind. I didn’t eat a lot of global cuisine growing up.”

“Well it’s lucky you are getting to Misthaven now then,” Killian says, “You’ll have plenty of time to eat amazing food.”

Emma smiles and for moment he thinks they both forget the situation at hand. For a moment, they are just two friends out for dinner. For a moment, they aren’t about to undertake a preposterous plot to fool the Queen of Misthaven.

But well, that can only last for so long.

“Right, so, specifics,” He says, “Honestly, I can’t tell you too much because I don’t know that much.”

“What do you mean? You’re the one who approached me with this deal.”

“Right, but, well, like I said a man approached me to find the princess and I thought you’d be close enough,” He explains, shrugging apologetically with a nervous smile.

“You really know how to make a girl feel special,” she snorts.

“Well, I thought you were fake-princess material, so there’s probably a compliment in there if you search for it,” he smiles.

“So what would happen if I say yes?”

“Well, we’d call the chap who put me up for it and he’ll tell us the next step. It will probably involve telling the queen, convincing her it’s you, etcetera.”

“Wait. Can’t she just do a DNA test and figure it out?” Emma asks. It’s a good question.

“Well, from the research I’ve done, it seems that in the past she’s insisted that she would ‘know her daughter’ and refused DNA testing. The only time it’s been used was after each girl was revealed as an imposter.”

Emma nods, as if checking off a mental list of questions. “So, right, that’s question number two - what happens if they think I’m an imposter?”

“Well, in the past, two of the girls have ended up jail,” he begins -

“What? No way. I’m not going to jail. I have a career,” she erupts.

Panic is bright in her eyes. It seems to draw from him an unexpected reaction.

“I’ll take the fall,” he offers.

He blurts it out too quickly. It doesn’t make sense.Why would he risk jail for some lass he just met? He doesn’t need his dream to workout for him to live a decent life. He wants to open his bookshop, desperately. He wouldn’t have taken on this task if he didn’t want his dream to have a chance. All the same, he knows he could see a future where he is happy without this dream coming true.

But she won’t. She needs this money for whatever reason, a reason desperate enough to give this plan a chance. He doesn’t know much about her. He knows she’s pretty. He thinks she mentioned being in grad school, so he knows she’s probably smart. She has a fierce look in her eyes that he can’t ignore. He has this urge to protect her, to help her. Hell, he doesn’t even know what she needs the money for. It doesn’t matter. He feels something for her, something kindred that lingers in her eyes. It’s enough for him to suddenly want to risk everything.

And practically speaking, he has a record. It wouldn’t be a surprise for someone like him to end up in jail again. He can take that worry from her. He can protect her.

The waiter appears with their food, suddenly, shaking him from his thoughts. The man puts their warm plates down before walking off.

Emma takes a bite of her crepe, which from the looks of it is stuffed with mushroom, egg, tomato, and cheese.

“Wow. You were right, Killian. This is really good,” she remarks.

“Told you that you were lucky to be in Misthaven,” he tells her. He wonders if those words resonate on many levels.

“So, what’s next?” Emma asks.

“First, we need to talk about your specifics,” he says.

She takes another bite of crepe as he continues.

“How long are you here for?” he asks.

“A semester,” she says, “til December.”

That’s good , he decides, sufficient time to secure the money.

“And you’ll have to keep your family quiet,” he says.

“That’s easy,” she smiles, “I don’t have a family.”

Shit. This girl is really perfect for this job.

“No family at all?” he asks.

“Nope. Long sad story, but the important thing is that there isn’t anyone who will be offended that I’m claiming someone else is my mom.”

“Brilliant.” He nods. “What about friends?”

“Just one best friend and she’s too busy in grad school to care. But I’ll tell her to stay mum anyway.”

He pops a frite in his mouth.

“What about a boyfriend?” He asks. He knows this question is self-indulgent. What can he say? He’s curious.

“No boyfriend,” she says, “no exes. I’m not really a dating type.”

A curious fact he files in his brain for further thought.

“Well, then it looks like you truly are the perfect woman for the job,” he says.

“So what happens now?” She asks, eating more crepe.

“Well, we call the gentleman, and by gentleman, I mean the scariest man you’ve ever met,” he says, “And tell him we are interested in the deal. Then I assume he’ll arrange a chance to meet the queen and present our case.”

She looks nervous.

“So, I’m up to meet with the guy, it’s just that this whole plan, it makes me hesitant. But, well, like I said, I really need money.”

He wonders what she needs the money for, maybe a hasty bet or some sort of horrible debt. He wants to ask, but thinks better of it. Emma deserves some privacy.

“Listen, Emma, love, I’ll be with you the whole way. If anything seems off, if you feel unsafe - I’ll be right beside you.”

He can tell there is still hesitation in her face. There is still something holding her back. He can’t solve all her problems, but he maybe a little smolder will help.

He tries for his most charming face, a crooked smiled and some uneven eyebrows, and then tosses her a, “Try something new, darling, it’s called trust.”

She rolls her eyes, but her face finally erupts into a true smile and he thinks that everything might be alright.

After their meal, she watches as he calls the man.

All she can think is that she would much rather be in her apartment with her fuzzy socks and a good book. But she’s here. The evening air has gone cold and windy, her sundress floats around her and she feels her legs prickle with goosebumps. She doesn’t want to be here.

“Right,” he says, “he wants us to meet him in twenty minutes.”

“Meet him where?”

She imagines a dark alley somewhere and then her imagination turns it into something uncouth. Who is to say this isn’t going to lead to a trap? Maybe this was all a scheme to get her in a position to rob her, or worse.

“A shop nearby,” He says, “Look, I don’t know who this guy is, but I haven’t told you any lies. I’ll stick with you through this.”

Emma flashes him a doubtful look, because honestly, she’s not really sure she trusts him let alone this shady fellow they are about to meet. She’s starting to think this was a bad idea. She likes to think she could handle herself if she ended up in a bad situation, but she isn’t too sure - especially if she has to face two men. She took a women’s self-defense class in undergrad, but, in the end, she’s not sure if she remembers any of it.

But she plasters on a determined look and vows to give it a shot anyway.

“Right, let’s go,” she says.

They wind through curvy streets. It’s later now and the streets are milling with people having evenings out. There are groups of girls and boys, dressed up and floating out of bars. She wishes she were them, going out to meet new friends and not off to meet a potentially questionable fate.

Yet, she shuffles behind this guy anyway because she’s just a little bit curious.

And she really needs money.

They come to a stop outside a pawn shop on the edge of Old Town, just before it gives way to more residential roads.

It looks dingy on the outside, as if it’s only half used. Or you know, like it’s a front for more shady affairs. There is peeling paint, a boarded-up window. Most of Misthaven has been rebuilt and tidied since the revolution, but it seems like this little nook got passed over.

Emma starts trying to dredge up anything she can remember from that women’s self-defense class. She’s pretty sure if someone grabs her wrist, she can twist it to escape - but twist it which way? She can’t remember. Crap, she’s hopeless.

Killian cracks open the door and they enter the shop. Inside, the air is thick and musty. There are dusty cases containing trinkets and mementos. She looks over at one, full of memorabilia from during the time under the reign of the dictator. There is paraphernalia - pamphlets with Gold’s face on them, buttons with his leering smile. She feels sick and looks over at another cabinet. This one is full of jewels. In the center is a tiny, glittering tiara.

There is something startling about the crown. It’s familiar . She wonders if maybe she played dress up with one that looked like that an early foster home. But it looks too nice to be anything she’d find in a foster home. Everything she was given in her childhood was shit.

“Like what you see, Your Highness?” asks a voice with a chuckle.

She looks up to see a man, just as creepy as Killian described - dark hoodie that covers his face, vague smell of death.

She jumps at his words, not used to the title. She supposes she should get used to it if she is going to impersonate the princess for the next few months.

“Lovely jewels,” she murmurs.

“Lovely indeed,” the death-man hisses.

His voice is a mix of something snake-like and something impish. It makes her blood curdle.

“That crown belonged to the princess,” the man explains.

She looks up at him and he zeroes in on her face. He walks to other side of the case to take her in. He circles her, looking her up and down. Then he stops so they are face to face. He runs a dirty finger along her chin and she tries not to flinch. She can see Killian in her peripheral standing defensively, as if ready to jump in and help her.

“She’s not the princess, is she?” he asks Killian.

“What are you talking about?” Killian replies, “Of course, she is.”

“Yeah right, dearie, I gave you this challenge this morning.” He snarls, “There is no way you’ve found the princess in such short time.”

Killian grimaces.

So maybe the jig is up, but maybe that’s for the best. This guy is giving Emma major heeby jeebies.

“She’s the real thing,” Killian insists.

“Oh please,” Mr. Creepy says, “Don’t lie to me boy. Don’t try to pass off a fake on me. I’m a connoisseur of rare goods. I notice when the quality of my goods are - lacking or inauthentic.”

She exchanges a glance with Killian, as the man retracts his hand from her face and circles her again.

“I will say that she’s a good fake.” He squeaks, “While she’s not what I was looking for, she might be able to convince the queen. That woman is willing to believe anything just to think her daughter is alive again.”

He brushes a lock of her hair, before adding, “I think that you might be lucrative.”

Emma stomach curls again. She doesn’t like the implication that she’s a money making device. It seems just one step away from prostitution.

She tries to make eye contact again with Killian. She wonders if he is just as uncomfortable as she is.

“Hmm, yes,” the man says. “Well, if we are going to pull this off, it will be more difficult than I expect. Take a look at this.”

He shoves an article, fished out of his pocket, to Emma. Killian peeks over her shoulder at the article as Emma begins to read it.

In a press conference today, Queen Mary Margaret announced that she has closed the search for her missing daughter.

“The loss of my daughter and husband in 1995 was devastating. It was only by a stroke of pure luck that I was able to survive and escape the revolution. I spent twenty years in exile, comforted only in knowing that my daughter escaped safely. When I returned to find her untraceable, her guard murdered, I could only think of finding her. But the past few years have led to nothing but cruel disappointment. I love my daughter and I remain hopeful that she might still be alive somewhere. But I’ve come to the realization that a public search is no longer the most productive way to locate her. I am officially calling off the search. I will no longer accept submissions of tips or applications for consideration. If my daughter is out there, I know that she will find me. We always do.”

The announcement comes on the heels of the reveal of Zelena Marshall impersonating Princess Emma. Ms. Marshall’s was the third attempt so far, leaving behind a trail of disappointment after each woman’s attempt….

Princess Emma. She must have forgotten that, that the lost princess shared the same name as her. She’s studied the Misthaven Royal Family a bit for her dissertation, but her research primarily focused on the period that followed the revolution, rather than the revolution itself (Though now that she thinks of it, it might make a terrific argument to pull in - saying that use of fairy tale as a motif displays a nostalgia for the royal family and monarchical regime).

“What?” Killian shouts, “All this has been for nothing.”

“Oh, dearie, I don’t agree.” The hooded man says, “This situation may still allow us to make money. We’ll have to convince the queen differently. We can’t waltz right in there. We’ll have to build her trust. Well, you two will.”

“There isn’t anything I can do by means of convincing,” Killian protests.

“We both know that’s not true,” the man leers. “I didn’t pick just anyone to help me with this task.”

Killian grimaces. Emma wonders what his secret might be, why he might be so helpful.

She doesn’t like this, the secrets, the manipulation. This isn’t something she is ready for. It’s one thing to try to follow an opportunity that falls into her lap, but it’s another to get this deep in a scheme she doesn’t really believe in. And this feels wrong. Killian was okay - but this other guy is making her stomach churn. She doesn’t want anything to do with him. She doesn’t want to be an accomplice to anything he is dreaming up.

He turns to her, a devious glint in his eyes.

“Well, dearie,” he says to her, “first things first, take off that jean jacket.”

“What? Why?” She asks, her voice sounding distant to her.

He chuckles darkly as he pulls a large knife from his sweatshirt. Her stomach flips. She had worried that this place could be a front for drugs or maybe even trafficking, but now she is worried that this might be the place of her murder.

The man steps closer, putting the blade of the knife up to her chin, as he reaches to push her jacket off of her shoulders. She feels violated by this movement, an unwilling undressing.

“Because the princess has a scar on her shoulder and you need to match. A princess without a scar? Well,” He says, as her jacket hits the floor and she feels blood well at the dip in her chin, “the jig is up.”

Emma glances wildly at Killian. He looks pale and sick. She knows that he must feel uncomfortable about this too. How can he not?

“I’ve changed my mind,” she announces.

The hooded man doesn’t seem to hear her and he raises the knife. She swallows in fear. She hopes it is going to hit her shoulder and not like a vital organ.

Then Killian knocks a cabinet over. The glass shatters in a loud crash. Dust flies up into the air, clouding her eyes and nose.

“What have you done?” The man hisses.

“You heard the lass, she said she changed her mind,” Killian roars.

Emma runs. Through the commotion, she finds the door and pushes. She turns briefly to flash a grateful smile at Killian. Then she is outside, safe, running over the cobblestones to put as much space as she can between herself and the nightmare she just witnessed.

It’s cold out now, especially without her jacket, but she is full of adrenaline and fear. She can’t slow down. She doesn’t want the man to follow her. She just wants to put it behind her, to forget his snake-like voice, his dark hood, the feeling of his knife against her chin.

She hopes that Killian is okay. She knows that he had good intentions, even if he did lead her into the scariest situation she’s ever been in. She still has his number in her pocket, so she can call him later if she gets really worried. But part of her already knows that she won’t. She just wants this all behind her. She doesn’t want to think about it again. She’ll find another way to pay for her final year.

She gets to the river where the tram stop is. For the first lucky moment in her day, the tram is waiting when she gets there. She hurries on and grabs a seat by the window. The train begins to move, following along the river, then across it. It winds past the university, past the business district, until it reaches her neighborhood.

It’s a young area full of student residences and young professional apartments. There are plenty of trendy cafes, gyms, and bars. While Mamie’s still remains her favorite Misthaven café and study place, she appreciates the hip vibe of this neighborhood. Tonight, it’s soothing to her. There is the sound of parties - laughter and loud music - wafting out of some of the apartments. Gangs of students, chattering mostly in French or Dutch, linger outside the bars, smoking and drinking with friends. It feels safer here. If the city is so alive, she can’t feel alone.

She walks the two blocks to where her apartment is. She was fortunate that there was a biology PhD that was spending the semester at Duke and they could do an easy swap between the two of them. When she’d talked to him briefly, he had sound like a mess. He’d even been a little drunk during their skype chat. But the apartment itself had been neat as could be. It was a bright place, a one bedroom with white walls, a few potted plants, and a desk with a view of a cute park. She knows that she’s lucky to have scored a place like this for her semester in Misthaven.

As she soon as she gets in, she puts the kettle on, hoping that a cup of tea and a book will settle her mind. Books are always her go to comfort in times like this. She scans the shelf of her sparse book collection that she’d brought with her. She settles on Emma by Jane Austen. She isn’t much for stories of regency dresses and marriage plots, that is always Belle’s domain. Emma herself prefers something a little darker, with an interplay between past and present, a fusion of a culture or history into it. Yet, she can’t resist Emma ’s spirit and tenacity. It is a secret favorite. And maybe she likes that it was named after herself.

But as she settles on the sofa, with her tea and book and a worn grey blanket - she still won’t settle. As her eyes glance over the title, she can’t help but think of the lost princess. Emma .

“Your Highness,” the lecherous man had called her.

It was like an echo. It was like a dream.

She gets up from the couch, too restless to sit still. Instead, she heads for the shower. Maybe hot, steamy water will sooth her where books could not.

She takes off her dress, still mourning the loss of her favorite jean jacket, and tosses it into the laundry basket. She climbs into the shower, cranking the water way up until it burns. She remembers a foster home where she was limited to five minute showers with cold water only. Ever since then, she’s cherished hot showers.

She feels the tension leave her shoulders, as she reaches up rub them. There is a small part, which she pushes away immediately, that wonders what it would be like if Killian would be the one rubbing her shoulders in the shower. She knows that’s not possible.

As begins her rub on her aromatherapy lavender body wash, her eyes drift to her shoulders. She swallows as her eyes follow the thin silver line that begins at the edge of her collarbone and travels down the arc of her shoulder. It’s a scar that’s been there for as long as she can remember, since before she was found alone in the airport. She’s always been ashamed of it, thinking it was proof that her life was hard before she could remember it. But now, she wonders if it’s something else.

If it’s a key, an imprint, an echo of the life she never knew.

tagging some fans (people who i looked through their tags and found out they really liked it) // let me know if anyone wants to be added or subtracted:

@sambethe @kmomof4 @pocket-anon @hooked-mom @the-corsair-and-her-quill @kiwistreetswan @lenfazreads @princesseslikepirates @timeless-love-story