Chapter 18

The hallway outside the nursery was quiet.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that doesn’t comfort — just presses in on your ears until your thoughts are screaming loud enough to shatter glass.

I leaned against the cold stone wall, arms crossed tight, like I was trying to physically hold myself together. I wasn’t crying. Not anymore. There’s only so many tears you can shed before your body just… quits.

I stared up at the ceiling, blinking hard, half-expecting some celestial message to carve itself into the stone. Some great big answer to the question buzzing in my skull like a wasp on caffeine.

“Your parents aren’t who you think they are,” Ingrid had told me.

Cool. Love that for me.

So what does that mean? That Snow’s lying? That the prophecy lied? That the universe just threw me in the wrong womb for the drama of it?

I don’t know.

I don’t know anything, and I’m so damn tired of pretending I’m okay with that.

My breath caught as I rubbed at the place just under my ribs — the spot no one sees. The one even I try to forget is there. Scars faded by time but still screaming when the memories get too close.

Lucky. That’s what Emma said. That I got lucky.

She doesn’t know what it felt like. What it still feels like. Being the extra. The glitch. The “oops” in someone else’s storybook.

I didn’t hear Mulan until she was already beside me — like she just rose out of the shadows.

“Are you alright?” she asked, voice low.

I snorted without humor. “Define ‘alright.'”

She didn’t laugh. Just stood beside me, steady and calm. Like a lighthouse. Or a statue.

When she finally spoke again, her voice surprised me.

“I used to ask myself the same question,” she said. “What am I missing?”

I turned slightly, blinking at her.

“My father wanted a son,” she went on. “Someone to carry the family name. Someone to wear the armor and bear the sword.”

She looked ahead, not at me. Like she was remembering it all in real time.

“I wasn’t that. But I tried to be. I fought harder. I ran faster. I cut my hair and trained until my hands bled. And still, they looked at me like I didn’t belong.”

I swallowed.

“What did you do?” I asked, my voice a little smaller than I liked.

“I stopped trying to be what they wanted,” she said. “And became what I needed.”

She finally met my eyes. Steady. Sure. Honest.

“I chose who I was. And I bled for it.”

I stared at her.

And then — just barely — I nodded. “Sounds exhausting.”

She almost smiled. “It was. But it was mine.”

Footsteps echoed down the hall.

Emma and Snow appeared in the archway, shadows draped over their shoulders like cloaks. Emma didn’t say anything — just looked at me. The way people look at you when they want to apologize, but don’t know how to start.

Snow looked between us and asked softly, “Should we make camp here tonight?”

Mulan nodded, but didn’t take her eyes off me. “It’s best if we do.”

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The throne room was colder than I remembered.

The fire was already low in the hearth, but we scrounged what we could — broken chairs, tapestry scraps, and the bones of a long-forgotten table. It wasn’t pretty, but it caught flame.

Everyone settled around it slowly. Blankets were passed out. Bodies slumped down, heavy with exhaustion and grief.

I didn’t join them.

I pulled a chair toward the edge of the room, away from the glow. Close enough to see if something attacked us. Far enough to be forgotten.

When Mulan asked who wanted first watch, I answered before anyone else could.

“I will.”

Aurora mumbled something about waking her later. I didn’t respond.

Didn’t intend to.

It’s been a few hours now.

Or maybe it’s only been twenty minutes. Time’s doing that stretchy, meaningless thing it always does when you’re not sleeping but the world thinks you should be.

Everyone else is out. Mulan’s chin is tucked toward her chest. Emma’s curled near Snow like they’ve done this before. Like they know how to find warmth in each other.

Me? I’m in the corner. Wrapped in my coat, arms crossed over my knees, eyes scanning the shadows.

Not because I’m afraid.

Because I can’t stop.

My brain won’t shut up.

I keep hearing Emma’s voice. Her anger. Her bitterness.

You got picked.
You got lucky.

I clench my teeth.

If only she knew.

I press my fingers to the same old scar — the one under my shirt, where the skin never healed quite right. The one no spell ever fixed. Not even Regina’s magic is powerful enough.

She visited me once. In the hospital. Thought I didn’t know.

She sat in the dark for half an hour and never said a word.

But I heard her crying.

I didn’t call out to her.

I wish I had.

I look at the fire again. Watch it sputter, throw shadows across the walls like ghosts trying to crawl free.

I wonder what it would feel like to burn. Not literally. Just… to let everything out. The rage. The confusion. The grief.

To light it all up and walk away from the ashes.

Instead, I sit here. Quiet. Still. Listening.

To the fire.
To the wind.
To the silence.

No one’s coming.

No monsters. No witches. No redemption arcs.

Just me and the dark.

And a night I have no intention of sleeping through.

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Mulan will always be one of my favorite Disney princesses.

Chapters short today since I want to take the time to review the earlier chapters