— Meaning she has to get back to her flock or she’ll be alone. Forever.
— That’s right, — said Dr. Thatcher. — That’s not to say she wouldn’t be happy here, on her own, but with the storm coming, the window of time is closing for her to get back to where she belongs.
— So I need to find her flock, — Mary Margaret said, — and release her as it flies by. I need to get her back out to where I found her.
— It might work, — said Dr. Thatcher, getting a small cage from the closet. He brought it to the table and set it beside the bird. — I wouldn’t keep you from trying. It’s probably the happiest ending, anyhow. — He smiled and scrubbed his hands. — Good luck, — he said as he was walking out the door. — If you don’t find the flock, feel free to bring her back here.
— Listen, — David said. — With this storm coming, I’m not so sure you should be…
— Don’t look after me, — she said. — I don’t need your help.
David watched her, a little hurt.
— Did I do something? — he said. — I don’t understand what…
— You didn’t do anything, David, — Mary Margaret said, gathering up the cage. — Nothing at all.
She walked out the door.
It was a misty night on the lake when Snow White met Rumplestiltskin. After Red had told her of the mysterious wizard, she hadn’t been able to shake the idea of a spell that could free her of her love — or at least her thoughts — for a man who was not available to her. She sent word through the birds of the forest and Rumplestiltskin obliged her with a meeting.
Snow had just tied off when she turned and saw him sitting across from her in her own rowboat. She jumped, sucked in her breath.
— You really are the fairest, aren’t you? — he said, a wry and terrifying grin on his shadowed face.
Snow White wondered what could compel a man to do such terrible things in exchange for magic.
She leaned toward him, tilted her head. She was afraid but fascinated.
— Looking at something? — Rumplestiltskin said.
— I am in need of a cure, — she said finally. — For love.
Rumplestiltskin began to laugh.
— Love! — he cried. — Such a fancy and beautiful thing. So wonderful, so painful. Am I right?
— I would like to not be in love anymore, — she said. — Can you make a spell?
— I cannot, — he said. — Love is too powerful to eradicate, unfortunately. What I can do, however, is create a spell that makes you forget your beloved. Perhaps not quite the same, I know. But it can do the job.
Snow White considered this. What was the difference? To not remember love or to not be in love? To her it was the same.
— Yes, — she said. — I want that.
— Very well, — said Rumplestiltskin, who produced a slender vial and dipped it into the river. When he withdrew the full vial, he passed a skeletal hand over the water, and a white glow came from the liquid. He smiled.
— That’s all? — she said.
He reached forward and plucked a hair from her head, causing her to reel back and yelp. The boat knocked against the dock.
— Not quite yet, — he said, amused by her surprise. — Not all loves are the same. I have to make it slightly more… personal. — He dropped the hair into the potion and put a cork in the top. — There, — he said, handing it to her. — Drink this and you will forget your true love, and all of the stories of the two of you.
Forget our stories? Snow White thought, wondering if the pain of forgetting them would be worse than the pain of not having Charming.
— Don’t doubt yourself now, dearie, — said Rumplestiltskin. — Love makes us sick. It haunts our dreams and destroys our days. It starts wars and ends lives. Love has killed more than any disease. The cure? This is a gift.
— And what’s the price?
— The price? — he said, as though he hadn’t yet thought of it. Snow White was skeptical. But Rumplestiltskin merely grinned again and held up a few more of her hairs, which had come from his original pluck. — These will do just fine, — he said.
— What do you want of my hair?
— What do you need of it now that I have it? — he asked in response.
Snow White couldn’t think of why she’d need it back, and decided she didn’t care. The price seemed very low.
Snow White journeyed back to her corner of the forest. She rowed her boat upstream through the night, then hiked on foot throughout the morning, stopping once to eat. She avoided looking at the vial in her tunic pocket, as she did not want to see it. It was one thing to fantasize about a potion and another thing entirely to have the potion. Did she really want to forget him? Even if he did get married? Was it not a part of her, either way, to have loved him and to have known of that love? Who would she be if she didn’t remember? Someone else completely?
The debate raged in her mind all morning and into the afternoon. She would go an hour having decided not to drink the potion, but then a pang of sadness would come as she imagined the wedding, and the scales would tilt again, and she’d become determined to swallow it right then and there. Back and forth she went, unsure what to do, until she reached a familiar glen, looked up, and realized she was home — back, at least, to her cabin, where she’d been staying. Seeing the modest little structure, she was filled with sadness again, knowing she would spend the night alone, and the next night alone, and the next night after that. She didn’t want to face a life like this with the weight of regret, too. She took the vial from her pocket, pulled the cork, raised it to her lips…
In the sky, directly above, she saw a lone dove circling, descending toward her.
Frozen, she watched as it circled down and landed at her feet.
There was a scroll attached to its feet, in a tiny cylindrical satchel. She quickly opened it and read it, and as the words moved through her mind, her heart billowed with both joy and hope.
The note read:
Dearest Snow,
I’ve not heard from you since our meeting and can only assume you've found the happiness you so desired. But I must let you know, not a day goes by that I have not thought of you. And, alas, I am incapable of moving on until I know for certain my love is unrequited. In two days’ time, I’m to be married. Come to me before then. Come to me and show me you feel the same and we can be together forever. And if you don't, I’ll have my answer. But if there is any doubt in your mind, lay it to rest. I love you. Snow White.
For All Eternity,
Your Prince Charming
She looked up, eyes alight. Hastily, she put the cork back in the vial. Tucking the note back into her pocket, she turned and started back down the path she’d arrived on.
She had to get to the castle before it was too late.
Mary Margaret was in the middle of the woods, and she didn’t care whether a storm was coming. She cared about one thing: a bird.
She was determined to get the dove back to its proper place in the world. The idea of a living creature — dove, person, deer, wolf, dog, bluebird, it didn’t matter — being forced into a position that wasn’t right, that went against the true nature of things… well, it was too much for her to bear. She wanted to do what she could.
David had called fifteen minutes earlier and she had refused to pick up, knowing it would inevitably be a mixed signal of some kind.
The rain began with a trickle. Mary Margaret was not far from the road, and she’d found an open pasture with a good view of the sky. From here she could see the flock coming by. She was hoping for a miracle, she knew that, but what else could she do? Her hope was that the flock would be stirred by the rains and would fly south, attempting to avoid the bad weather. If they did, she would catch them here.