andhiswife | (Reply)

The phrasing is so familiar: words she'd repeated to herself countless times so she wouldn't forget them, so deeply etched into her own mind that for a moment, it doesn't occur to her that they have no business being in his. "Yes, it--" she starts before it all catches up with her. Then, she gapes in astonishment, her eyes widening. "Wait, you... you know?"

And here she was, beginning to think that her story just wasn't here. She's found most of the others, or variations of them, but nothing went the way it was supposed to. Jack gets the beans from some mysterious old man; Cinderella flees the Festival, but never runs into anyone of consequence. Even the Rapunzle she's met isn't her Rapunzel.

But Jesse rattles off the words as if he's known them by heart for ages, and she finds herself reaching for his shoulder, as if to confirm his solidity. "You know my story?" she asks, astonishment giving way to burgeoning delight. Maybe they haven't just been erased.