Summary: When a chance encounter with a blue-eyed mystery man on an ill-fated flight turns Emma Nolan’s life upside down, she has a choice to make: Continue with her arranged marriage to Senator Gold’s son to save her parent’s company, or turn her back on everything she’s ever worked towards for a chance at happiness.
Milah had been the last person he’d wanted to talk to that day – or ever really. Emma had run away so quickly that he had ignored the phone the first time, wanting to go after her to make sure she was okay. But before he could knock on the door, his cell had rung again, and when he went to check it, all of the blood drained from his face and he felt weak. Seeing her name and a picture of the two of them from a happier time flash across his phone screen had immediately sobered him from the haze left by his near kiss with Emma.
Time seemed to stand still as he hesitated, caught in a storm of emotions, until the phone went silent again. The image of Milah straddling Walsh was still burned into his brain, and he felt rage bubbling over inside of him. They were done this time; he wouldn’t go back to her, not again.
So clearly I dithered over this for like more than a year. It was really hard to do in written form and this really, uh… turned more angsty and sad and Dark Ones hatefucking than intended. Like we just nosedived into the angst pool and I’m a little bit sorry about that.
Loathing rolls off of him in waves. In another time, another place, he might be the inspiration for a demon with fire in his eyes and smoke curling from his nostrils. Every breath, every sneer, every step is full of hatred towards Emma Swan.
Let him hate her. No one hates her more for this decision than she hates herself.
She couldn’t let him die, so she made him live. A shell of a man, his soul gone and replaced with a void of bloodthirst and fury.
For weeks she’s done nothing but try to bring him back. For a while, it worked. Block out the darkness, keep up the facade, let him late her, let him fear her… but now? His body remains, but now there’s nothing of Killian left. She’s watched from the shadows, practiced spells and charms and reached into the depths of her magic, but –
Nothing.
Killian Jones is gone. The Dark One is all that remains, standing at the foot of his bunk and sneering at her, poison spilling from his lips as he curses her again and again for refusing to let him die, refusing his dying wish and turning him into the very thing he spent centuries trying to destroy.
Let him hate her. He could never hate her more than she hates herself.
It All Starts With a Dance 
