She's screaming. She can't hear it but she knows she must be.

She exists on the outside of this ring of hell that her mother is in, and can do nothing. She is stone.

The strong arms are wrapped tightly around her waist, restraining her and pulling her backwards. She's flailing; her arms and legs fly out in all directions, and her cries shatter the atmosphere. Her hands reach forward, grasping at nothing, at everything, at the person who is slipping away. Her heels drag heavily on the floor as she fights, but she's in a losing battle.

And before she can blink she's released outside the room and the glass door is shut in front of her.

The screaming never stops.

Her weak fists bear down against the glass in stiff pounds. She's screaming and crying and fighting to break through, even though she knows she never will. They're bruised and each strike sends shots of pain straight through her. Her hot tears are splashing onto it, leaving streaks and smudges where her hands press forward. The vibrations rattle up her arms and stab through the front of her brow, forcing her eyes to close. Her face is dripping with salty tears, and she hears nothing.

The entire world has fallen dead. Her throat is raw from the inhuman cries. But this has gone on so long that she no longer knows pain. The pain is her fuel. It's normal; it's numbing.

All she can see is her. The doctors that pump on her chest disappear, the tubes, the wires, even the steady blare of the monitor dulls out.

Snow's still. She's so goddamn still. She's nothing more than a grey wisp of who she used to be. I want to hold her, to breathe her in, to give her life again.

She sounds like an animal, mourning the loss of its offspring. But she can't stop the screams. She can't stop, she can't breathe, she can't not slam her weight against the wall in powerful blows. She can't give up. Once she does it will really be over.

If I could get to her I could catch her and carry her away. I would carry her for the rest of time. She's all I see.

Her arms ache to the bone, she's growing tired and can feel her resolve weakening. The screams are being replaces by sobs, loud choking wails that stop her breath. She's collapsing, her palms screech as they slide down the glass. Her knees give out and she's immediately on the floor. She's trembling, she can't stop.

I don't think I'll ever stop.

Why did she have to be the hero? Why the hell couldn't she just let it happen…she had to be the goddamn hero.

And now she was gone.

And Emma was alone. She was more alone than she'd ever thought possible.

There was nothing left to say.

Explanation: It's been a bad week. If you follow me on Tumblr you know the story of my best friend. She isn't dead, but she's in a lot of pain with medical conditions, and I can't help. This is how I deal with all of my feelings about it.