Most people considered Storybrook a paradise. The white of the light was often blinding.
Arthur Kill knew this and was here to prove the yucks of the town wrong, among other assigned tasks. He could start with the children, he realized, upon learning their names. Their *true* ones. Pink was the first he encountered, at one of the several jobs she held at the time: shoeshiner. “One Who Shines,” she jokingly called herself after he sat down, and Arthur stared through her with this: into the void once more. You will *never* be a star, he thought as she nervously began to rub the first pitch dark shoe with her pink rag. Not you nor anyone else in this town. I’ll see to that. *Marty* will see to that — through me.
Marty should be showing up soon, red hair back in place. So as not to reveal too much too soon. The peppery black void must be hidden for now.
