"And my point would be that I wouldn't be bothering with them unless they were delinquent in their bail." She wasn't being rude, as she might have when explaining that to some people. She made her point easily and with the slightest shrug. "I enjoy it, yes, but I wouldn't call it fulfilling. I've always had the feeling there was something else I was meant to do." Like, apparently, rescue her kingdom and her parents from a curse. Perhaps rule one of her own someday. Still weird.
Shaking that off, she took a sip from the water glass on the place setting in front of her, needing something to do while he talked about her tale. Her story. Yes, she could know his, but it wasn't the same. She was so very specific. Snow White, well, that could've been any old Snow White story. Disney's, or the original Grimm version, or some twisted version created by someone else. But Emma Swan? She was the one and only. Which meant he'd been looking into her specifically. That might take a bit to get used to.
"I never believed in fairy tales," she said simply, glancing down at the space on the table between them. "Growing up, I mean. I did think it was ironic all of the girls were either orphans or had one dead parent." Just like she was. An orphan, abandoned, left to be raised by someone else. But she hadn't gotten talking animals or fairies or even a wicked stepmother. Just Boston's foster care system.
Idly, she ran her finger over the petals of the black rose, wondering yet again how he'd found it. And if she even wanted to know. "I don't think the hunting has much to do with my lack of heritage. If you've paid any attention to my story, you'll know my mother wasn't your typical Snow White. She did what she had to in order to survive. And so did I." Maybe she was more like the mother she'd never known than she thought. Which was a key to her heritage, wasn't it? Still, she might just keep the roses anyway. She'd never been the pressed flower sort, but new hobbies never hurt anyone.