She knew for a fact, if anyone in Storybrooke could see her now, the so called Savior, clinging to a book in the desperate bid to not cling to Jefferson, having to take deep lung fills of stale air in an attempt to not hyperventilate, they'd laugh. She could fight dragons and break curses and climb beanstalks and defeat witches but put her in a scary town and she fell to pieces? God, get a grip Emma.
"Okay, something else." They'd ... somehow come up with something surely. Maybe a deal like Gold made or ... something. Emma just sighed wandering along and out onto the street again, hoping against hope that they even had a tailor or craft place or something here that they could even use.
"We just find the place and barter something and get the stuff and fix the had and work the magic and we'll be home. No time at all, quick as a flash, barely a blink. Preferably before evil dolls and crazy not dead brother and nightmare spectres gut and kill us."