His comment about the drapes at least startled a laugh out of Emma, a half sob of a laugh, but a laugh none the less.
And she knew it was a little irrational; but that was the whole point of fears really. Up until she'd felt the disembodied touch of what she was entirely sure was a ghost flip her hair, she'd been fine. Especially since people, but too much in the creepy horror department and that was her, a whimpering little nine-year-old again. Which ultimately would not help anyone. Not her, not him, not getting back to Storybrooke and their families.
This was the second time he was banking on her magic, the second time he seemed hopeful to just trust she could do something, because she was Charming and Snow White's daughter, and that seemed to mean something special. Maybe she could, maybe she could use whatever this 'savior' gig ended up being just so that she could do something to help someone other than just react to a hand being in her chest.
"Jason coming after you with a chain saw. Or Freddie slashing you up in your sleep? Or ghosts dragging you into the hell pit basement and tearing your ... okay, yeah, that won't help." She had to just stop thinking about it.
"No, you're right, you're right. We've got the book, we've got the hat...tattered a little sure, but... you said it's fixable so...we can do this." Positive thinking wasn't her strong point, but she could manage. "Just um...just don't mind me if I freak a little sometimes. I'll try not though."