LEGENDS | taylor swift

two.

THE COLLINS RESIDENCE
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

Emma Collins had spent far too many months abroad in Vancouver. She adored the experiences and opportunities that the film industry handed her at essentially little to no monetary cost, she really truly did, but falling into her own bed for the first time in nearly 5 months felt absolutely exquisite, and she decided within the first three seconds that she never wanted to leave the plush mattress her heavy bones sank into.

Filming for season three of her televised series had begun in early March, when the weather in the southern peninsula was still gelid and required a rotation of scarves and thick wool beanies that just barely kept out the breeze. She'd tolerated the cold for six long weeks of filming before the earliest days of Spring had begun to peak through, though the change of season and temperature had only come with monsoon adjacent rain storms and production delays. The fourteen weeks that had been previously allotted to filming in Canada had become seventeen, and while Emma was merely grateful that she had the opportunity to work at all, she still wasn't the happiest about the extension.

The English-American actress had absolutely abandoned the concept of unpacking, and instead chose to lay flat on her back in the center of her bed in her lavish Los Angeles home. Her hands, shaky from the chaos that had been her four hour flight, were folded over her belly and laced together at her knuckles. She felt each inhale as she breathed in deeply, and she similarly felt each soft exhale. She hadn't been able to close her eyes and just rest in weeks; always the first to be called and the last to get wrapped, the pleasure of being the leading actress. She wouldn't be moving from her house, or merely her bedroom, until she had to hop on another flight— this time from Los Angeles to Atlanta.

Just beyond her lengthy terrance that overlooked the Santa Monica mountains, a million different lives were playing out in similar and dissimilar ways. The last time Emma had come back to her Pacific Palisades residence, almost a full year ago if she remembered the dates correctly, she'd been both fortunate and unfortunate enough to overhear a couple in the midst of a divorce, walking the neighborhood with both high tension and passion— a dangerous combination when considering the endless possibilities of what could've possibly led to the split. It was quiet this time around, though with the sliding doors open in the master bedroom, allowing the heavy heat and sunlight to fall against her skin still frozen over from the chilly flight, she could just faintly identify the sound and smell of a barbecue happening somewhere nearby. Probably the Paxtons on the next street over.

Emma sighed softly to herself as she dragged her clammy palms down her face, deciding that however appealing it was to just melt into her mattress and avoid the real world for a couple of hours, or weeks, that she couldn't just let the hours pass her by until nightfall fell firmly over Los Angeles. She sat up slowly, lightheaded from the many hours of traveling and lack of proper nutrition. There wasn't anything of substance left to eat in the house, maybe a rouge box of pasta noodles and a jar of forgotten peanut butter that hadn't made it out of the pantry when she'd made the big move across country, but nothing that had survived a year in California would Emma's appetite.

She reached for her phone, the device just a few inches to her left and practically dead after having forgotten to charge it the night prior. Her notifications had been silenced since arriving at the airport at noontime, and only then did Emma realize that a handful of texts awaited her. She'd never even begun to consider investing in a private jet; her agent had repeatedly suggested the purchase, more for her privacy then her status, but no matter how much money Emma made from her projects, she'd never found it beneficial to become one of many celebrities that traveled via private jet. First class was already a privilege, she feared how quickly she'd lose touch with reality if she really did commit to full isolation at every corner.