Darkness
Kill her. The tantalizing thought sprang free from Regina's state of half sleep and wake, when unravelling awareness began to drown in the hostile depths of vengeful unconsciousness. Evolved from a passing inner musing during innocent dinner conversation, it surfaced, spluttering from her psyche, jolting her awake. Frame her. The plan, in all its glorious simplicity, was too alluring to deny.
Regina trod lightly on glossy floors, wary of her teenage light sleeper down the hall. Lighting her path with short rows of magically produced flames, she proceeded downstairs to the study, collecting a pair of scissors from the kitchen along the way. Standing over Marian's petrified form, Regina held the sharp stainless steel blades open between a steady finger and thumb. The fingers of her other hand made faint contact with frozen skin before weaving into the woman's dark hair. She located the noticeable white streak and snipped.
Undoing the Snow Queen's curse had proved to be difficult task, but transforming magic to stage a murder was child's play. Regina hastily flicked through an ancient book in search of the correct spell, unable to supress the malicious smile that rose from within as she forcefully ripped the page from the threads that bound it. During Regina's most trying times, the darkness that lurked in her soul had always come to her aid. It whispered seductively, beckoning her to jump off the edge sanity and bathe in its numbing waters. It offered permanence and control no other relationship had provided. Her darkness had been starved for so long, its pull was more magnetic than ever. She intended to satisfy it tonight. Armed with freshly shorn locks and spell page in hand, Regina watched her surroundings dissipate as purple plume enveloped her.
Regina's bare toes made contact with frigid tile as an unfamiliar kitchen materialised before her. The muffled hum of the refrigerator was the only sound to be heard while she padded leisurely through the house in pursuit of her target. Regina inspected the home, noting the high ceilings which added a spacious quality to its modest size. She couldn't help but make comparisons to Snow's drab apartment. Adorned with trinkets and crocheted monstrosities, the Charming residence radiated a type of homey warmth that made her nauseous. This house was different. The décor held a clean and understated elegance. A few abstract artworks and rock music posters hung on white walls. Leafy potted plants lined wide windows and glass shelves housed various vintage cameras and records. Although Regina was unable to ascertain the exact colour scheme under the moonlight, she envisaged it to be bright and inviting.
In contrast to the rest of the house, the master bedroom was minimalist, but not in the stylistic sense. The room was completely devoid of personality - even Regina's mausoleum displayed more character. The only furnishings were a double bed and two stacked archive boxes which functioned as a makeshift bedside table. Gentle snoring stemming from a quilted mass atop the bed drew her attention back to the mission at hand. Regina stalked closer, circling unsuspecting prey lying soundly on her stomach. This part of the hunt had always been the most electrifying. Calculating the correct angle of attack, Regina's heart pounded like a drum in her chest, heightening all her senses.
She scanned over long, limp limbs, haphazardly extended outwards from underneath a duvet, and up long waves of thick, blonde hair. Finally, her gaze came to rest on a slumbering face, the unique combination of Snow and Charming's features. Suspecting that Swan was a heavy sleeper, Regina decided to risk detection and perched herself delicately on the edge of the bed in line with a tank top clad torso. As she anticipated, her intended victim lay undisturbed. In a few short minutes Swan would be dead and by morning, her body discovered. Her death would be ruled a homicide, a tragic slaughter by a maniacal Snow Queen.
Regina unfolded the page of rough, yellowed parchment and stretched to place it on the bedside box-table. Her movement was uncharacteristically clumsy. She knocked a pair of thick, black rimmed glasses. Her reflexes were too slow, the glasses landed on the floor with a dull thud. The snoring beside her stopped. Regina froze, not even daring to inhale while she listened for movement. She felt beads of sweat gathering at her lower back, soaking into her silk pyjamas. It seemed like an eternity before the rhythmic breathing beside her resumed. Regina relaxed, bending slowly to retrieve the glasses and return them to their original place. In doing so, she discovered the only personal item in the room – a plain frame displaying a photo of Henry and Emma sporting identical ear-to-ear grins.
A lifetime ago, Regina wouldn't have given a second thought in ending Swan's life. She was well acquainted with the art of the kill. It came to her so naturally – a flick of the wrist, an extermination order issued to a guard or, if she was feeling creative, a slow and torturous plot involving the blackmail of loved ones. Regina reached forward, her hand trembling, to place the bundle of white hairs on the middle of Emma's upper back. She noticed a swatch of dark discolouration just below Emma's shoulder, highly contrasted from the pale skin. Careful not to wake Emma, she pushed the thin cotton aside to reveal more skin. Emma's back bore a large, splotchy bruise, evidence of Regina's wrath from their forest encounter.
Running her fingertips lightly over Emma's injured back, Regina shut her eyes and exhaled deeply. She couldn't do it. Perhaps it was the reminder of Henry's beaming face or her growing consciousness that eclipsed the darkness that lurked within. Resting her whole hand on Emma, Regina concentrated, allowing warm healing magic to flow from her palms. She opened her eyes to survey her work. The angry black-red pigmentation had disappeared, leaving no trace it was ever there. Emma mumbled something incoherent before twisting her body to lay on one side. Regina lent over her form to collect the fallen wisps of Marian's cursed locks, breathing in the unique blend of spicy sweetness. She didn't stay long enough to identify the scent. She faded into the darkness with a little regret and a spark of accomplishment. She had fought her murderous impulse tonight and won.
Returning to sleep seemed like a futile endeavour after attempted murder. Since it was a little after dawn, Regina decided to prepare breakfast in hopes of falling into routine. Going through the motions of cooking a meal was one of the very few activities that effectively separated Regina from thought. Ordinary actions were her form of meditation. She watched the white flour fall through the sieve and settle in a powdery mountain in the bowl. She felt the smooth texture of eggshell in her hand as it cracked open. She savoured the mild scent of fresh apple as she sliced into its core. Within minutes, Regina was pouring thin, liquidy batter onto a hot, flat pan. Not long after, a colourful assortment of fillings lay on the table, including sliced ham and cheese for Henry and sautéed apples for her. As if on cue, Regina heard familiar footsteps descend the staircase. She had missed the sounds of those footsteps.
"Morning," Henry yawned loudly.
"Good morning," Regina beamed, wondering when his yawns had dropped to such a low register. Henry's dark hair stood up in adorable tufts, ruffled from sleep. He was up earlier than usual. If the commotion in the kitchen caused him to wake, he made no mention of it. He walked over and hugged her tightly. Regina held him happily, stroking the back of his head, smoothing his hair.
"Crêpes," he stated drowsily, breaking the hug to stretch his arm above his head.
"Yes, your favourite."
"Awesome." Henry dropped down onto the closest chair and began to eat. His monosyllabic grunts soon grew into lively chatter with every crêpe he devoured. Regina sat beside him, moving her food around the plate, perfectly content in listening to his theories about the Snow Queen and stories about his time in New York.
"Henry, there's something I need to talk to you about," Regina started.
"Am I in trouble?" Henry questioned, "Because you're using your you're-in-trouble voice."
"No Henry, I just wanted to talk to you about giving Emma the key."
Henry set his utensils down. "Are you mad?"
"Of course not sweetheart, I know you did it out of concern for me."
"Yeah, I just thought that Emma could…you know, help."
"I realise that I've not been in the best condition of late, but you have to give me some time."
Henry placed a warm hand on hers and squeezed. "Okay, I just want you to be happy"
Regina's heart soared at his words. She fought back the tears that began to well on the lower borders of her eyes and returned his sentiment with a squeeze of her own.
Henry resumed eating, his pace unaltered by conversation. "Anyway, I've been thinking about a way for you to get your happy ending."
Regina didn't want to disappoint him by saying she had given up on the myth of happily ever afters long ago. "And?"
"Well, it begins with the author of the storybook."
"Please tell me you have pancakes!" Emma eagerly called out as she entered her parents' apartment. Despite her running about the day before, Emma had woken quite refreshed. To her surprise, the bruises on her back had disappeared. She had decided to visit her parent's place to avoid eating cereal alone. She had grown so accustom having Henry in the house, it was uncomfortably quiet in his absence.
"Well hello to you too," David teased from the kitchen, flipping a pancake up.
"Emma, I didn't know you were stopping by this early," Mary Margret's voice floated across the small space from the bedroom.
"I'm sorry, I should have called before coming. I did wake him?" Emma asked in concern, embarrassed at her lack of forethought. Her parents' had their own life now.
Mary Margret emerged with a lively Neal in her arms. "No, it's fine. He just woke up."
Emma played with the baby's hands, smiling fondly over him when he closed a fist around her index finger. "Hey little brother," she greeted him in a soft, high pitched voice. She stuck her tongue out at him, amused when he imitated her.
"Come sit down," David gestured to the bench, placing a plate of steaming stacked pancakes in the centre.
Emma didn't need to be told twice. She hurried over, eagerly serving herself a personal stack. "Where's Elsa?" Emma asked, her voice muffled by a mouthful of syrup drenched pancake.
Mary Margret set Neal down on a thin blanket on the floor. "Hopefully getting some sleep – the poor thing was up most of the night looking through town records. Why did you give her a box to take?"
Emma guzzled a glass of orange juice before replying. "I just thought she might recognise someone or something since she has no memories."
Mary Margret carefully eyed Emma's alarming rate of food consumption. "Emma, slow down. I don't think I saw you chew that last bite."
"I eat fast, can't help it," Emma shrugged and continued to shovel pancake into her mouth.
"Emma, thank goodness you're here," Elsa said, appearing from upstairs, the short train of her sapphire dress dragging behind her. She waved a photo in front of her face. "Have you seen this?"
Elsa passed the photo for closer inspection. It was her and the Snow Queen/ Sundae shop owner.
"I thought you said you didn't know her?" Elsa asked.
"I don't, but I think I know someone who might."
A part of Emma was slightly grateful, she had an excuse to see Regina again.
After a productive few hours at the office, Regina had retired to her grey stone walled mausoleum for a few hours of research before Henry arrived home. Her son had grown so much in the year he was away. She didn't want to waste another moment too involved in her own misery to miss any more. It was time to move on and, as much as she loathed the idea, change would beginning with unfreezing Marian.
Regina decided to locate the mysterious snow sorcerer before Marian died on her watch. She retrieved the small bundle of cursed hairs from her blazer pocket.
The click of approaching boots echoed loudly in the cold silence. Regina was quick enough to stuff the hairs back into her pocket and round the corner to startle her unwelcome visitor.