Regina's ode to hedonism

by MpSkyfall

Summary:

After Emma became utterly convinced (by the memories of a dog and the word of the mother she had just met) that Regina was guilty of the murder of Dr. Archie Hopper, the savior had no choice but to help execute the punishment on (her girlfriend) the Evil Queen: permanent exile from Storybrooke.

A disastrous fight with the Queen of Hearts, a struggle to save the town from total annihilation, a journey to Neverland, and five years in the Enchanted Forest later, Storybrooke faces a terrible unknown threat that no hero seems capable of resolving or even comprehending.

The only hope of breaking the new curse appears to be Regina Mills. Henry and Emma set out on a quest to find the woman, confident that nearly six years of estrangement have made her easier to deal with. It’s a plan that can’t fail… right?

The only problem is that Regina would rather drink battery acid than set foot in that damned town again.

Notes:

Hi. This is my first attempt at posting a fic, please be kind. English isn’t my first language, and I don’t have a beta, so all mistakes are my fault. I have no idea when the next update will be, but I have everything outlined and I trust that I can finish it. Writing this is way more fun than my undergrad thesis, lol. The characters don’t belong to me, and I’m not writing this for profit.

Chapter 1: Ah godiamo, la tazza, la tazza e il cantico

Part 1: Libiamo, libiamo ne' lieti calici

Tra voi, tra voi saprò dividere

Il tempo mio giocondo

Tutto è follia, follia nel mondo

Ciò che non è piacer

 

La traviata: Act 1

Chapter 1: Ah godiamo, la tazza, la tazza e il cantico

 

Rain only made the dreams worse—though they weren’t much better when it wasn’t raining, or when Emma slept in a proper bed. Almost always it was the same scene: Regina standing at the border of Storybrooke, dressed in Emma’s ugly coat, the one she had worn for several days to the welcome party. The Blue Fairy later informed her—when there was little to be done about it—that the Evil Queen’s powers were so formidable she could have evaporated them from existence the moment she caught the pixie dust on her porch and hurled it at the feet of Snow and David, and although she decided not to do it, that destructive potential was justification enough for what they did that day.

Emma couldn’t say for sure whether Regina’s black eye was as terrible as it appeared in her dreams. Everything seemed worse in those dreams—except the gaze. Not even in a hundred years could Emma’s mind have conjured something as dreadful as the look Regina gave her that day: filled with betrayal, yes, accusatory too, but empty—painfully empty and full of sorrow. How else can you witness someone who was once in your bed in one moment and is now stripping you of everything you once loved in another?

It would have been better if she had reacted with violence, if she had unleashed the legendary witch who had razed villages and devastated an entire kingdom. Regina didn’t defend herself—there was no way for her to voluntarily stand against Henry anyway—she simply remained very still at the edge of town while quietly listening to the sentence pronounced by Snow and Charming, with her face bruised and her heart completely broken, only to vanish into the unknown minutes later with the clothes on her back as her only luggage.

"Emma, we're here"

 

The boy’s voice pulled her from her restless sleep.

Henry—now sixteen, standing at six feet tall, and brimming with teenage hormones—had shown Emma precious little patience in recent years. But what scant tolerance remained evaporated entirely when it came to Regina.

Snow never told him.

The poor kid had been just eleven when they’d asked him to lure his own mother into a trap. That’s what heroes do, isn’t it? Dole out justice. If Regina had killed Archie, she belonged in jail—she had to pay for what she’d done. She’d promised to change for him, then murdered the closest thing he’d had to a friend. A dangerous person needed to be taken off the streets.

The problem was, Snow had implied they’d put her in jail. Hold a trial like in those detective shows he wasn’t allowed to watch (but secretly binged anyway). Then they’d help her, reform her.

Instead, they’d hurt her. Then carved her out of his life like she was nothing but a nuisance

"Are we in New York? Are you sure this is the stop?"

"Very sure."

"Kid, this city is huge. If we're far from Central Park, it’ll take us years to get to the address my contact gave me."

"It’s the right stop. Come on, let’s get off the bus and rent that car. If we hurry, we can still make it before midnight."

No, Henry didn’t have much patience for Emma, nor for the Charmings, or practically anyone in all of Storybrooke. He barely left the apartment and was constantly complaining that people had trashed the Mills mansion—the place he would have liked to live in, away from the gaze of those who weren’t very kind to Regina’s memory. The kid wasn’t stupid; he was the first to point out the faults of the woman as the Evil Queen, but he found it unbearable that they had exiled her for the one murder she didn’t commit.

The rush was understandable, Emma thought bitterly. It wasn’t that Regina went to great lengths to hide—in fact, quite the opposite; she was often seen with important people in extravagant locations all over the world, which made it rather difficult to find her in the country for more than one weekend. For some unknown reason, the one who was the mayor of Storybrooke had been holed up in her luxurious apartment overlooking Central Park for two weeks, and it was imperative to speak with her before she took a flight to Paris scheduled for the next day.

With the hellish traffic in that devilish city, it would have been much easier to take a taxi, but Henry didn’t want to waste time on buses or taxis if his mother decided to come back with them to town. Finding parking was an odyssey in itself, yet by some miracle, they managed it. Getting into the building without authorization was yet another challenge they had to face, since Emma didn’t expect Regina to let them in so readily. It was likely she would agree to help them in exchange for being near her son, but knowing her pride, they weren’t so naive as to believe she’d welcome them with open arms.

Regina didn’t even know the girl’s name. It was around 11:36 at night, after a wild escapade in one of those exclusive nightclubs in the city whose name she also didn’t know. All she knew was that she had drunk half a bottle of vodka, that the young woman with whom she had danced all night had high cheekbones, black eyes, and hair like ebony; that she had whispered things in her ear in what sounded like colloquial Greek, and that she was going to take her to her apartment to have an even better time.

The taxi driver, who also spoke Greek, dropped them off at the foot of the building of the former Queen of the Entire Enchanted Forest. Regina was too drunk for her brain to process other languages—English was complicated enough at that hour of the night. It wasn’t a wise move, as she wasn’t oblivious to the possible collusion between taxi drivers and pretty girls, but that night she truly wanted a warm body in her cold sheets. It had been a complicated week, a complicated year within a complicated life, but everything would be a little more bearable if she could get to Paris within the next 48 hours.

The night guard—the only one who saw her regularly and who was already quite accustomed to the tenant’s guests to the point of not even asking—nodded as he passed by the concierge desk. The girl wasn’t only tall and beautiful; she also seemed to have nimble hands. Patience was a skill Regina had been forced to cultivate over the past few years, and she considered herself quite adept at it… as long as a pretty Greek with octopus-like hands wasn’t willing to drive her crazy during a short elevator ride.

It wasn’t a very long hallway, but the Greek with octopus-like hands wasn’t willing to wait for something as mundane as the privacy of an apartment—impatient to unbutton Regina’s tightly closed blouse. Mills’s hands trembled with delight as she received kisses on her neck, so it took her more than twice as long to get the door open. They didn’t even bother turning on the lights afterward; they just kicked the door shut behind them and continued with the kisses in the living room.

The armchair looked expensive and luxurious, so the Greek guided her companion over there while discarding the blouse.

Regina had her eyes closed, surrendering herself to the pleasure of the moment—so the scream from her companion was a complete surprise as well. At the kitchen island sat two figures facing each other: a blonde woman in her 30s and a teenager who couldn’t have been older than 17—both watching the newly arrived couple with a horrid fascination, as if they wished the earth would swallow them up at that very instant and yet couldn’t take their eyes off them.

"What the hell are you doing here?!"

Chapter 2: Un bel dì, vedremo

“Wow. That sounds serious.”

The woman Regina had brought with her hurried out of the apartment as soon as she could find her missing clothes. The former queen/mayor didn’t seem too pleased with the situation but agreed to sit and listen to her invaders after straightening her own attire and grabbing a crystal decanter filled with amber liquid from a mini bar near the entrance to a bedroom.

A lot had happened in town since Mills had been forced to leave. Almost immediately after her exile, the Queen of Hearts—her mother—had made an incredible show of power in town, bringing even Rumple to the brink of death. It had taken them weeks to lock her up in a cell, where she’d been stewing in revenge plans ever since. Two idiots sent by Peter Pan had somehow managed to steal her precious trigger, and had they succeeded in activating it, Storybrooke and its inhabitants would now be nothing more than a memory. What those idiots did manage was kidnapping Henry—the boy’s flinch when they mentioned it didn’t go unnoticed by the queen, but she didn’t dare interrupt. After eleven months of brutal fighting in Neverland (details they deliberately left out), they all returned to town only to be deceived once again. The curse—her precious curse, the one she’d fought so hard for—had been reversed to prevent Pan’s victory. That explained why the barrier had simply vanished after all those months of searching for a way back in.

That was all they remembered. One morning, they woke up again in the Land Without Magic, with four extra years on everyone’s calendars and completely devoid of memories from their time back in the Enchanted Forest. Now, the barrier didn’t just overwrite personalities—it turned you into a flying monkey. Plus, there were whispers of a new curse and a mysterious witch roaming the streets at night.

“It is serious, Regina. And only you can help us.”

She nodded thoughtfully. While her mansion in Storybrooke had been minimalist and impersonal, this apartment was far more decorated despite the little time she spent in it. The walls, painted in earthy tones, were covered in frames of breathtaking landscapes, along with all kinds of equestrian sculptures scattered across antique-looking furniture.

“Hmm.” The former mayor took a large sip from her whiskey decanter. “What a shame I don’t have time for you until next year.” She said it casually.

That took both of them by surprise. They hadn’t expected convincing her to be easy, but they hadn’t seen this coming.

“What?”

“Oh, yes.” She replied airily. “Tomorrow, I have a flight to Paris. There’s a modernized staging of La Traviata with Pretty Yende that I simply can’t miss. I don’t usually go for modernized operas, but did you know that when Verdi wrote this, aside from basing it on The Lady of the Camellias by Alexandre Dumas fils, he did so thinking about his own similar situation? He wanted it performed in the fashion of his own time, but censorship forced him to set it a hundred years earlier. I owe Verdi that much.”

Henry knew that if Regina loved any composer in this world, it was Giuseppe Verdi.

“But…”

“I’ll be in Paris all month, with some side trips to Marseille,” she added with the same nonchalance, “because a new company is launching an homage voyage on the Orient Express with the original Paris-Istanbul route. What kind of Agatha Christie reader would I be if I weren’t on that train?”

After Alexandre Dumas, she adored Agatha Christie.

“Regina…”

“I’ll stay in Istanbul for a few weeks to explore the Hagia Sophia and the mosques built by Sinan,” she continued. “Then I’ll travel around Turkey for a few months—there are some fascinating Mycenaean theaters I plan to visit—until the Sunday before Ash Wednesday, when I’ll head to Rome for this year’s Carnival. Maybe I’ll swing by Stockholm afterward, or perhaps Amsterdam. I haven’t decided yet.”

Though moderately drunk, the woman sounded quite firm on the matter.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am.” She replied bitterly. “My therapist says this itinerary of mine sounds like an ode to hedonism on my part, but—why shouldn’t it be?”

“Henry, what’s ‘hedonism’?” Emma whispered to her travel companion, still unsure if what she was hearing was actually happening.

The blonde had never had a continuous education during her childhood, bouncing from foster home to foster home too many times over the years. Looking back, Emma realized Regina had never shied away from using extravagant words during their relationship. She’d drop terms like catharsis, oxymoron, or exegesis in normal conversation. Back then, Regina would smile patiently—not the wolfish politician grin, but a real, gentle one—and explain in enthusiastic detail what she’d meant.

“Hedonism, Miss Swan,” the woman answered for the boy, suddenly very alert, “is the only kind of happiness I can access since a certain someone stole all my reasons to exist. Pleasure for pleasure’s sake, with no capacity to feel anything deeper.”

She didn’t raise her voice, but there it was—the infamous fury of Regina Mills, the Evil Queen, simmering beneath a veneer of calm. The moment Emma had dreaded since boarding that bus, even long before, when Archie Hopper had appeared at the loft’s doorstep completely unharmed: the moment of reckoning, of explanations she wasn’t ready to give.

“I know it seems really cynical of us to come here…”

“Cynical?” she asked with irony as the carefully constructed layers of false calm began peeling away one by one. “What did you want from me? To welcome you with open arms, patiently waiting to see if you’d ever decide to believe my word?”

Emma flushed. Henry shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“Well, no… Of course I get that you’re angry, but we thought you’d want the chance to come home again.”

“Angry?” she snapped. “I don’t know why you think you have the right to barge into my apartment. I don’t know why you think you’re so important that I should’ve spent the last six years singing Un bel dì vedremo like I was Butterfly waiting for her Pinkerton… Oh, but that’s exactly what you are, Miss Swan—a damn Pinkerton who did nothing but mock me and steal my only son.”

“Wow, Regina.” Emma sounded hurt. “I don’t know what a Pinkerton is… and I didn’t steal your son.”

“Yes, you did,” Henry whispered. He did know who Pinkerton was and couldn’t bring himself to look up from the floor. The boy hadn’t put up much resistance to the theft at the time.

“Thanks, kid,” she murmured, feeling betrayed. Maybe Emma deserved a good yelling for accusing Regina of murder—twice—and she wasn’t particularly proud of the porch argument where she’d screamed at the woman she’d once loved that Henry wasn’t her son. But the former mayor had plenty to be ashamed of, too. “Fine. Maybe we should all calm down a little. Don’t act like you don’t owe me something too, Regina.”

Another layer of false calm shattered. The Savior didn’t think many were left.

“And haven’t you already been judge and jury for the things you think I owe you? Didn’t you already take my job, my home, and my son? Aren’t you avenged enough? The punishment was chosen, and I’m serving it. I owe you nothing.”

That stung Emma. No one likes having their mistakes thrown in their face.

“You’re acting like it’s such a burden,” the sheriff shot back irritably. “I’m giving you back everything you say I stole.”

A bitter laugh was her answer.

“Oh, really? Is Snow White and her beggar prince going to give me back the mayorship? Are you going to make the grand sacrifice of living with the Evil Queen again?” she asked sarcastically, turning to Henry.

“Yes,” the boy quickly replied, then immediately regretted it as the implications of his adoptive mother’s words sank in.

Regina resisted the urge to hurl the decanter at the kitchen island.

“Serving a town of ungrateful incompetents, only to come home to a boy who considers living with me a sacrifice, isn’t the grand prize you think it is.” Henry opened his mouth to protest, but she stopped him with a wave of her free hand. “I’ve always loved you, Henry.” Her voice suddenly sounded so tired and sad. “I always will. But I think you’ve made it clear you’ll never love me the same way. It took me years to understand, but I accept it.”

Henry wanted to correct her immediately, but she allowed no further discussion. The mood had turned somber the moment the former queen’s demeanor shifted. She stood unsteadily and downed the rest of her whiskey in one gulp.

“You scared off my company for tonight,” she reproached, scanning the room before spotting her purse and heading for the apartment door. “I’m going to see if I can find her. When I get back, I don’t want you here.”

Henry and Emma exchanged glances, silently agreeing on a plan. Regina was upset, drunk, and possibly on something else she’d taken before arriving. Letting her leave like this was irresponsible. They followed at a distance, bracing themselves for round two but letting her take the elevator while they took the stairs.

She couldn’t have had more than a five-minute head start, so what they found in the service alley left them stunned. The woman Regina had brought home was there, along with a middle-aged man, both trying to shove a very unconscious former mayor into the trunk of a yellow New York taxi. They froze when they saw the newcomers. The man dropped his victim and immediately reached for a gun inside his jacket—but he was too late. By the time his fingers brushed the grip, Emma had already tased him full-force, sending him crashing onto his back. The woman bolted.

The boy rushed to his mother’s side.

“Emma, I can’t get Mom to wake up.”

The sheriff checked Regina’s pulse—weak but steady.

“They must’ve drugged her with something, kid.”

“Should we take her back to her bed?” he asked anxiously.

“We can’t leave her here. They know where she lives and might come back for her.” She paused. “Stay with her. I’ll get the car.”

“Are we taking her to the hospital?”

“They could find her there, too. I think the best thing is to take her home where we can protect her.”

“Isn’t that kidnapping? She made it clear she didn’t want to go back there.” Kidnapping was a sore subject for him.

“We don’t have many options, kid.”

Henry wrestled with what he wanted and what was right. It had been a long time since the answer came easily.

“Okay.” He gave in. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.

Chapter 3: Di Provenza Il Mar, Il Suol

It’s funny how you sometimes don’t notice an absence until you regain what was lost. Everyone’s experienced it—a missing keychain, or a sock returning from the washing machine’s drain. If you don’t need something or can’t use it, how could you possibly miss it?

During the Dark Curse, everyone had been frozen, with no major physiological changes possible. Ashley—Cinderella, rather—had been stuck in her final weeks of pregnancy for all twenty-eight years. Regina’s vast reservoir of magic had remained too, lying dormant beneath her nerve endings, patiently waiting for a certain sheriff to reawaken it. But when the queen was forced to leave town, that magic began fading month by month, unable to replenish itself. The process was so gradual she never even noticed. What did it matter if she couldn’t use it anyway? The thing about magic, though, is that it’s jealous. It doesn’t like being abandoned for long.

Regina woke the moment the rental car crossed Storybrooke’s town line—or rather, a violent surge of magical energy jolted her awake.

“Stop the car! Now!” she ordered, barely registering who was driving.

Clutching her chest, she fumbled for the door handle and staggered outside. She couldn’t breathe. The magic writhed beneath her skin like a swarm of stinging bees. Cold sweat broke out as she vomited once, twice, three times. The orange line marking Storybrooke’s boundary lay less than twenty feet away, but reaching it felt impossible. Still, she tried, crawling desperately as the energy churned in her abdomen, virulently purging itself from her system.

Her fingers met an invisible wall.

“What… is this?” she slurred, vaguely recalling that her version of this barrier had never rejected anyone so absolutely.

Shaking, she slumped against the impassable prison at her back. After what felt like centuries, the pain began to ebb. Her breathing steadied. Her heartbeat normalized. She still felt like an overcharged battery, but at least it was manageable now.

Her kidnappers watched from a safe distance, too terrified to intervene.

“Emma,” Henry whispered, pale, “I’m starting to think she had really good reasons for not wanting to come back.”

“You think?” Emma rasped.

“Mom?” The boy took a hesitant step forward. “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”

Regina, still braced against the barrier with her eyes shut, shook her head sharply to ward him off.

“You people have fairy tales rotting your brains,” she spat, her voice hoarse but lucid—no longer the controlled fury of the apartment. This Regina wasn’t drunk; she was hungover, in pain, and pissed. “What the hell is wrong with you? Since when is kidnapping acceptable?”

A fourth wave of nausea hit. She barely held up a hand to keep them at bay.

“I know how this looks, but there’s an explanation—” Emma tried.

“Shouldn’t this thing be turning me into a flying monkey by now?” Regina interrupted. “That sounds a thousand times better than this.”

“I swear that’s new. Listen, we’d never have brought you here if we knew the barrier would trap you. This was an emergency—”

“Barrier or not, you shouldn’t have taken me in the first place!”

A fireball wasn’t feasible yet, but the roadside gravel looked very throwable. Trembling—whether from magic or rage, she couldn’t tell—Regina wobbled to her feet. Emma, oblivious to the incoming rock storm, moved to steady her.

“Don’t you dare touch me, Swan!”

“That woman was going to kidnap you,” Emma argued. “Who knows what else she’d have done? We couldn’t leave you there!”

“IT NEVER OCCURRED TO YOU TO DROP ME AT A HOSPITAL AND CALL THE POLICE?”

Put that way, it did seem obvious.

Emma remembered the first time she’d felt real fear toward Regina Mills. Not during the apple basket threat, or Graham’s coerced car seizure, or even the infamous apple tree incident—all of those, despite their aggression, had been… hot. Predictably so, given how often they’d led to hate-sex.

No, the fear came later. A cold night after a failed town hall ambush, Regina leaning against her vintage Mercedes with a victory cigar, Henry nowhere in sight.

“Didn’t know you smoked, Madam Mayor.”

“Only when Henry’s gone and I have something to celebrate, Sheriff.”

That wolfish smile—equal parts I’ll ruin you and I’ll fuck you—should’ve been her first clue.

“This isn’t over,” Emma had warned.

“Of course not, dear,” Regina purred, flicking ash with a wrist flick so elegant it hurt. “Though I’m not sure this pathetic attempt even qualifies as a move. Why would I steal $50K from this town’s budget crumbs?”

“I can think of a few reasons.”

“Miss Swan,”—the tone she’d use on a slow child—“let me be clear: I have enough money to buy Storybrooke twenty times over, purchase twenty larger towns, acquire the entire state of Maine, and still live a thousand extravagant lifetimes. Or one very long, very dull one.”

Emma knew Henry’s daily outfits cost a month of her salary. Knew she’d never afford a Mills mansion in 150 years of work. But hearing it spelled out? That stung.

In her bail bondsperson days, Emma had dealt with every brand of shady, but nothing drained you like chasing the rich. They had nationwide contacts, corrupt judges on speed dial, and—if all else failed—private jets to non-extradition countries. Some even sent “visitors” when arrests inconvenienced them.

That night, the threat became tangible. Maybe Regina’s power plays had just been games—broken Beetle brakes aside—but the potential was there. Emma had schooled her expression.

“If you’re that rich, why work?”

“Hesiod wrote, ‘Both gods and men are angry with those who live idle lives,’ Miss Swan.”

“Right. Because you’re so god-fearing.”

Regina’s shrug was pure amusement. “Or maybe I just like watching you flail. This cigar costs more than your car. You’ll never give Henry the life he’s used to.” She’d stubbed it out in Emma’s palm. “You always ruin my fun.”

Simpler times. Back when Emma’s fears were rational, empirical, justifiable.

Now, as rocks pelted her—

(One to the shoulder) “You think” (gut shot) “she’s the first” (back strike as she retreated) “to try this?” (windshield crack) “The last?” (hood dent) “That I don’t have contingencies?” (second window shattered) “BUT EVEN IF I DIDN’T—” (a stone whizzed past her ear) “YOU THINK I WANT OR NEED YOUR HELP?!”

When the barrage ended, Regina hurled two final rocks at the trunk—just to make a point—before turning back to the barrier. Kicks, punches, counter-spells: nothing worked.

“Hijos de la chingada,” she seethed. “Me hicieron perder el vuelo.”

Limping, she rummaged through her purse with violent jerks. “That bitch better not have stolen my… antacids.”

Once the magic stabilized—Emma could feel it—Regina vanished in a violet cloud without a backward glance.

“That was terrifying,” Henry admitted, still frozen despite emerging unscathed.

“Where do you think she went?” Emma asked, deliberately not cataloging her injuries.

“For our sake? Hopefully her vault. If she teleported to Mifflin…”

Another puff of smoke materialized nearby, revealing a Regina with bloodshot eyes and a snarl.

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY HOUSE?!”

 

Two hours later, Henry and Emma limped into the sheriff's station, thoroughly defeated. David and Mary Margaret were covering the night shift.

"Emma?" Snow asked, startled. "We just got a call from Mifflin Street—Regina's house rebuilt itself from rubble. With magic. What happened to your eye? And why do your clothes look charred?"

"You said you didn't convince Regina," David added, bewildered. "So that wasn't her at the mansion? Shouldn't you still be in New York trying?"

Henry found sudden interest in the ceiling tiles. Emma swallowed hard.

"Well, we, uh... accidentally kidnapped Regina."

Even the Charmings—not exactly renowned for their intellect—were at a loss for words.

"Oh, sweetheart." Snow guided Emma to a chair, inspecting her black eye. "That'll only make things worse."

"What happened?" David's brow furrowed. "We had a plan. Apologize for the Archie misunderstanding, frame yourselves as victims of our manipulation—"

"Which I was," Henry muttered.

"—make her think you're naive but well-meaning," David plowed on, "and say it's fine if she doesn't want to help. Gain her trust first, then mention how she's the only sorceress who can save the real victims here."

"Three more children vanished while you were gone," Snow said quietly, rummaging through the first-aid kit.

"Anyone we know?"

"Alexandra..."

"Oh."

The station fell silent save for the rustle of gauze and antiseptic.

"So what exactly went wrong?" David asked lightly.

Emma stared at her boots. "She said her schedule was booked till next year."

Regina's refusal was expected—predictable, even. But with the town's situation growing dire, she'd been the least terrible option. Who else could they turn to? Cora? The woman had murdered her daughter's fiancé, then spent forty years sabotaging and isolating her (cult-leader behavior, frankly). If she didn't care about her own child's wellbeing, why would missing other people's children bother her?

"Did you mention the witch is kidnapping kids?" David pressed. "That we've lost half the town's children? Regina's a vicious bitch, but knowing her, I can't believe she'd prioritize herself over—"

"We didn't get that far."

The moment Emma had seen Regina—so drastically changed from their last encounter—nothing else had mattered. Not physically different, but... off. Like a distorted reflection.

"You didn't—?" David's voice sharpened. "Then what did you talk about?"

"That I stole her son. Among other things."

"You were supposed to apologize," Snow hissed.

"Yeah, well." Emma crossed her arms. "Nobody mentions how she drove him away with her evil schemes first." She knew it wasn't justified, but that teenage urge to fight back never quite died.

"You're not wrong," Snow conceded, "but antagonizing her wasn't the goal! Now she'll be furious for days, and by the time someone gets through to her about the disappearances—"

"How'd you get the shiner?" Snow interrupted, dabbing Emma's cheekbone.

"Her magic malfunctioned at the town line. Couldn't throw fireballs, and the barrier trapped her inside. So she... improvised."

"Improvised?"

"To be fair, she only stoned Emma." Henry forced a smile. "Means she still likes me a little, right? Maybe I can try tomorrow— Where are you going?"

Emma stood abruptly. She understood the Charmings' urgency—not for "noble Storybrooke," but for the baby Snow would soon deliver.

"I'm going to Mifflin Street. Maybe someone can talk about the damn missing children."

"If you go now, that black eye will have a matching burn," Snow reasoned. "Let her cool off."

"Emma, enough." David's disappointment hung thick. "You've done plenty today." He exhaled. "I've got another idea."

Notes:

Thank you all for your comments; they encourage me to keep writing. I want you to know that I’ve added a stone for each loving comment. Respectful feedback is also welcome. Until the next time.

Chapter 4: Svanì per sempre il sogno mio d'amore

Being mayor of a small town required considerable dedication—especially in a place like Storybrooke, where managing a shoestring budget often demanded extraordinary measures. Today's most peculiar task? Inspecting a house that had been rubble twelve hours prior, now standing pristine as if its destruction had never occurred. Even the doorbell chimed more crisply than Kathryn Midas remembered.

"Get off my property!" Regina Mills' voice snapped through the intercom.

The porch plants alone looked healthier than the entire county's flora.

"Regina?" Kathryn ventured. "It's Kathryn. Can we talk?"

Silence. Then unsteady footsteps. The door cracked open just enough to reveal wary brown eyes.

"Someone mentioned you might need these." She proffered a fresh bottle of Tums like a peace offering.

Regina's frown deepened as she assessed the situation. "If Swan sent you, Kathryn, turn around right now."

"This has nothing to do with Swan or any Charming," Kathryn said firmly. "May I come in? It's about to rain."

September's lingering summer showers still carried a bite. The door shut briefly—chains unlatching—then swung open fully.

Even during her cursed residency, Regina had never worn off-the-rack clothing. Holland & Sherry fabrics, bespoke tailoring—every stitch perfection. Yet today's tweed suit hung loose. The shadows under her eyes and pallid complexion completed the unsettling picture.

"Are you all right?" Kathryn asked, genuine concern cutting through.

"Of course." Regina waved a dismissive hand. "My magic objected to finding vodka, whiskey, and... other substances in my bloodstream. Hence the exorcist impression at the town line. Will this take long? I've urgent calls to make."

The attempted nonchalance fell flat.

Kathryn tread carefully. "Depends. Our former mayor had a tradition of welcoming newcomers with apple baskets, but since the enchanted tree's off-limits..." She nodded to the antacids. "This'll have to do."

Regina accepted the bottle, examined it, and set it aside. "Thank you. Would you like to sit? A drink?" Her fingers drummed the doorframe.

"I'm fine." Kathryn's own anxiety prickled. "That candelabra's new?"

"Bought it at a Portland garage sale in '96. Marco installed it."

"It's lovely."

"Kathryn." Regina's patience frayed. "Why are you here?"

"You were my only friend." No preamble, just the raw truth. "Not just under the curse—ever. Remember my engagement party? No one turns a stuffy event into a rave like you."

"Midas had already stocked enough liquor to drown a kingdom. I just... encouraged consumption."

"Dad never needed much encouragement." Kathryn's nervous smile faded. "Was any of it real? Or was I just a means to an end?"

Regina's shame was palpable. "Not all of it. But enough wasn't."

"Right. Nothing matters more than your revenge on Snow." Bitterness seeped into Kathryn's voice.

"Would it change anything if I said the real parts did care? That I'm sorry?" The vulnerability startled them both.

Kathryn exhaled. "I don't know if I can forgive you yet. But... I missed you. In time, maybe..."

"I missed you too." Regina's shoulders relaxed a fraction. "Take whatever time you need."

"Do you still want revenge?"

The question hung heavy. If yes, Kathryn would have to shield Storybrooke from another Enchanted Forest-scale war.

"Honestly?" Regina's expression darkened. "I've spent all morning considering an alliance with this new witch against the Charmings."

"After the kidnapping, I'd hardly blame you." Kathryn chose her next words carefully. "But as mayor, I'm begging you not to."

"How'd you even get elected? I thought those idiots would reinstated monarchy."

"People love democracy too much. Funny story, actually—Snow was the favorite until..." Kathryn recounted the Archie Hopper scandal, watching Regina's face shift from confusion to dawning horror.

"Wait. Archie's alive?"

"Regina... Emma didn't tell you? Your mother framed you."

Regina's hands clenched. "She mentioned Cora's imprisonment. Conveniently omitted that detail."

"Gods above. Never trusting Swan to relay messages again."

"What else did she withhold?"

 

After a formal discussion in which several agreements were reached, the homeowner accompanied the mayor to the door.

"By the way," she recalled jovially, quite pleased with the outcome of her visit, "Storybrooke University invites you to its opening night."

"I don’t know, Kathryn," she replied, anxiety creeping back into her body. "I don’t feel like being seen in public."

The mayor smiled, trying to project a confidence she wasn’t sure she actually felt.

"The checks never stopped coming—you are the great patron of the city’s opera. It would be a crime if you didn’t attend."

"What will they be performing?" Regina asked with curiosity.

"Tosca."

That seemed to please her a little.

"Is the tenor playing Cavaradossi any good?"

"The best I’ve seen in years."

"And Floria?"

Kathryn’s smile widened knowingly.

"Oh, Regina. You are going to love Floria."

Regina’s gaze darkened slightly.

"I don’t want any altercations with the Charmings," she warned.

Kathryn waved off the concern with amused confidence.

"We’re talking about the Charmings, Regina—those blockheads don’t go to the opera."

Regina sighed, weighing her options.

"Fine. But I want a box seat."

Kathryn’s voice carried a warmth that hadn’t been there earlier—genuinely pleased to see a shadow of the woman she once knew beneath all that exhaustion.

"Your box has been waiting for your return for years."

Regina, finally yielding, allowed herself one last demand, her tone perfectly measured.

"And if E lucevan le stelle doesn’t make me cry, I’m asking for a refund."

The deal was sealed with a firm handshake

 

"The Evil Queen found the missing children!" Grumpy's booming voice echoed down Main Street near noon.

Like wildfire, the news spread. Within half an hour, the entire town knew two things: their sorceress had returned, and every lost child had been recovered. A collective breath Storybrooke hadn't realized it was holding finally released.

Mayor Midas entered Granny's twenty minutes later to a diner buzzing with relief. Regular patrons waved her over, desperate for details.

"She's been back less than a day and already solved half our problems," Ruby Lucas marveled. "How'd you convince her?"

"Oh, I asked nicely and didn't kidnap her,"** Kathryn said, the jab at the Savior deliberate. "This is Regina we're talking about. Of course she wouldn't let children suffer."

"So what's next?" Emma snapped, weathering her ninth scolding that hour.

"That's your call, Sheriff. The Charming-White clan volunteered to handle this new curse. Still your problem."

"I thought you got Regina to help," Emma said, confused.

Kathryn meticulously dissected her waffle. "I explained the situation. She offered a locating spell. The children were in a squalid farmhouse outside town—unharmed but terrified." A pointed sip of coffee. "She was quite clear that you'd already disposed of one witch. That you provoked another isn't her responsibility."

"Come on, Kathryn," Snow interjected. "None of us remember the Enchanted Forest days. How do we know you didn't anger this witch?"

"The odds aren't zero," the mayor conceded. "But I wouldn't bet on it. That caliber of stupidity tends to run in your family."

As murmurs rippled through the diner, Kathryn raised her voice.

"One more thing regarding Regina." The clink of her coffee cup silenced the room. "As mayor, I've granted her peace while we resolve the barrier issue—a reward for services rendered. No hostile parties, especially no Charmings, are to approach 108 Mifflin Street or the Mills vault. Ignore this, and I'll turn a blind eye to whatever happens next." Her gaze locked on Emma. "And trust me—Regina assured me there aren't enough rocks in the world if she sees you again. Interpret that as you will."

 

 

Later, near dusk, Dr. Archie Hopper found himself face to face with his former patient, just a few steps from the orange line marking the town’s boundary. The man parked his car next to the black Mercedes, which played the third act of Tosca through the speakers, both windows rolled down.

Regina, standing a few steps from the invisible wall, did not turn around, but even from a distance, the doctor could see the smoke from her cigar curling up from her left hand.

"Look who has risen from the dead," she said by way of greeting.

"Good evening, Regina. It’s good to see you too."

It was true. The circumstances of their last meeting had been far from ideal. Archie often found himself speculating about the queen’s condition—so emotionally fragile before they lost touch.

The woman nodded thoughtfully. She studied the horizon like a cat sizing up an intriguing prey. Rain would fall soon, Archie realized, and the temperature would drop a few degrees. There was no sign of her carrying a coat, just in case.

"May I ask why you called me here?"

"I don’t want interruptions from the townsfolk like last time. Besides, it is crucial that I analyze this situation." She sounded cold, calculating.

"Situation?"

Regina exhaled slowly, as if pulling the words from deep within.

"I wish I could tell you how many hours I spent standing before this damned thing," she clarified, "trying to find a weakness, searching for a vulnerable point… Something, any detail. Once Blue modified my original spell, this stupid barrier became my primary jailer in the wretched prison that is the outside world. Svanì per sempre il sogno mio d’amore. L’ora è fuggita, e muoio disperato. And all I could feel was the sting of rage in my stomach every time I reached the same conclusion: I could do nothing without magic. And now, here I am, on the other side, with enough power in my palm to disintegrate every particle of this town, and yet this miserable thing would still stand."

She didn’t even know why she kept coming back. Henry had been a fundamental piece of the plan that led to her downfall—what would she do once she infiltrated the town again? But this was her barrier; how dare they turn something she had created against her? Just when she had resolved to pursue other goals, the situation had reversed, and now that wretched barrier was the thing keeping her imprisoned in a place filled with ghosts she had no desire to chase.

"How did you overcome that fixation the first time?"

Archie had read entertainment news online more than once. Regina was recognized in certain circles, appearing alongside wealthy people leading indulgent lives. It was an interesting shift, considering how prone she was to obsession.

"I didn’t," she replied, voice steady. "It simply vanished. I never knew how or why, but one day, the barrier was gone, and the road led to an overlook above the forest where the town had once stood."

"What did you do then?"

Regina’s expression darkened.

"That doesn’t matter, Dr. Hopper. The doctors brought me back, and I’m still alive—for now."

Archie felt a knot in his stomach. The clear depression that Regina had manifested in Storybrooke had led to consequences far more severe than he had feared.

"Oh, Regina..."

"This barrier has become the greatest enemy of my life," she interrupted, as if she hadn’t heard him at all. "Closely followed by people who clap before the opera’s intermissions, and then Snow White. If I don’t destroy it before I die, my life will have had no purpose."

Archie stiffened.

"Why are we talking about death?"

After admitting to a suicide attempt, this couldn’t be good.

Regina tilted her head slightly, unbothered.

"And why not? She is always present," she said, unconsciously placing a hand on her abdomen.

Archie tried to steer the conversation into safer territory.

"I thought you wanted nothing to do with the curse."

"The barrier is a separate matter from the curse—that’s why mine remained when Emma broke it."

Archie inhaled deeply before voicing the question neither of them had dared ask outright.

"And how do you plan to do it, Regina?"

That, after all, was the million-dollar question.

 

Chapter 5: Tutto è follia, follia nel mondo ciò che non è piacer

 

During the rigorous studies Belle had conducted in Rumple’s libraries to determine whether the Dark One’s death was truly final when there was no clear successor, she developed a headache and a sort of reading block. In her experience, the only way to break such fatigue was to change the subject entirely. And now that she was once again in the Land Without Magic, it seemed like a great idea to learn about the history of this new world, full of possibilities.

Thus, the former princess stumbled upon a biography about a king from a distant country called France—Louis XIV. That’s when the flashbacks of her life at home, back in the kingdom of Mistheaven, began. It wasn’t that during her time as a "guest" of Queen Regina she had to sleep in a dungeon—she actually had the appropriate quarters for a princess of her rank, according to a treaty that King Maurice, her father, had signed with the queen—but neither was she allowed to leave.

Years before the death of King Leopold I, much of the army and food supply was controlled by feudal lords, who functioned as small kings within a larger kingdom. When some of these lords realized that if they united, they didn’t have to obey the king's laws they disliked, it triggered several rebellions that bled the kingdom to its foundations. Leopold II, the son of the first Leopold, was much more cautious about the power he granted the nobles. With the help of the fairies—priestesses in charge of religious authority across the continent—Snow’s father strengthened faith among his subjects, convincing them of his divine right to the crown. If the king was king, it was because the gods had placed the crown upon his head, and denying the divine right of any human was punishable by death in Mistheaven. Thus, conditioning and fear brought a degree of control over the noble class.

Regina, second wife and successor of Leopold II, was well aware that fear was an effective tool to control the common people. But with the nobles, it was different—a noble with enough resources and courage could be a problem at any time. So, she resorted to the only tool more effective than fear: pleasure. Power and wealth are direct means of achieving well-being and pleasure, but why bother with extra steps when the generous queen could guarantee them directly?

A few months after her husband’s death, the queen began inviting the youngest members of the most powerful houses to her court for companionship. The halls of the Winter Palace filled with sumptuous paintings and sculptures, as well as elegant designs, because the first pleasure she needed to saturate her new courtiers with was aesthetic pleasure—the delight of things that are pleasing to the eye and ear. The kingdom’s finest musicians were summoned to play the most exquisite sarabands, and soon the kitchens began preparing the most extravagant and delicious dishes ever tasted. Then came the most beautiful courtiers, accompanied by the most lavish liquors. Regina not only had the noble sons glued to her throne room, willingly trapped within the bubble of indulgence she had created, but their parents were completely bound by her desires. In this way, she seized control over the armies and aristocracy, and with them—and the dark magic she wielded with mastery—she gradually eliminated the influence of the fairies' religion. Eventually, her iron-fisted rule over the less fortunate and the cruel ruthlessness she showed toward her husband's daughter earned her the title The Evil Queen.

Belle was free to come and go within the Winter Palace and only participated once or twice. By the time she became Regina’s hostage, a well-established protocol had already taken root in court festivities. Everything began with a dance or masquerade, strictly adhering to royal protocol. Then came a lavish feast overflowing with alcohol, where guests began to lose their inhibitions. Regina—draped in the most expensive fabrics and adorned with the finest jewels of the crown—would make a brief appearance, delivering a speech in Spanish, the language of her father and the official language of her court. If she was in a good mood, she would stay for a drink or two with her favorites (oh, how they all coveted being one of the favorites). If she was in an even better mood, she would take one—typically a beautiful young woman—to her private quarters to enjoy her company for the night. Those who remained in the halls after the queen’s departure knew it was the moment to indulge in the most extravagant passions their bodies demanded, without restriction. But often, the queen wasn’t in the mood—so rather than surrender to the tool of control she had created, she would retreat to the royal army's headquarters to plan raids in search of Snow or launch conquest expeditions necessary to finance all the palace’s luxuries without resistance.

Except for the Charmings, years later, when they managed to rally the common folk against her—but that took many years, and the nobles resisted the loss of their privileges as much as they could.

Yes, Belle thought absentmindedly as she sipped her coffee at Granny’s, Regina’s court was an early version of Louis XIV’s. That’s why, when Emma found the first newspapers featuring Regina on a millionaire’s yacht off the coast of Marbella, the librarian wasn’t surprised in the least. The now-socialite had a deep understanding of pleasure—one few could rival. Perhaps this new way of living was a return to what she knew, what had yielded such magnificent results. Or perhaps, after losing everything, she simply no longer cared—flying as high as Icarus and surrendering to her own weapon.

The coffee cup trembled in Belle's grip. Across the booth, Ruby's grin widened

“Belle,” Ruby pulled her out of her reverie, “Are you invited to the welcome rave that Regina’s court is organizing at the docks?”

“Like all of Storybrooke, I suppose,” she admitted, uncomfortable. She was never obligated to attend the court's festivities, but she still felt uneasy just remembering them. That wasn't her kind of environment, and she preferred exploring the rich library filled with historical tomes Regina had brought from her homeland.

“Nah, I think I know someone who won’t be there,” she said, pointing at a rather lonely Emma Swan at the bar.

“Since you never properly broke up with Regina, do the rock-throwing incidents count as domestic violence?” she teased. Ruby still doubled over laughing every time she recalled Emma’s last encounter with her ex.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? It’s not funny, Ruby.” The truth was, it was funny, and Emma’s grumpy attitude only made it worse.

“It’s funny because we both know that if she’d had all her magic, you’d be dead by now,” Ruby reminded her jovially.

Emma shifted uncomfortably in her barstool, stirring her milkshake violently with the straw.

“That’s not true,” she spat out, blushing with rage.

“Didn’t she blow up the rental car with a fireball?” Ruby asked triumphantly.

“Three. And thanks for reminding me that I still need to fill out the insurance forms.”

Ruby laughed cheerfully. The story would never stop being hilarious. Although it was entertaining to tease Emma about her lack of tact, Ruby, as a good friend, had the obligation to offer advice so her companion wouldn’t remain miserable.

“Emm, I’m not going to tell you that what you did was stupid, because you already know that,” she reminded her.

“Great.”

“Snow says you didn’t apologize in New York…” Ruby began seriously.

“Ruby…”

If looks could kill.

“Which would have been easier, considering you had fewer things to apologize for.” She continued sternly.

“Why do I have to be the only one who has to apologize? She never apologizes when she’s wrong.”

Oh, Emma. If only she had sat down with her girlfriend to talk about everything that bothered her in the first place, maybe they would’ve been in a better position when the whole Archie fiasco blew up. How hard could it be to just show up and say, "Hey Gina, stealing my entire childhood was a really awful thing for me, I hope we can talk about how I’m resenting you for it"?

“Kathryn says Regina apologized to her,” Ruby informed, thinking that if they had sat down and talked at the time, Regina would have apologized to Emma too. “And Belle had a very interesting conversation with her yesterday. Right, Belle?”

Belle, who had just emerged from another daydream, responded:

“We remembered a few things, yes. We decided to say no to hostility for the town’s peace of mind,” she informed cautiously.

“Hmm. Seems like she’s talking to everyone but me.”

Yep, lack of communication killed those idiots’ relationship.

“That attitude isn’t going to solve anything.”

Because Emma deserved to fix things when she was so clearly still in love.

“And who says I want to fix anything with Regina?” she asked defensively.

Because you still look like a kicked puppy every time someone mentions her name.

“Because next week, when Regina’s court throws the craziest rave in the history of Storybrooke and you’re the only one not invited, don’t wonder why,” Ruby responded instead.

“Regina is organizing a rave?” Emma asked in surprise.

“Her court—they arrived with the new curse. The most insane and depraved rave in Storybrooke’s history,” Ruby declared as if announcing a historic event. “Oh, look, here comes Archie. Archie, hey! Come here.”

With nervous steps and a thoughtful expression, Archie did as he was asked.

“Good day,” he greeted upon reaching the bar. “How can I help you, Ruby?”

“I heard you had a talk with Regina,” the waitress began, and Archie braced himself for the worst. “Tell me, did she invite you to the Saturday rave?”

With a sigh of relief, he responded:

“Regina isn’t the one organizing the Saturday rave, Ruby—it’s a gift from her court. I’m invited, just like all of Storybrooke,” he stated. “However, after discussing some important matters, she invited me to the carne asada on the 15th at her house, before the Mexican Independence Day party she’s organizing.”

It was a noble gesture—only the closest acquaintances were invited to the carne asada. The noche mexicana, on the other hand, was just another excuse for heavy drinking.

“Isn’t Mexico’s Independence Day in May?” Ruby marveled, like a small child discovering an entirely new type of toy.

“That’s the Battle of Puebla against France, Rubes,” Belle corrected, always precise with historical facts. “Mexicans don’t actually celebrate it.”

“Why is Regina organizing a Mexican Independence Day party in Maine?” Emma asked grumpily.

“She spent a couple of years in a city called Zacatecas and grew fond of the celebration,” Archie informed calmly—it was one of the things Regina had no problem sharing.

“Cool. Are you going to the masquerade on Thursday after the university’s Tosca performance?” the she-wolf was practically bouncing with excitement, thrilled by the sudden influx of festivities after years of monotony.

“No, I might only attend the pre-show toast in the opera house's foyer,” Archie responded patiently.

“Ew, nerd stuff. I just need someone to invite me to the ‘80s night they’re throwing on Mifflin Street to celebrate that all the houses are finally fine again.”

“Property values skyrocketed—it’s fair that they celebrate.”

“Wait, where did all these parties come from?”

When Emma dated Regina, she could barely get her out of the house on the weekends—now she had an event for every day of the week?

“Emma, one of the most well-known socialites in the world is in town. Why wouldn’t there be dozens of parties to take advantage of?”

“How do they know the barrier won’t fall before then?” she asked, growing even more irritated. “She’s going to run the moment it happens.”

“Do you already know how to break the curse?”

“No, all the kids said was that the witch who kidnapped them was green and spoke in a funny way. I’m not even close.”

“Then Regina isn’t leaving anytime soon,” Ruby pointed out obviously.

“Green, and her minions are flying monkeys,” Belle recalled. “Emma, your witch is the Wicked Witch of the West.”

That conclusion wasn’t very difficult for Emma either.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t tell me anything,” she assured. “Tell me, Belle, do the movies in this world really portray you accurately just because they know your name?”

“Good point.”

“I need more information—I don’t have time for parties,” the sheriff informed, clearly bitter about the exclusion her entire family was experiencing. “Belle, is the offer to use Rumple’s library still on the table?”

“Of course, whenever you want.”

“Great. I’m going to take a look now.”

Sheriff Swan left after leaving ten dollars on the bar.

“I give her a week before she’s crawling to Regina’s doorstep,” Ruby bet as soon as the blonde was out the door.

“You’re being nice because she’s your friend,” Belle noted, less distracted. “I give her three days.”

“Deal.”

“Hey, are you going to the formal ball in the forest?”

“You know, Regina’s parties aren’t really my thing,” Belle responded with a grimace, hoping Ruby wouldn’t ask about each of the ten events already forming individually.

 

 

Chapter 6: la notte che resta /D'altre gioie qui fate brillar/ Fra le tazze è più viva la festa...

"Madam Mayor, Madam Mayor! Are you really going to allow those degenerates from the Dark Court to spread their corruption through this endless string of depraved parties?"

To be honest, Kathryn never expected Regina’s plans to be well received—whether they were marathon festivities or prayer circles—but dealing with the moral rigidity of the fairies required the patience of a saint. In the 27 times (Fred counted them all) that she was asked variations of the same question, the answer—sometimes polite, sometimes not—was the same: the municipal permits were in order, Regina was a free citizen, and Storybrooke was a secular town. Besides, all these events were bringing in a ton of revenue from administrative fees and local commerce.

And so, Saturday night arrived, amid equal parts excitement and skepticism. The ordinarily dull docks were illuminated with purple lights, a DJ station was set up alongside dozens of expensive-looking speakers promising a beat that would shake Storybrooke to its core.

Unless it was about business, Regina’s court only socialized among themselves. The curse had placed them in their palatial homes on Mifflin Street, relocating the houses of the former residents to a conveniently distant area, well away from "the cursed house of the Evil Queen." Almost all of them were beautiful, courteous, reserved, and, according to rumors, absolutely loyal to their queen. They had spent 28 years of the curse trapped in an interdimensional limbo, waiting for their monarch to come for them—and the new curse had done the job. And so, here they were. And here she was.

It was time to celebrate.

The strobe lights were immediately painful to Emma’s eyes. She could feel the music deep in her bones rather than simply hearing it, and there were fountains of drinks in strange colors everywhere she looked. David and Mary Margaret—dressed in an outfit that was less rave and more spy mission—made their way to her side. Ruby had finally convinced Belle to join her, and both were fairly animated, chatting beside an ice sculpture of Dionysus. In the back, wearing not-at-all-discreet layers, a pair of fairies from the convent were sneaking between tables, quietly turning cocktails into holy water.

"Oh, Emma!" Ruby called, showing early signs of intoxication. "Nobody told you this wasn’t a costume party? What’s with the cap, the glasses, and the hoodie?"

"Well, I wasn’t going to come, but Henry fell asleep early, and Mom insisted I join her in her last-minute witch hunt."

"Why does she look like she’s being electrocuted?"

"It’s her version of 'blending in.'"

"Well, if she keeps that up, she’ll be the first thing Regina sees when she comes out to give her speech. What are she and the fairies doing anyway?"

"Oh, how did they put it? 'Purifying Storybrooke of a sinful woman.'

"Oh, that." Ruby waved it off. "Do you want a mojito?"

"Obviously."

A particularly irresistible remix of Bad Romance started playing, and several guests let out howls of joy as they flooded the dance floor. Emma decided that if she really wanted to blend into the rave (and if she wanted to shut off her brain and avoid remembering her own Bad Romance from the past), she had to dance like a normal person. So, without looking like she had a live current running through her veins, Emma dragged Ruby to the dance floor.

I want your ugly, I want your disease
I want your everything as long as it's free

If only it had been that simple... Learning to love Regina’s awful parts, ignoring the role her inflexible hand had played in Emma’s miserable childhood… If only the idiotic Cora hadn’t implemented her ridiculous isolation plan…

Nova, one of the younger fairies, had cornered Grumpy in a darkened corner while Blue glared at her, absolutely livid. Meanwhile, the conversations happening around Emma made her feel more uneasy than she'd expected—the language barrier was far wider than she thought.

(Entonces le dije a mi padre que no tenía razón en enojarse por eso, yo no le pedí prestada la boca para emborracharme con ella) (¿Este color se me ve bien?) (Ay, Lucio, tengo que irme ahora, creo que dejé los frijoles puestos)

The atmosphere was drenched in a party’s energy, but there was something else Emma hadn’t expected—tension.

A young man in an electric blue suit (and no shirt under the blazer, naturally) was speaking to Whale without a hint of discretion, watching the actions of the fairies with open disdain.

"They took everything from us when they reclaimed the kingdom," he commented. "Not just Regina. They ripped us from our reality, cast us into a world where we had nothing. And while they celebrated their victory, we had to rebuild lives that weren’t even ours."

"We claimed this part of Storybrooke for ourselves," said another man, older, with graying hair. "We haven’t even challenged them in any way. And what do they do? They infiltrate, blatantly, where they are not welcome."

"Dear Nestor," Whale tried to placate, "we must learn to share the town peacefully. This is the new way of living here."

"We are not the ones violating the peace, dear Victor."

Emma slipped away in the opposite direction, hoping the disgruntled members of the court wouldn’t recognize her. She really didn’t want to get thrown out too early—not when the mojitos were this good.

Meanwhile, David was not happy with the situation.

Slaying a dragon? Piece of cake.
Planning an invasion? Any day of the week.
Even now, in his post-curse duties—organizing patrols? Sure.
Cleaning the station? Not something he wanted to do, but he’d accept it.

But this?
Infiltration?
Espionage was an important part of war, and he understood the necessity—but there were professionals meant to handle these matters.

And tonight, David felt—and looked—like an idiot.

People loved calling him an idiot, but he knew he wasn’t naive. The fairies were only here because it suited them—because Snow had reinstated the political influence they had under her family's reign. And Emma wasn’t helping at all, searching for clues at the bottom of a punch bowl.

Even the dwarves had forgotten the mission and were dancing at the farthest corner of the fairies’ section with the townspeople.

Unless the Evil Queen was planning mass alcohol poisoning, the party seemed harmless enough.

"Oh, sweetheart, could you get me a glass of water?"

Snow asked sweetly.

She shouldn’t even be out of bed this late.
This was a stupid plan.

David nodded, glad to finally have something useful to do.

As he made his way toward the western side of the venue, he spotted Ruby chatting again with Belle, while Kathryn and Fred danced nearby.

He was about to approach and ask for any non-alcoholic drink—when a hooded figure caught his attention.

That person wasn’t part of the fairies’ group. Why did they look so suspicious?

Beneath the folds of fabric, David caught a glimpse of an emerald pendant, glowing with an unnatural light.

David followed.

And then—the music stopped.

The older man near the DJ booth grabbed the microphone.

"Attention, everyone! Our honored guest, Regina Mills, is here to say a few words."

Emma could immediately tell which side each guest belonged to—based solely on the applause.

The newcomers clapped with overwhelming enthusiasm, while the citizens of Storybrooke applauded far more discreetly.

Finally, Regina appeared on stage, visibly pleased, dressed in black with pheasant feathers adorning her gown. With a lit cigar in one hand and a vodka martini in the other, she began her highly anticipated speech in her father’s language:

"Queridos míos, ¡qué placer tan inmenso tenerlos conmigo esta noche! Ha pasado una eternidad desde la última vez que tuvimos la oportunidad de reunirnos. En esta noche tan encantadora me gustaría  citar a Verdi, en la boca de la gran violeta Valery: Tutto è follia nel mondo/ Ciò che non è piacer. Todo es locura en este mundo... excepto el placer. Así pues, solo me queda alentarlos con las palabras del coro de esta obra maravillosa: ¡Gocemos! El vino, las risas / y el canto adornan la noche; / que el nuevo día nos sorprenda / en este paraíso.

Regina raised her glass, satisfied. Her court erupted into thunderous applause, while the citizens of Storybrooke followed suit—hesitant, uncertain. Blue looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown, reacting to the language far worse than a Karen confronted with a Spanish speaker.

“I don’t get it. Why is Regina speaking Spanish with her court?” Emma asked, intrigued.

Belle gave her a knowing look, folding her arms with academic precision.

“Why did William I impose French in England?” she asked rhetorically. “Power, Emma. Replacing the language of Snow’s ancestors with her own was another way of asserting dominance—erasing the White dynasty in every possible way before killing Snow herself.”

Emma frowned.

“That’s twisted.”

“Let’s go find David and Mary,” Ruby interjected. “We need to get Blue out of here before she has an aneurysm.”

Emma turned toward the fairy, whose face was turning an alarming shade of red.

“Oh, too late. I think she’s about to start a scene.”

Ruby groaned, watching as Mary Margaret hurried toward them, the worried lines on her face deepening.

“Look, there’s Mary Margaret—where’s David?”

It was around two in the morning when Archie, still dressed in his party attire, met Regina near the barrier.

“I think the fairies are going to fight with the court until dawn,” he commented nervously. There was something in the air that didn’t feel quite right. “You were right to predict that excluding them from the invitations would only convince them to investigate the party.” He acknowledged this with good humor—his interlocutor wouldn’t mind a few words of recognition.

“It’s in their nature, Dr. Hopper,” Regina responded distractedly, carefully analyzing the barrier. “If I breathe, they suspect. Did you bring what I asked?”

Regina looked much better than the last time they had met there—more focused, her expression healthier. That encouraged the doctor a little.

“Yes,” he nodded, “here’s Dragon’s leather glove. It was incredibly difficult to convince Jefferson to lend it to me.”

The Mad Hatter had somewhat regained the ability to craft magical hats. Since magic in this world was limited, he could only retrieve small objects—like the time he brought back Regina’s poisoned apple—and he was using that skill to bring all sorts of fascinating items to Storybrooke.

“You’ll need it if you’re going to help me take samples from the barrier,” Regina reminded him gently. Contrary to popular belief, she was quite the patient instructor. “I can’t cross it under any circumstances, but it will let you through—although, at worst, you might end up turning into a flying monkey.”

Archie nodded, feeling confident. He had promised to help Regina with her plans for the barrier on the condition that she agreed to attend a session or two with him. Of course, they had first established the importance of confidentiality. Regina was a distrustful woman—life had made her that way through hard lessons. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“Sure. Will you guide me?”

“Of course. Take this vial,” she said, handing him a sturdy-looking flask. “Approach, don’t be afraid. Don’t let the magic touch any part of you that isn’t covered by the glove. Place the bottle’s mouth directly against the barrier—I’ll murmur the spell. This will take some time.”

However, there was something else eating at Archie—something regarding his potential friend.

“Regina…” he began, his nerves returning.

“Yes?”

“I got a call from your therapist in New York.”

That didn’t put her on the defensive—on the contrary, she seemed to expect it.

“Ah, Parker finally remembered he has a phone. Tell me—did you discuss anything important?”

“He asked if I could see you professionally while you're here,” Archie admitted. “Someone needs to monitor your antidepressant prescription.”

“You don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable, Dr. Hopper.”

She said it in a way that made Archie uneasy—like she was convinced no one would ever voluntarily want to worry about her health.

“I really want to help,” he assured sincerely.

“You already are, Archie,” she reminded him. Regina noticed that Archie’s anxiety wasn’t solely about the antidepressants. “Parker said something else, didn’t he? Ask whatever it is that’s eating at you.”

“He asked if you had ultimately decided to stop the other treatment,” Archie admitted, feeling defeated and insecure.

Regina didn’t respond at first, taking her time to carefully consider her answer.

“Well. Seems like you can’t trust any doctor in this world.” She quipped, stalling.

“Please, I just want to help you.” The doctor pleaded.

The barrier crackled strangely—as if receiving a signal from somewhere else in town. Another fool falling over the edge and turning into a monkey, most likely.

“‘Decided’ is a strong word, Archie,” Regina finally responded, deciding it wasn’t worth resisting when the doctor looked genuinely distressed. “In reality, I haven’t had much of a choice—I had to stop taking the pills. My magic has regained its role as an overpowered immune system and has rejected any attempt to keep using them.”

The barrier stabilized again, and both shifted position so Archie could fill another vial and take additional samples.

“Then we need to destroy the barrier as soon as possible,” he finally said. “Regina, otherwise…”

“Oh no, don’t worry,” she interrupted quickly, sounding resigned. “I was going to quit them anyway. They weren’t working, after all.”

“Regina…”

Archie was about to launch into a hope-filled speech when the sound of approaching boots silenced them.

“Well,” interrupted a voice, “you both knew the Charmings wouldn’t be able to resist the distraction, didn’t you?”

Archie turned abruptly toward the speaker.

“Henry! What are you doing here?”

David followed the hooded figure deep into the forest, the music from the rave fading into the distance. The ground, covered in damp leaves, made silence and stealth impossible. The hooded figure knew he was being followed yet made no move to stop it. Everything screamed "trap," but he couldn't avoid it—something invisible was pulling him toward the unknown.

Finally, the figure halted in a secluded clearing, dangerously close to the barrier. With deliberate movements, the hood fell, and the figure revealed their face.

"James?"

David was horrified. All natural and magical laws said the same thing—the dead stay dead. How was it possible that his twin stood before him tonight? Why had he come from Regina's rave?

"No, not James. Close, my dear double."

David’s pulse pounded.

"What? Who are you? What are you?"

A wave of unease swept through him, his body instinctively rejecting the dark magic emanating from the figure before him.

"I am you, David. Don’t you see? Look at yourself—the pathetic fraud. A shepherd disguised as a king. You’re an imposter, that’s why everyone turned to Snow when it came to something important for the kingdom."

The shadow lunged forward, a macabre grin carved into its face. David stumbled back, nausea twisting in his stomach. What did this thing want from him?

"And you are weak. You couldn’t protect Emma from the Dark Knights—what makes you think you’ll be able to stop this witch when she comes for your new baby?"

A few steps away, a silver sword materialized. In one swift motion, Charming hurled himself toward it.

The air in the clearing grew ice-cold in an instant, as though nature itself recoiled from the shadow’s presence. David tightened his grip around the silver blade, his pulse racing with the certainty that this creature wasn’t just trying to scare him—it was trying to kill him.

The shadow moved with inhuman speed, closing the distance in a blink. The first thrust was merciless, aimed directly at his heart, but David twisted just in time, blocking the blow with his sword. The clash of steel rang through his arm, vibrating with a force impossible to measure.

"You’ve got a farmer’s reflexes, Charming. Do you really think you can defeat me?"

David clenched his jaw and counterattacked, launching a flurry of precise strikes aimed at finding weaknesses in his enemy’s defenses. The shadow dodged effortlessly, anticipating every move before he could even execute it.

"You’re not real. This isn’t possible."

"Not possible? Then why are you trembling?"

The shadow slipped behind him with an eerie speed, and before David could react, his opponent struck the base of his skull with the hilt of their sword. The impact sent him staggering, his knees sinking into the damp earth.

But David wasn’t a man who folded easily.

With a growl, he rolled to his side, and just as the shadow lunged to finish him off, he swung the silver sword in a lethal arc. The blade grazed the dark figure, and for the first time, the creature recoiled—releasing a hissing shriek, a distorted scream that tore through the forest’s silence.

David seized the moment of weakness and launched into a brutal offensive, each strike guided not just by years of battle but by something deeper—a simmering rage, a fury against everything he had lost. Against his doubts, against the ghosts of his past, against the destiny that kept reminding him he wasn’t enough.

Their blades clashed beneath the moonlight, each blow an act of desperation, an effort to gain ground. But the shadow was clever—it knew exactly how to play with his mind, how to turn each lingering doubt into leaden weight dragging him down.

Finally, David saw his opening.

The shadow advanced with its guard lowered, too confident.

And in that instant, the former shepherd turned his sword with precise lethality, driving the silver blade deep into his enemy’s spectral chest.

A scream tore through the night, and the clearing trembled with the force of the impact.

The shadow stumbled back, its form warping, twisting into smoke, an incorporeal specter fragile against the silver’s edge.

David pushed himself to his feet, his breaths labored, his heart hammering against his ribs.

The shadow gave him one last twisted smile before vanishing into thin air.

But before he could even process his victory—he saw her.

Standing at the edge of the clearing, dressed in elegant silk, was a woman with brilliant red hair and skin the deep shade of emerald green.

She smiled at him, her expression just as chilling as the shadow’s had been.

And as the witch completed what she had come to do, David collapsed onto the forest floor, screaming in despair.

Chapter 7: Řekni mu, stříbrný mĕsíčku,/ Mé že jej objímá rámě,/ Aby si alespoň chviličku,/ Vzpomenul ve snĕní na mne.

"Archie, do you need me to take you somewhere?" the Queen asked cautiously, trying to assess the best way to salvage her failed alibi.

"If I can still help you with the samples," the man replied nervously, "I’d rather continue discussing the topic we were on, if you don’t mind."

"Alright, I’ll see you at the vault when I’m done here."
And the doctor vanished in a cloud of purple magic.

Before anything else could happen, Henry proceeded to tell his version of events to a Regina who wasn’t entirely convinced she should listen.
When he was 6, he accidentally broke the pipe under the sink, and immediately decided it was best not to tell his mom. Why bother? She worked all day and came home tired; the only thing she enjoyed was cooking while he told her about his day. Then, while they ate, the boy would recount everything he’d done in detail. Things broke one moment and were perfectly fixed the next day. Why make a fuss? Except that night, the kitchen flooded, and most of the lower cabinets were ruined. Mom was far more stressed than usual, and they couldn’t talk about their routines for days, until Marco the carpenter replaced everything that was damaged. It was then that she sat down in front of him, with the stern face she occasionally gave the ladies who helped her at the office, and said:
"My little prince, it’s not right to keep secrets or lie to your mother."

Henry nodded, equally serious, understanding that if his mother said so, it must be true. His mother was always right, so he apologized for breaking the pipe. Regina rarely raised her voice around him, and when she did, it was never directed at him. If he didn’t understand something, she’d explain it with a bright smile and then buy him ice cream. Sometimes they sat together in the study while she filled out office forms and Henry did his homework, and she’d pull out her huge black discs, filling their moments not just with the opera she loved, but all kinds of music.

Lies were the worst—or so she’d made him believe his entire childhood. So when he found the adoption papers one afternoon while Mom was searching for insurance documents, Henry felt his world crumble. True, she’d never specifically told the story of his birth, but she’d also been very clear that secrets between them weren’t right either.

Then came the storybook, and Henry began noticing things. While she was the sweetest woman at home, most people thought his mom was evil. He’d never seen her deliberately harm others, but she was distant and cruelly sarcastic with people like Miss Blanchard. She said lies and secrets were wrong, yet lately, that’s all she did when Henry tried to bring up adoption. It was as if he didn’t know her at all.

Then the stories started making sense. Each day he grew more convinced Regina was the Evil Queen who chased Snow White for reasons never fully explained. Then Emma came to Storybrooke, and every cruel thing she did to drive the blonde out of town convinced him this woman couldn’t be his mom—that it was all an act to take Snow’s grandson and get revenge. She poisoned him.

But then she was crying in the hospital, as if she truly cared. Then Storybrooke’s citizens began attacking her, and Mr. Gold sent a thing after her. That was completely out of line, because even if the Evil Queen didn’t love him and he was a pawn in her games, he would always love her anyway. So he begged Emma to save her. There were strange looks between them—like the sun rising and setting at the other’s will—their supposed hatred just another lie.

Emma and Mary Margaret fell through Jefferson’s hat, and his mother grew increasingly desperate to earn their forgiveness and bring Emma back, so much that she even started working with David. That woman resembled the kind lady he’d grown up with a little more, despite being sad all the time, and Henry believed that if she tried hard enough, they could eventually return to how they were. Back then, good was good and evil was evil—no in-betweens. You could be a hero or a villain, not both. He might not fully understand the world, but that much was clear.

Then Dr. Whale brought a man named Daniel back from the grave—curiously, Henry’s own middle name—and his mother had to stop him with magic to protect the town, because while the man’s body was alive and unnaturally strong, his mind had been gone for years. That night, Henry sat solemnly in a corner as David placed ice packs on Regina’s neck while she recounted, in a trance-like state, the love story between a nobleman’s daughter and a stable boy.

"Did Grandma really do that?" a very confused Henry asked when he and David left Mifflin Street that night. Not because he thought Regina had lied, but because he believed heroes weren’t capable of evil.

"Yes," David admitted. "But she was ten back then, and hurting Regina wasn’t her intent. Intent is everything, Henry. Besides, humans make mistakes."

That was good, wasn’t it? Not Snow’s part—that sucked any way you looked at it—but if intent was everything, and his mother clearly intended to be better for him, then everything would be okay in the end, and he could come home when she was a better person. Grandma once said Regina loved no one, but that didn’t match what he’d seen in the stables that day, or what he saw daily as she fought to bring Emma back. Maybe love could save her after all.

Henry hated remembering how idealistic and naïve he’d been back then. Those rotten beliefs made him think it was okay to ask Regina to absorb a death curse because he was convinced Emma and Mary Margaret would emerge from the well. His blood ran cold every time he recalled that day: Regina writhing in pain, choking as Emma held her, crying helplessly.

"You didn’t even ask her to save you," he remembered. "You just kept begging her to keep talking because you loved the sound of her voice so much."

"We’d been estranged for weeks. I wasn’t sure she still loved me."

Oh, but she did—because then they kissed, and True Love’s Kiss was all the proof needed. Not that he needed proof. It didn’t matter anyway. He’d almost lost her forever that day. What did it matter if she was still a little evil? She had True Love—villains never have True Love. Henry wanted to return to his mother’s house that same night, but Snow forbade it. Regina was the villain, according to them, yet now they were the ones ignoring his wishes to impose what they deemed "right."

Then the thing with Archie happened. Despite feeling awful, Henry didn’t believe a person could change overnight without help. Archie had often said Regina needed support because she couldn’t do it alone. That’s what Henry tried to do—help her, bring justice for his friend, yes, but also give her the support she’d need once in prison. Turns out the Charmings knew how to lie too, and by the time he was alert enough to intervene, they’d already banished her.

Emma lied to him too—his father wasn’t some heroic firefighter but a 300-year-old man who’d seduced a 17-year-old and left her to pay for his crimes in prison. And he was Rumpelstiltskin’s son. And his psychopathic girlfriend had kidnapped him along with his lover.

Once Henry was fully captive in Neverland, Peter Pan tried every possible way to convince him to give up his heart to save magic. But why did magic need saving? It was the thing keeping his mother from him back home, so he refused. When Pan realized Henry wouldn’t surrender his heart willingly, the psychological torture began. The demon boy showed countless versions of what his family was doing. In some, the Charmings were being hunted in Neverland’s jungle; in others, they were happy in Storybrooke, relieved Pan had disposed of the Evil Queen’s son; in others, they died trying to save him; in others, they gave up, believing him dead. If Henry wanted to know the truth, he had to give his heart.

But what truly broke Henry’s mind—pushing him to the brink of no return—were the realities about Regina after she was forced past the town line. After all, she was the person he loved most, which was why the lies had hurt so much to begin with. In some visions, Regina stood at the town line waiting for Henry until she died of thirst; in others, she moved to a city and tried to rebuild her life but couldn’t forget; sometimes she realized Henry was Pan’s prisoner and found a way to rescue him; in others—the ones Henry refused to admit filled him with helpless rage—Regina found a husband, a lovelier home, a more important job, and with her new True Love, raised a perfect little prince of her own blood. Then he’d feel miserable and selfish when Pan showed realities where Regina was alone and desperate, lost to addiction, traveling the world she’d cursed but unable to enjoy anything without Henry. And then there were the realities where she died in the cruelest ways: horrific accidents, brutal murders, aggressive illnesses—Regina crushed between cars, Regina bedridden with tubes, unable to move from pain. In every death, she was alone, with no one to hold her hand, ease her suffering, or mourn her loss.

Give me your heart, and I’ll tell you the truth.

It took the Charmings 11 months—11 blessed months of Henry running through Neverland, caught occasionally and tortured with more gruesome images: They don’t want you. They want you but will die failing. They’re happy without you. They’ll never have peace without you. Your mother is living her best life. Your mother is miserable. She’ll find a way to save you. She’s not even alive. It’s all your fault.

It took 11 months of intensive therapy with Archie to convince himself it was over—that the Charmings had saved him, that Pan was trapped in Pandora’s Box, and that Grandpa Rumple had successfully contained him. None of that solved the riddle of Regina, and anyway, the idiot Pan escaped, and Grandpa Rumple had to obliterate himself with the curse to stop him.

What if Regina was better off without him? What if she’d decided she didn’t want to live? When the first newspapers arrived, Henry was somewhat relieved, but not much. Having spent most of his life with her, he knew those smiles—captured in supposedly candid moments—were the ones she faked for mayoral events or PTA meetings. Not the real smiles from birthday weekends or dinnertimes describing their routines.

He fully understood that teaming up with Emma was the stupidest thing a person could do, given his own kidnapping would haunt him forever, but he needed to know Regina was okay—that Pan’s visions were just a strategy to drive him mad. If she decided to leave as far as possible when the barrier fell (and he’d do everything to make it fall), he’d be the first to support her. He was sick of fairy tales, of good and evil. Henry’s mother was human, just like him, and they’d both make mistakes eventually.

Henry told her all this—leaving out Neverland’s torture details (she didn’t need that torment)—when he found her with Archie that night. She just pretended not to cry, looking everywhere but at him.

"Henry," she finally said, "it’s not true that intent is everything. Not when actions have consequences." Her voice was heavy with sadness—far sadder than that night at home telling him and David about Daniel.

The lump in his throat only grew.
"I know. I learned my lesson."

Regina thought then that Henry’s suffering wouldn’t be worth it if it returned his mother to him only to lose her forever.

"Go home, Henry. You should be asleep by now."

Henry nodded sadly, recognizing her advice for what it really was—a rejection.

Regina began to vanish but stopped mid-step.
"I’m sorry if I ever made you feel unloved."

"And I’m sorry for when I did make you feel unloved."

"Goodnight, Henry."

Henry. It’d been a long time since he’d been her little prince.
This time, Regina vanished completely in the cloud of purple smoke.

Chapter 8: Che gélida manina

 

A colorful group of characters was gathered outside socialite Regina Mills’ front door on Sunday morning: Marco, Pinocchio’s father, along with Pinocchio himself (who, for some reason, looked about thirteen), the dwarfs Grumpy and Doc, local news reporter Goldilocks, Mayor Kathryn, and her husband Fred. They had spent half the morning knocking, most of them absolutely convinced the woman was home and simply refusing to answer for whatever had happened to David the night before.

The sound of high heels on the front path distracted them from their vigil—Regina Mills herself was walking into her garden, still in the same clothes she had worn to the rave, enormous sunglasses helping with the devil-sized hangover she was clearly nursing.

“Good morning,” she greeted calmly, rummaging in her purse for her keys. “Not to rush you, but I think town council meetings should happen somewhere that isn’t my garden. You’re going to crush my tulips.”

With her brightest political smile, she slid the key into the lock, opened the door, and closed it behind her. No one dared say a word. Five minutes later, the door opened again.

“Oh, Kath, Freddy—lunch?” she offered innocently.

The couple nodded with a smile. The mayor and her First Gentleman were quite pleased to be among the few privileged ones allowed inside 108 Mifflin Street. The rest remained on the porch, silenced by a privacy charm.

Regina led them to the living room, excusing herself briefly to shower. Last night had been a rollercoaster, the queen thought bitterly. She had spent the week preparing the original spell that protected the town’s borders to compare it with any samples she might collect, and Archie had managed to get more than enough at the rave. The event had been such a good distraction that she even slipped into the convent to steal some fairy dust in case the barrier wasn’t solely the Green Witch’s doing and still bore traces of Blue’s intervention—the same Blue who had banished her from Storybrooke all those years ago. If only she could stop thinking about poor Henry’s words…

Meanwhile, Fred and Kathryn waited patiently, admiring the chandelier, inspecting the horse statues and the grandfather clock, casually picking up a business card from the floor… Fifteen minutes later, Regina came down in fresh linen slacks and one of her signature silk shirts. Having returned to Storybrooke with little more than the clothes on her back, she had to rely on her old mayoral outfits on non-party days.

Regina was just about to conjure a breakfast for three from Granny’s when the kitchen door swung open, revealing two members of the court carrying pots of food.

“Oh, su majestad,” one of them greeted cheerfully. “tiene invitados.” Switching to English in deference to the couple, he added, “Good thing we prepared breakfast. We knew you didn’t leave the docks until this morning.”

The young men began to set the table with practiced ease. The court sometimes got bored and liked to observe the servants.

“You didn’t have to go to all that trouble, darlings,” the queen assured them, quite touched.

“Nonsense,” the other chimed in with a dismissive gesture. “All for Your Majesty. We brought green chilaquiles, eggs, and bacon. We would’ve brought beans, but someone left them on the stove last night and burned them. Now the kitchen’s going to stink for weeks.”

“Let it go, Lucio!” the other boy grumbled.

“This is perfect,” Regina assured them with a smile.

“We also brought some plain yogurt,” Lucio added. “If you’ll excuse us, Your Majesty, Madam Mayor, Professor Midas.”

The court boys left as swiftly as they had come, and the three guests sat down. Only Regina ate the chilaquiles—Fred and Kathryn couldn’t handle the spice. Regina looked much better than she had in days, eating with a healthy appetite and chatting animatedly with her visitors.

“Fred, yogurt?” she offered.

“No, thank you, Regina. I’m lactose intolerant,” Fred replied, looking thoughtful that morning.

“Curious, so am I,” Regina explained. “Outside of Storybrooke I’m just an ordinary woman, but here my magic compensates for certain… inconveniences. Now that it’s finally settled again, I can say I haven’t had a breakfast this enjoyable in years.”

“I imagine there aren’t chilaquiles like this anywhere else in Maine, and even if there were, your reflux must make them hard to handle,” the former knight said cautiously.

“My reflux?”

“Why did you need the antacids?”

“Oh, right,” the socialite said, not entirely convinced. “More of a nervous gastritis, really, but magic took care of that too. Now that we’ve finished—” she changed the subject— “would you like to move to the study and talk about whatever has half the town gathered outside my door?”

Regina had recently renovated her home office. Back when she had been the town’s little head of state, it had been all black-and-white minimalism, but now it had a more chaotic flair—Victorian influences, personal touches scattered here and there. There were gorgeous Persian rugs, antique-looking volumes on carved shelves, and the expensive record player that had followed her since the 80s now had its own place near the grand piano.

Regina settled into her new plush executive chair, while Fred and Kathryn sat across from her, more relaxed than when she’d found them on her way home.

“Well, Regina, let’s get to the point,” Kathryn began after everyone had a drink. “This morning, a group of Merry Men found David Nolan in the woods, curled up in a catatonic state.”

“Excuse me?” Regina, genuinely surprised, reached into her cigar box. Tobacco always helped her think—and heaven knew she had a lot to think about since arriving back in town.

“Victor Whale examined him. Signs of a fight, probably with a sword. He has a contusion and a few minor bruises, but nothing that would explain his current state.”

Kathryn handed over a brown folder she’d been carrying all morning, containing several security photos from the rave. Fred got distracted by something and started looking things up on his phone while Regina fetched her reading glasses and examined the photos.

“We believe that hooded figure is the Wicked Witch of the West—our possible child kidnapper,” the mayor said gravely.

“Impossible,” the socialite murmured.

“Oh, come on, Regina. We’re all fairy tales in this world—why wouldn’t that witch exist too?”

“I mean it’s impossible that she got into the rave. I put up wards to alert me if a sorceress tried to sneak in. Blood magic. How did she get past it?”

Fred, briefly refocused, asked, “Blood magic? Are you saying someone stole your blood to get in and lure David?”

“No, Fred. I mean that only I or a blood relative can break the spell. How did she do it?”

“You think Cora might be involved?”

“Might be worth increasing surveillance, but this feels different. Subtlety was never my mother’s style. She always went for the dramatic.”

“We’ll handle it,” Kathryn promised. “Did you make any progress with the barrier last night?”

“I got off to an excellent start,” she admitted, a little more animated. “But it’ll take more time. If I could just get a sample of that witch’s magic—something she enchanted, that would help. Think you can catch a flying monkey?”

“What about David?” Fred asked. “If the witch did enchant him, can you get a sample from him?”

“Possibly,” Regina said cautiously. “But we’d have to wait for another event. The fairies will never let me near him without causing a scene, and I’d rather keep up appearances as long as I can.”

“Fair enough.”

The couple was about to take their leave when their hostess stopped them.

“Kathryn? Shouldn’t you ask if I had anything to do with all this?”

“I trust you, Regina.”

The socialite escorted her guests to the garden gate, making sure the rest of the intruders left with them. Across the street, with a stony expression, Emma Swan waited with her hands stuffed in her pockets.

From the moment Emma Swan stepped into Storybrooke, sparks and tension were inevitable. Of course, they’d been too busy hating each other to do anything about it—until the mine incident, when the casual hate-sex began. Regina remembered perfectly the night things started to shift.

It was mid-November, icy rain falling, the kind of day where you could lose your footing if you didn’t mind your socks. Emma had come to the mayor’s office to file reports on the Zimmer twins, while Regina was monitoring her sheriff and drafting plans for the new playground to be built come spring. Regina’s ever-present gramophone played La Bohème in the corner at a pleasant volume even Swan could tolerate.

Regina didn’t believe in fate or gods, but she found it amusing when she reached for the report and her hand brushed Emma’s.

“Swan, your hand’s freezing!”

“I didn’t know you cared about my health, Madam Mayor.”

“I don’t. But I’m not a necrophiliac, Sheriff. If you die of hypothermia, I’ll have to find someone else to spend the night with.”

“Ever the romantic.”

Regina ignored her. She had a spare pair of gloves and a long red wool coat for emergencies in a cabinet near the door. Emma stood, unsure whether to fight or not. The correct answer with Regina was always to fight, but tonight didn’t seem worth it—her leather jacket didn’t have proper lining.

With unusually gentle hands, Regina slipped off her cold jacket and draped the coat over her shoulders. Maybe it was the cold—or those piercing green eyes looking back with an unfamiliar vulnerability—but for some reason, hands still resting on her enemy-with-benefits’ arms, Regina Mills quoted an aria to Emma Swan for the first time:

“Due ladri: Gli occhi belli / V’entrar con voi pur ora / Ed I miei sogni usati / Ed I bei sogni miei / Tosto si dileguar! / Ma il furto non m’accora / Poiche / Poiche v’ha preso stanza / La speranza.”

“You know I don’t speak Italian, Regina. What did you say?”

“I said… my clothes look hot on you. Why don’t you go warm up the sheets at Granny’s while I finish up here?”

“Ha! So now I’m allowed to rent a room at Granny’s?”

“Now, Swan.”

“You’re bossy. That’s hot. See you there. Don’t fall in a puddle on your way—I’m not a necrophiliac either.”

Regina smiled at the joke, but she no longer believed in the sarcasm she used to fuel those smiles. That was the first genuine act of care between them—aside from the life-or-death situations, which didn’t count—that didn’t have a second agenda. At least, not at first.

The socialite couldn’t help but think of that moment as she looked at Swan, saddened by her father’s condition, mentally preparing herself for the confrontation about to unfold.

Around noon, the Midas couple returned home. Fred, with a serious expression, gently took his wife’s hands in his own.

“Darling, I think you need to be careful with Regina,” Fred said thoughtfully.

“Oh, honey. We’ve been over this. You were a gold statue, and my father was going to marry me off to David. At least David was boring and not as gross as Leopold, but I’m pretty sure that if I’d had a bit of magic…”

“You’d have been a stunning Evil Queen, my love,” he assured her. “But I meant something else.” Fred pulled out his phone and searched something. “In Regina’s study trash bin, I saw an descarted bottle of this medication,” he said, showing her an article.

“Vepesid?”

“And look at the card I found in the living room.”

Fred watched his wife read the card, the concern of a devoted lover who knows a cold slap of reality is coming. Sure enough, Kathryn looked devastated when she finished. Regina Mills had broken her heart again—with just a few days back in town.

“Dr. Parker Grenvil, Psychiatrist,” the card read. And in smaller cursive below the name:

“Thanatology Specialist.”

Chapter 9: Volea fuggirla non ho potuto/ Dall'ira spinto son qui Venuto!

Against all logic and reasoning, Regina let Emma into her house. If she was going to be in Storybrooke, she’d have to face uncomfortable situations sooner or later. But not before calling Nestor, who had been one of her most trusted advisors during her days as monarch in Misthaven, to organize an emergency party that night. She couldn’t examine David at will with all those moths swarming around him.  

"Listen" she began, feigning a calm she didn’t truly feel, "I’m truly sorry about what happened to your father, but you can’t come here and defy your mayor’s orders."  
The socialite crossed her arms tightly, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the silk fabric of her blouse—remarkably similar to the one Henry once lent his biological mother. Her eyes, cold and measured, locked onto Emma’s with an intensity that seemed to pierce skin.  

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay" the Sheriff clarified, nervous. "You didn’t look well at the town line."  

Emma avoided her gaze for a second, shoving her hands into her leather jacket pockets as if she could hide the discomfort burning in her chest.  

"My body needed to readjust to the constant flow of magic. I’m fine now. Why don’t you tell me what you 'really' want, Miss Swan?" The woman demanded, impatient. Regina took a step forward. Her heels struck the foyer floor with firm resonance, like marking the rhythm of a dance only she knew.  

"Regina, I… I can’t do this without your help" Emma admitted. "The witch will come for Snow’s baby soon if I don’t find a way to stop her, and she’s already taken Dad from us."

Emma swallowed hard. Her eyes glistened with a sudden vulnerability she hadn’t meant to show, but Regina caught it instantly.  

"I don’t mean to be insensitive, but what does this have to do with me?"

  
The question landed like a slab of stone. Regina didn’t look at her with contempt, but with a deep weariness, as if this conversation were an unbearable rerun of many before.  

"I thought you wanted the chance to show Henry you could be his hero." Emma stepped closer, her voice dropping to a pained whisper by the end, as if bringing Henry into this undeclared war hurt her.

  
"Henry doesn’t believe in fairy tales anymore, Miss Swan." Regina subtly turned away, as if her son’s name alone sent a physical jolt through her chest.

 

"When did you talk to…?" Emma squeezed her eyes shut, suddenly stung by the realization that Henry’s secret visits no longer favored her "Forget it" she steeled herself, "this isn’t about Hen, it’s about me. Do you have any idea what it was like growing up in the system? The number of abusive foster parents I endured? Indifferent ones? Perverts? I deserve restitution for everything you put me through."

Emma’s voice rose unconsciously, her hand trembling in the air as if tallying each trauma on an invisible chalkboard. A tremor crossed her jaw before she clenched it tight.  

"Your idiot father strutted around saying intentions were all that mattered. That you went through those things was never my intention." That was the closest she’d get to an apology.

Regina averted her gaze. Her fingers fiddled with the ring on her hand as if the gesture could hold back the tidal wave of emotions threatening to break.  

"And that’s it? You think that’s enough?" Emma tilted her head, eyebrow arched in disbelief and contained fury.  

"As I told you in New York, I believe you’ve already collected payment for all that by taking everything that mattered to me. Why should I help someone who doesn’t even trust me? Someone who overrides my decisions just like… just like your grandfather did all the time during our marriage?" Regina went utterly still, as she always did when her disastrous marriage surfaced. Her voice trembled not from uncertainty, but from old, carefully preserved bitterness. Tears threatened to fall, but she wouldn’t grant them that victory.  

"Jesus, Regina" Emma grew increasingly exasperated. "You were acting insane." she recalled "The composed, strict yet gentle woman who took me to my first opera and watched all six main Star Wars movies just because I liked them went on sabbatical, and in her place was this maniac obsessed with imprisoning Mary Margaret. Regina, you poisoned our son with a dessert meant for my roommate!" Emma threw up her arms, as if needing space to process the absurdity of what she’d just voiced aloud.  

"Yes, because 'you’re' Mother of the Year, aren’t you?" Regina shot back furiously "He was poisoned 'by accident' under your watch, then you let a lunatic kidnap him, and after that you turned him into a kidnapper yourself." Regina arched an eyebrow, sarcasm dripping from every word, but beneath the venom lay an unhealed wound.  

"Please! As if you cared about Henry!" Emma accused "We had everything, Regina. We could’ve left this madhouse and built a life far from curses, witches, and genies. Instead, you decided the only thing that mattered was destroying my mother over a mistake she made when she was 10—a child" Emma slammed her open palm on the nearest table, leaving a dull echo. Her breathing was ragged.  

"I was a child too!" Regina spat, fists clenched "Do you know Leopold wouldn’t even have asked for my hand if she hadn’t begged him to? Do you know that while everyone insists on brushing off what she did as a simple mistake, it cost me everything?" Regina’s voice cracked briefly, her eyes burning like embers refusing to die.  

"And what about us? Your family? Weren’t we anything?" Emma whispered, laden with resentment, her gaze knife-sharp.

  
"I gave up my vengeance for you." Regina retorted "I gave up Daniel’s body and any chance of recovering him for you. I turned over every stone to bring you back because I stopped being enough for Henry when he was 9…

 
Her voice dropped with pain.  

"…You poisoned him."

  
Emma finished, icy.  

"…I absorbed a death curse for you". Regina’s words shook with each syllable "You can’t say I didn’t fight for our family, Emma Swan! All you had to do was trust me in a moment of doubt, and we’d have had it all back!" She trembled as if exorcising an inner demon "Do you know what I went through out there? Do you know how long I fought that damned barrier?"

"You think I wouldn’t have looked for you if Blue’s stupid barrier hadn’t trapped me and Henry inside Storybrooke?"

Emma stepped closer, as if that single meter could rewrite history.  

"That’s your problem for trusting double-dealing winged zealots." Regina released a bitter, venom-laced laugh.

"So you won’t help?" Emma was incredulous "Are you so desperate to return to your life of all-night binges, bedding strangers, and curing hangovers with Vicodin?" Emma challenged, face flushed with indignation and frustration.

Was she being accused of addiction now?  

"Ah, no," Regina retorted sarcastically, rage simmering beneath "I usually let my hangovers fade naturally. But if an emergency arises" she pulled out her purse with mocking flourish, nearly hurling it down in anger "I can always resort to fentanyl patches. Want one? I think there’s a loose one in my purse."  

"I don’t think it’s fair that Henry and I ended up trapped here while you sailed on yachts and kissed supermodels. Maybe you suffered at some point, but I stayed here dying of pain." Emma clenched her fists, her lower lip trembling faintly.  

"Dying of pain? " The comment detonated something irrational in Regina. Her face purpled, a vein throbbed violently at her temple "Miss Swan, DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW STUPID WHAT YOU JUST SAID IS?"

A blast of violet light shook the room. When it dissipated, a small speckled brown-and-green toad blinked in confusion on the oak floor where the Sheriff had stood. Regina gasped, staring at her trembling hand before fist-clenching it and turning rigidly toward the window.  

 

The clock plate Henry worked on was exquisite. Intricately carved details gleamed in gold tones—a hidden tribute left by the maker for the future watchmaker servicing it. During the desperate days after Neverland, Grandpa Rumple had taken Henry to his workshop behind the pawnshop, teaching him the delicate art of clock repair. It was demanding enough to distract his mind from unwanted memories. The imp taught his grandson every tool, every part’s name, the general mechanics of nearly every timepiece, the viscosity of each oil needed for gears under friction. Mistakes were common—building progress only to disassemble and restart.  

Henry mourned Rumple’s absence—not like Belle did, not like his own yearning for Regina, but it was another loss he carried daily. Henry picked up his special tool to rewind the mainspring. He turned the tiny lever several times, placed the spring into the pre-oiled barrel with a satisfying click, capped it, and positioned it over the beautiful plate. Carefully, he began setting the train of wheels. It was 8 PM when Emma stormed into the loft, covered in strange brown stains, furious.  

Henry didn’t bother looking up from his project, aligning the bridge over the train of wheels required precision; too much pressure could bend the fragile axles.

He’d warned her not to go near Mifflin.  

"I said something that pissed her off, and your mother turned me into a toad."  

Henry lifted the cap on the low-viscosity oil and began lubricating the tiny jewel bearings.  

"Please tell me you didn’t mention being jealous of supermodels."  

 

Run. He had to run faster before that madwoman caught him. Breaking free from the farm hadn’t been easy, especially with the voices in his head raging in frenzied madness. It was a bitterly cold night—late summer, perhaps—but he didn’t know the date or even what realm he was in. Trees, bushes, a rock… The woods gave way to a paved street lined with mansions. Mifflin Street.  

Jazz music shattered the silence. Members of the Dark Court mingled with ordinary Storybrooke citizens. In a lavish garden, near a topiary shaped like the greek god Pan, an elegant woman in a beaded dress—holding a cigar and a glass of absinthe—smiled at a former knight of King Midas’s guard. "There she was." His protégé. The one and only Regina Mills was back in Storybrooke.

Moonlight glinted off Rumplestiltskin’s triumphant smile.

Chapter 10: D'ognuno sulla mano/ Leggiamo l'avvenir.

The night was unusually chilly for late summer. That year, winter would come early. When you're queen of an empire as vast and formidable as Regina’s once was, you have to think about those things—ensuring survival. Check how good the harvest was, store a portion for emergencies, guarantee that the loyal regions in need would receive support if they hadn’t prepared on time.

There had been a brief period in her life when all she had to worry about was having the right coat for wherever she was going—or planning a campaign in the southern provinces where spring had barely begun.

That night, as she engaged in yet another empty conversation at yet another debauched party, Regina couldn't stop thinking about Emma Swan's words, about how infuriated and vulnerable they had made her feel.

“It’s inevitable to associate opera divas with a specific role,” Néstor remarked with a precise tone as he swirled his absinthe.

He was one of the few who had arrived in Storybrooke during the first curse and knew nearly as much about opera as Regina herself. The reason why he hadn't come to her defense in her darkest hours was precisely why the now-socialite kept him at a cautious distance—and why he worked so hard to claw his way back into a circle that currently only included Kathryn, Fred, and Archie.

“Oh, really?” Regina responded, taking a deep drag from her cigar as she distractedly watched the edges of Lucio and Julio’s garden, where the 1920s-themed party was taking place.

“Your Majesty, admit it. To you, there is no Tosca but Callas, no Norma but Callas, no Violetta Valéry that isn’t Maria Callas,” he pressed on, fully aware that his queen was politely ignoring him while pursuing her secret mission—one he had no part in.

“Because no one is better than Maria Callas,” Regina affirmed, with the fire of a lover.

If the rumor that Emma Swan had kissed Regina by the Wishing Well six years ago in an act of true love hadn’t been true, Néstor would have sworn Maria Callas was Regina’s soulmate. Which, in that case, would explain why her life was so tragic—her soulmate dead long before she arrived in this world.

Fred Midas, meanwhile, stomped around Lucio and Julio’s garden bushes—modeled after Greco-Roman gods—with the subtlety of an elephant in a crystal shop, keeping an eye out for the right moment to follow the queen in her inevitable disappearance. What excuse would they use this time? Perhaps they'd say they were in a throuple now. Not so shocking—Néstor had heard the juicy rumor that at Midas's daughter’s engagement party, Princess Abigail had shown the queen more than just the royal gift salon.

“But surely you won't deny it's hard to imagine a Rusalka that isn’t Renée Fleming, or Caballé as anything but a brilliant Lauretta,” Néstor insisted with caution. Disagreeing with the queen was a dangerous game in Misthaven.

“True. My favorite Rusalka recording is Fleming's.”

But Regina wasn’t putting her heart into the conversation, and Néstor finally nodded in surrender.

"P.S. I Love You" by Billie Holiday began playing through the hidden speakers, giving the string quartet a break. Regina stopped Mayor Midas as she passed by.

“Oh, Kathryn, I adore this song. Why don’t we polish that foxtrot while Fred fetches the drinks?”

Kathryn nodded, fully aware of her role as social lifeline. Both women headed to the far side of the dance floor, alert to anything unusual. The fairies were still furious about the results of the last party, and this one—a roaring twenties celebration that could put Gatsby himself to shame—had to be an irresistible trap for any wandering moral crusader.

Regina led the dance.

“Billie Holiday? I thought the great Regina Mills only listened to her grandiloquent operas.”

“Opera is like fine cognac, or good apple cider,” Regina replied smoothly.
“But you can’t just live on cognac and cider. Eventually your kidneys demand water.”

The moment she arrived, Regina noticed Kathryn’s eyes were swollen behind a subtle mask of makeup. The socialite cast a poisoned glance at her husband but didn’t say anything. Kathryn was distracted—maybe from being up all night and most of the morning—but there was something deeply troubling her.

The air felt charged with static, as if magic was trying to react, but couldn’t quite figure out how. Fred arrived with drinks—absinthe that sparkled green. For some reason, it reminded Regina of the barrier. Fred was joking about not being able to bring food over because someone was doing the Eiffel Tower near the snack table when Regina felt the tug.

She hadn’t felt anything like it since her last lessons with her old Master. A call. A signal.

But that was impossible. Rumple was dead… wasn’t he?

No.

Near the south exit, dressed in filthy rags—once remnants of a fine suit—and grinning like a madman, stood the Dark One himself, the plague that had razed entire kingdoms long before Regina was even a thought.

“My protégé! The trigger! The trigger!” he screamed, wild-eyed.

Crack!

The imp vanished in a cloud of black smoke in a blink, as if summoned somewhere else—unable to resist the call.

“What the hell was that?” Fred asked, eyes wide.

Grateful that it hadn’t been a hallucination, Regina gripped her glass tighter.

“Maybe we should bring a certain librarian into our operations.”

It took a bit of stolen fairy dust to pull it off, but that was the price Regina was willing to pay to keep her magic undetected in Storybrooke’s psychiatric ward. The two fairy guards passed out almost immediately.

This wasn’t about Miss Swan, Regina told herself firmly.
Even if there were still personal feelings involved (which there weren’t), it was essential to determine the intrinsic nature of the Wicked Witch of the West’s magic if she was going to break the barrier. That was all. Charming meant nothing to her—just the idiotic husband of her third-worst enemy. Maybe he’d gotten into that mess out of sheer stupidity.

Determining the cause of his affliction didn’t bring her pleasure, but it certainly didn’t discomfort her as much as it would’ve if it had been Snow herself.

Kathryn moved ahead to check the shift change timing, followed closely by Fred—who refused to leave his princess alone in delicate situations. The knight in shining armor within him wouldn’t allow it. Finally, with no eyes on them, Regina emerged—beaded dress hidden beneath a tailored wool overcoat. Fred and Kathryn took position as lookouts while the queen slipped into the shepherd prince’s room.

It was late—well past midnight—but David wasn’t asleep. Regina figured he’d probably been sedated all day and was now wide awake. It had happened to her too, though her nurses usually had enough tact to knock her out again when needed. Not that this magical town’s hospital had that kind of staff.

What caught Regina’s eye first was his expression—vacant, disassociated.
They called it the thousand-yard stare. She’d seen it on soldiers, on victims of horrifying disasters, and on every poor soul she’d once crushed in her tyrannical conquests across Misthaven.

Regina began her magical examination, curious to know what could’ve caused something so severe in such a short time. She ran residue tests for curses, long-lasting potions, common enchantments. Nothing. No particular trace of magic that could be linked to the witch.

The night had almost been a waste.

Until…

She cast one final spell—designed to detect stolen attributes.

“It’s not what she put in you,” she murmured in awe.
“It’s what she took out. That green bitch stole your courage, didn’t she?”

As expected, the man didn’t respond. But Regina smiled triumphantly—the same smile she wore after conquering a kingdom. She pulled the blanket up over David’s shoulders. (Seriously, who was the nurse on duty? The poor shepherd was going to freeze.) Then she slipped out of the room and rejoined her guard before anyone noticed she’d vanished from the party.

There would be a lot to discuss at tomorrow morning’s briefing breakfast.

The town of Storybrooke woke to a thick cape of fog covering the streets. As usual, the citizens gathered at Granny’s for their first coffee of the day and to gossip about the weekend’s events.

Emma, who had only recently regained her natural skin tone, was having breakfast with Henry before he headed to school. The boy had four years of wiped memory, just like all the other kids, and was now stuck reviewing seventh-grade curriculum—which he found humiliating.

“Hang in there, Henry,” Emma said, nudging her bearclaw.
“Once the curse breaks, you’ll probably get all your big-boy knowledge back and be in a class that actually fits your age.”

Henry squared his shoulders, still dejected.

“You think they followed a school curriculum in the Enchanted Forest?”
He highly doubted it.

“You were a prince,” she reminded him, taking another bite.
“You probably got special lessons to rule, like Snow did. Or like…”

Regina’s name hovered between them like a ghost that never quite left.

“If Cora was in charge of Mom’s royal education,” Henry shuddered,
“I’m not surprised she ended up a little… Mehmet the Conqueror.”

“I’d say she was more Vlad the Impaler, but you have a point.”

“Belle says she was more of a Louis XIV.”
Henry sipped his cocoa, poking his eggs around the plate.

“If Belle says so…” Emma’s voice was uneasy.

“At least she turned you back into a human,” he said with mild optimism.
“Gotta give her credit for that.”

“She used a spell that had an expiration date,” Emma clarified.
“It’s not like she scoured the neighborhood looking to change me back once she got bored.”

She didn’t care enough for that.

Across the room, Grumpy and Doc were arguing over who danced the better waltz and who was a disaster at foxtrot. Mulan chatted about patrol plans with two Merry Men she’d apparently joined since the last time Emma remembered seeing her. Belle walked in, paler than usual and clearly not hungry.

It was a morning almost as ordinary as any other—until it wasn’t.

The bell above the door rang with a crash—exactly the way Granny hated—and in stumbled a man looking completely unhinged.

Neal Cassidy hadn’t been seen in Storybrooke since the day his father sacrificed himself to stop Peter Pan and Regina’s curse had been reversed by Rumple himself. He’d been presumed dead—or missing out of cowardice, depending on whom you asked. Emma had her own theories.

Neal smiled strangely, like he was possessed by something supernatural, and stumbled toward Emma and Henry’s table with an unsteady gait. He pointed at them with his right hand—marked with something strange and glowing.

“Emms! The trigger! The trigger!” he shouted, wild-eyed—

And then collapsed face-first in the middle of the crowded diner.

Chapter 11: La tomba ai mortali di tutto è confine!

In the absence of a projector, Regina’s inner circle was reviewing the photos Belle French had sent that morning on the living room TV. The librarian had left the house firmly resolved not to be involved in anything related to the secret plans to bring down the barrier: “The parties are just your old Misthaven tricks, Regina.” Not even the mention of her beloved Dark One had convinced her—beyond keeping the secret for the mission’s sake. 

Everything changed with the sudden appearance of Neal Cassidy. 

Belle had studied the book where that mark appeared repeatedly, but there wasn’t much one could do with the information. If the Dark One died by any means other than his dagger, his soul would return to the vault where it had been forged—in Camelot. There was a key to that vault bearing the same symbol now branded on Neal’s right hand, but the price of bringing that life back was one’s own. It was dark magic, and there was no one in Storybrooke with the skill to handle it whom the town’s guardian of books could turn to—except Regina. 

So she had sent them the information… but she would not be joining them for breakfast every morning as if they were best friends. 

And she certainly wouldn’t be directing the chilaquiles (red, this time). 

Fred paced before the television like a caged panther, the glow from Belle’s photos casting long shadows across his furrowed brow. "And we’re sure it’s the same symbol?"

His finger jabbed at the screen where the twisted mark flickered—a serpent eating its own tail, seared into Neal Cassidy’s palm.

Regina didn’t glance up from her whiskey tumbler. She traced its rim with a finger, the ice long melted. "It resembles a branding iron," she said, her voice scraping like gravel. "Like ranchers use on cattle... or librarians on forbidden texts." A bitter smirk touched her lips. "Transcribing fire onto paper distorts things. But yes. It’s identical." She finally looked at the image, her dark eyes reflecting the TV’s cold light.

Kathryn shifted uneasily on the sofa edge, her knuckles whitening around her untouched coffee mug. "But if Neal brought the Dark One back himself..." Her confusion hung thick in the air. "...how is he still breathing?"

Regina set her glass down with a sharp clink. "Rumple," she stated, the name dripping with decades-old resentment, "is a cockroach with a top hat. If survival required selling his own shadow, he’d invent the contract." She leaned back, the leather armchair sighing under her weight. "Well? Did Cassidy utter anything coherent before his dramatic faint?"

Fred stopped pacing, running a hand through his hair. "Just more rambling about the 'trigger.' Like Greg and Tamara’s toy."

Regina’s eyebrow arched, a silent question.

"Pan’s lackeys," Kathryn supplied quickly, avoiding Henry’s name. "They nearly vaporized Main Street with your old failsafe."

"Ah." Regina’s gaze turned distant, calculating. "My trigger was a... personal modification. Not part of the original curse architecture." She steepled her fingers. "Perhaps they’re warning us: find the trigger, find our curse-caster."

Kathryn frowned. "I thought we agreed it was the Wicked Witch?"

"Our best guess," Regina countered, a flicker of violet dancing in her irises. "Not a sworn affidavit."

Fred resumed his restless circuit, boots thudding softly on the Persian rug. "Remind me. What do we actually know about this green menace?"

Kathryn pulled a notepad from her blazer, scanning hurried scribbles. "The children said she 'tested' them. Like tasting spoiled milk. None passed. She discarded them."

Regina snorted. "If you want courage, Fred, you don’t raid the pantry. You hunt the dragon-slayer." Her voice sharpened. "She seeks something abundant in children. Something... fundamental."

"Dirty diapers?" Kathryn offered dryly.

"Tantrums?" Fred chimed in, almost simultaneously.

Regina gave a short, humorless laugh. "Purity. Or perhaps... innocence." She started to rise, then froze. A hand flew to her abdomen, pressing hard against the silk of her blouse. Her breath hitched—a tiny, fractured sound.

Kathryn and Fred exchanged alarmed glances but stayed silent. Regina fumbled in her pocket, pulled out an unlabeled orange vial, and dry-swallowed two pills with practiced efficiency. The tension in her shoulders eased fractionally.

"She’s gathering ingredients," Regina continued, voice strained but controlled. She avoided their eyes, staring instead at the twisted symbol on the screen. "For a spell. But which spell? The possibilities remain... inconveniently vast."

Fred forced a jovial tone, clapping his hands together with false energy. "Well! That sounds like a job for our resident magical prodigy!"

Regina pushed herself upright, swaying slightly before finding her balance. The pallor of her skin was stark under the chandelier light. "Indeed." She moved toward the study door, her steps slower than usual. "I intend to sleep through this abominable rainstorm. When I wake... the vault and I have a date with several thousand pages of very tedious demonology." Her hand paused on the doorknob. "Try not to burn the mansion down before dusk."

Neither wanted to disturb Regina during her much-needed restorative rest, but the information couldn’t wait.

Kathryn shook Regina’s shoulder gently, her voice urgent as the queen blinked, disoriented. "We know how Cassidy survived."
Regina pushed herself upright, sheets pooling at her waist. "And this couldn’t wait because…?" Her voice rasped with sleep and unspoken pain.

"Rumple absorbed him after the exchange. Their minds coexisted in one body—sometimes appearing as one, sometimes the other."

"Coexisted?" Regina’s eyes sharpened.

"Cassidy begged Emma to separate them so Rumple could handle things with his ‘sane’ mind."

"Did she? Does that mean—?"

"Henry’s father is dead, Regina."

The crowd at Storybrooke Cemetery huddled against the biting wind. Neal Cassidy’s funeral had drawn townsfolk divided in their judgment: some saw his plea for separation as heroic sacrifice; others cursed him for resurrecting a threat they’d barely escaped. Public knowledge that the Wicked Witch now controlled the Dark One’s dagger hung like a pall over the gathering.

The service was brief, ordinary. Snow remained at David’s bedside, leaving only Emma and Henry to mourn. Both stood unnervingly calm. Rumple was conspicuously absent—his new mistress denying him the grace to bury his son.

As the minister’s final words faded and Neal’s casket lowered into the earth, the crowd dispersed. Henry turned to leave with Emma when he spotted Regina watching from a distance, a bouquet of white lilies trembling in her gloved hands. At first, he thought she’d come to pay respects to her mentor’s son. Then he remembered: It’s Wednesday.

Emma squeezed his arm, nodding permission. Henry crossed the frosted grass to where Regina waited, her posture rigid against the gray sky. They walked the empty cemetery in silence, shoulders nearly touching.

"I’m sorry you lost your father, Henry," Regina said, brutally honest.

There was something different about her today—reminiscent of their first meeting in her New York apartment. A carefully concealed unsteadiness in her step. No scent of alcohol, just the bone-deep weariness only years of knowing her could detect.

Henry didn’t know how to respond. How should he feel about a man he’d barely known? Neal had tried: captaining Hook’s ship to Neverland to rescue him, reaching out afterward. But it always felt like guilt-motivated penance—for abandoning Henry, for losing Emma to Regina. Maybe in time, without ulterior motives, they’d have built something real. Maybe they had, in the Enchanted Forest. Now, Neal felt like just another casualty.

"Thank you," he finally murmured.

Regina seemed profoundly sad—like at the barrier, yet different.

"Henry… do you know what a divan is?"
He shook his head.

"Sultans—like those in this world’s Ottoman Empire or Agrabah in magical realms—didn’t rule from thrones. They ruled from these low, elongated seats where they could sit cross-legged comfortably. Their council bore the same name." Her breath misted in the air. "These rulers received meticulous education, including poetry. A sultan’s poetry collection was also called his divan."

The rain-softened earth muffled their footsteps. Shoulders brushed as they passed crumbling headstones. The air froze quickly, but Henry didn’t interrupt. He knew Regina was circling something raw, and her time felt scarce.

"When we arrived here with my curse… I lost my father."

The unspoken "I sacrificed him myself" hung between them. Many believed it stripped her right to grieve—but Henry saw the truth in her eyes.

"It turns out the Ottoman Empire and Agrabah’s empire were practically the same. Only, the former had no ifrits or magic lamps, and Scheherazade was mere legend, not history." She paused. "As queen of an expanding empire, I learned Agrabah’s tongue for diplomacy. Here, they call it Ottoman Turkish."

"Mom… how many languages do you know?" Henry marveled, momentarily distracted from her emotional maneuvering.

"For some, learning is its own form of pleasure, Henry."

"Right. Sorry. Go on."

"Here, I discovered the divan of Muhibbi—the pen name of Süleyman I. I always remember my father with this poem" Her voice softened, weaving the verses into the cemetery’s silence:

Gözlerimden aka dursun, durmasın yaşım benim,
(Let the tears keep flowing from my eyes, let them never stop)
Ya ne için saklarım, bundam böyle başım benim
(Why would I keep my head [on my shoulders] from now on?)
İçtiğim ciğer kanıdır, yediğim dert ve elem
(What I drink is blood of liver, what I eat are trouble and sorrow)
Türlü türlü pişer gönül mutfağında aşım benim
(My meal is cooked in all sorts in the kitchen of my soul)
Ey felek çarkın bozulsun, olasın ahır harab
(Oh Destiny! May you stop functioning; may you crumble forever)
Nitekim ateşlere yaktım, bu içim dışım benim
(Since you have set me ablaze from inside and outside)
Çekdiğim gam yükünü, feleğin çark katarı çekemez
(The burden of grief I carry, cannot be endured even by destiny itself)
Gelmedi bu sıkıntı vadisinde, benzerim benim
(None like me has been seen in this valley of suffering)
Ey Muhibbi ta ölünceye kadar, iç bu derde çare yok
(Oh Muhibbi, there is no remedy for this sorrow until death)

Silence settled. They walked a few more paces before Regina stopped, turning Henry to face her, hands gentle on his shoulders.

"My point is… it’s okay if you lack the words for what you feel. If a poem or song resonates instead. It’s normal to feel numb one moment and gutted the next—or see your father’s handwriting and feel like someone’s twisting your insides." Her gloves tightened faintly. "Grief is… capricious that way."

Why do I suspect you know no remedy for this sorrow until death better than anyone? Henry thought but didn’t voice.

"Thank you," he whispered. "For the poem. The advice. For being here."

Regina nodded, gaze drifting leftward. They’d reached the Mills mausoleum. Henry noticed her hands trembling beneath the leather.

"Mom… are you okay?"
"Yes. Just a little pain."
"Pain?"
"For your grandfather." She offered a brittle smile. "Clearly, I’ve projected quite heavily today. I’m sorry—this day should be about you."
"No, it’s fine. Will you be okay?"

Regina’s smile was the saddest he’d ever seen.
"I think it’s time you joined your family at the diner." She gestured toward the mausoleum with her bouquet. "I have a brief stop to make here."

Henry nodded. Shoulders squared, hands clasped behind her back—lilies still in hand—Regina approached her father’s tomb, head bowed. Henry watched until she vanished behind the iron door, the cemetery’s cold stillness closing around him.

Notes:

Hello. Clearly, Regina isn’t the only one projecting here. I was going to write this yesterday, but it was my first Father’s Day since I lost mine in December—and believe me, you wouldn’t want to read the depressing things I ended up writing as a coping mechanism. The poem by Süleiman that Regina quotes is the same one I use myself. In many ways, Regina’s mourning for her father is based on my own. So, sorry if it’s a bit much. The next chapter will be a little less mournful. Thanks for the kudos and the comments.

Chapter 12: O monumento! Regio amante, a cui donai la vita!

Notes:

Hello! Sorry for disappearing. I know we Zacatecanos shouldn't vanish from public life or we might give someone a heart attack, hahaha. But I had a busy week organizing some notes. Enjoy the chapter, and remember that feedback is always welcome.
By the way, new opera unlocked: Ponchielli’s La Gioconda.

All I have or should
want to be but never could
It's coming at, it's coming at, it's coming at my heart
To spoil my soul with fire
(Golden Green – Agnes Obel 2016)

On the night of Neal’s funeral, Regina was taking an impromptu nap in her renovated study. The 1952 recording of Ponchielli’s La Gioconda spun on the turntable—straight from Maria Callas’ sacred collection, which Regina treasured more than life itself. The temperature had dropped several degrees since her arrival, and the socialite could no longer deny how much she missed her military-style mayor’s coats.

Paolo Silveri’s voice passionately channeled Barnaba’s overflowing envy:

O monumento! Regio amante, a cui donai la vita! […] Il mio braccio t'è fatale! / Pria che spunti l'alba, esanime cadrai!

The doorbell rang—an annoying interruption, utterly foreign to the aria. Slowly, the queen set down the book she’d been skimming before sleep took her—Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz’s Love Sonnets—and dragged the remnants of drowsiness to answer the front door. When she slept and ate well, her own magic made her feel renewed, but her haste to break the barrier had left little time for rest.

On the porch stood Victor Whale. Regina hadn’t seen him since the lynch mob he’d organized against her when the curse first broke. He carried a briefcase slung over his shoulder and a blond boy, about four years old, perched on his hip.

"Regina, can we talk?"
The audacity.
"No. Vanish from my property." She snapped.

As Regina moved to slam the door in his face, the mad scientist spoke:
"Your head doctor found out you’re here. He sent prescriptions."

This happened more often than she cared to admit. The thanatologist insisted on maintaining contact wherever she was to ensure she "lacked nothing," but it was deeply inconvenient to do so in a town crawling with her enemies.

"Damn it, Parker!" She cursed in frustration. "I’ll strangle that indiscreet shrink. Get inside, Whale—better you’re not overheard."

Frankenstein entered cautiously, set the boy down, and handed him a small stuffed animal from his briefcase. The child smiled, delighted, as Victor adjusted his wool coat collar. With a nod from the doctor, the boy vanished down the nearest hallway before either could react.

"Who is he?" She asked, curious.
"According to the birth certificate we found in my apartment? My son, Jonathan. But you already met him. He was at—"
"—the witch’s farm. I remember. He offered me a heart-shaped lollipop when Nurse Ratchet picked him up. Why bring him? Did you think I wouldn’t strangle you in front of him if you came to blackmail me?"
"I hate you, Regina." He stated plainly, not with venom but as fact. "I’ll never forget you dragged me from my home and stole my chance to bring my brother back. But Jonathan sticks candy to my prescription pad, shuts me up with heart-shaped lollipops like the one he gave you, and tugs my hair every night before his mother puts him to bed… And the days he was kidnapped were the most agonizing I’ve ever endured. So here I am. I won’t live my ‘happily ever after’ owing you such an uncomfortable debt."

Callas’ voice still floated clearly from the study. The boy’s footsteps echoed in the living room—it sounded like he’d found Regina’s expensive ceramic figurines.
"I’m listening." She conceded wearily. Victor’s motives sounded convincing for now. Regina wasn’t foolish enough to think this time bomb wouldn’t explode eventually—but she hoped to unravel the barrier’s mystery and escape before facing the fallout. "But you’d better have brought opioids, or this conversation is pointless."

 

One of Storybrooke Opera’s lead stagehands had fallen past the barrier the night before. The university’s Tosca premiere would be postponed a week—until they trained a replacement. They could only pray he wouldn’t wander near the barrier too. Thankfully, no singers had sprouted wings yet.

With no updates, Kathryn and Fred Midas breakfasted at Granny’s. The weight of taxes, infrastructure forms, and a secret they didn’t know how to handle pressed on them. The morning was colder than the last, and people huddled unconsciously for warmth.

"Mayor Midas, got a minute?"
Always the same. Storybrooke citizens didn’t grasp "off-duty" hours. They skipped town halls and appointments, cornering her at the supermarket, pharmacy, park, Fred’s workplace—but most often at the diner.
"Sorry—" She began without looking up, then saw who it was. "Henry? How can I help?"
"It’s about Mom—Regina," he clarified at her puzzled look. "I know you’ve gotten close again."
"We have business to discuss. Her parties are lucrative for local commerce."
"So I’ve heard." His cocoa trembled in gloved hands. "But I’m not here about parties. I’m worried about her."

A knot tightened in Kathryn’s stomach. Of course he’d notice—he’d known her his whole childhood. Still, she feigned innocence.
"Worried, Henry?"
"She looks… wrong. Too thin. Did you know she tailors her clothes? They shouldn’t hang loose. And sometimes she walks like she’s drunk but hiding it—but she never smells like alcohol. And whenever I try visiting Mifflin, her friends say she’s asleep."
"Her parties last all night, Hen. She needs sleep."
"But it’s more than that. Something’s off… You breakfast with her almost daily. Haven’t you noticed?"

What can I say, Henry? Kathryn thought bitterly. That I found cancer meds in her trash and a thanatologist’s card in her parlor? That I’ve seen her swallow painkillers like candy? That she sometimes doubles over without warning? I can’t tell you because I share your fears—and the only reason I haven’t confronted her isn’t distrust, but dread of hearing the truth.
"Perhaps she’s just tired." Fred tried to soothe. "Your mother lives at a frantic pace."

Henry opened his mouth to argue—Mills stubbornness strong in him—when the diner bell chimed theatrically. A tall, red-haired woman stood in the doorway. Henry recognized her as Snow’s hired midwife. Behind her entered Mr. Gold, gaunt and fury burning in his eyes.

"What a charming morning!" She announced in a clipped British accent. "Don’t you agree? Let’s liven things up and summon our favorite celebrity. Hold your breath till she arrives—won’t you?"

A flash of green magic spread through the diner. Sneezy’s pancake froze halfway to his mouth. Leroy’s cup hovered under Ruby’s static coffee stream. Henry sat paralyzed, hands around his cocoa, facing frozen Fred and Kathryn.

 

It had been a good day for Regina. She’d woken energized after a full night’s sleep and made excellent green enchiladas with pot coffee for breakfast. From her phone, she rescheduled Mifflin Street’s ‘80s night after Tosca’s cancellation. Then her phone rang. She ignored it twice after seeing the caller, but boredom won on the third ring.

"Swan! Didn’t I warn you to delete my—? She wants to see me? Why?"

 

 

The witch waited at a table moved to the diner’s center, Rumple standing like a sinister sentinel behind her. Every patron—Fred, Kathryn, Henry included—froze mid-action.

"Sister! How considerate of you to join us! Won’t you sit?"
Sister? Regina stared in confusion. Was this some coven fanatic who called all witches "sister"? Rumple’s gaze was unreadable—grief-ravaged but shackled to his new mistress.
"Sit, Regina." Her voice was knife-sharp. "Unless you want little Henry to witness something… unseemly?"

Old rage burned in Regina’s gut. Who did this lunatic think she was? Rumple’s eyes flashed—urging his former pupil to obey.
Regina sat. Not for the command, but out of cold curiosity about this woman who’d dared target her town’s children and the shepherd she alone had the right to flay.

"You genuinely don’t know me." Contained, almost amused. "Mother never told you, did she? I’m Zelena. Your sister. Half-sister, technically."
Impossible. The revelation disoriented Regina.
"Forgive me—I think Mother would’ve mentioned an affair with the Scarecrow."

Zelena’s fury spiked before her face showed it. Regina’s magic coiled in response.
"Tonight, you’ll meet me on Main Street. We’ll duel. Refuse, and I’ll slaughter this precious town’s citizens one by one. You’ll be dead by dawn."
"Promise?" Raw irony laced her tone.
Zelena didn’t smile.
"It’s a date, little sister."
"Just one question—" Curiosity cut through the venom. "What did I do to you?"
She was no saint. She’d sown chaos without remorse. If this woman would kill her, Regina deserved to know why. Ten minutes ago, I didn’t know you existed.
"You were born. You have everything."

Regina laughed—genuine and harsh. Everything?

• A first love, dead?

• An abusive mother?

• A manipulative teacher?

• A forced marriage?

• A True Love who betrayed her?

• A son who left her?

• A terminal illness?

Yes, Regina had it all—but none of it enviable. At least she had money to avoid medical debt. Couldn’t misfortunes spread themselves around?

"You can’t be serious. Tell the truth—what’s really behind this?"

Zelena seized Regina’s hand—then froze, as if doused in ice water.
"Oh, Regina… What is this?" She closed her eyes, concentrating. "Your magic feels… furious. Like it’s fighting something monstrous inside you."

Regina yanked her hand back. Zelena laughed cruelly.
"Witches don’t get sick, little sister. How did you manage this? You must be the only sorceress in existence rotting from within."

Rumple studied his former pupil with cryptic intensity. Regina clenched her jaw. Henry first.
"Tonight. Main Street. Don’t be late."

Rumple and Zelena vanished in green smoke. Regina slammed the table in frustration. A snap of her fingers unfroze the diner.

"Regina? How did you—?" Fred asked "What happened?"
Emma and Mulan rushed in—Zelena’s barrier spell gone.
"What did she say to you, Regina?"
"Not now, Swan!"

The queen who once ruled a continent dissolved into violet smoke.

Chapter 13: Fia tanto oltraggio provar vi voglio/ Che tanto orgoglio fiaccar saprò.

When Kathryn arrived at the mansion, she found Regina in her old study, in the dark, sitting in a leather armchair beside her expensive-looking classic turntable. The mayor greeted her. Regina, with that meticulous way she now had of moving, acknowledged her presence with a nod. She held a yellowish-looking letter in her trembling hands. The former queen didn't seem entirely present, but not like the time her friend had seen her after taking pills from her mysterious bottles, drowsy from some substance. Rather, she was lost in the music. Kathryn had a feeling that whatever Regina wanted to tell her, that mysterious confession she had called her for, was exactly what she *didn't* want to hear. So she decided to start with calmer waters.

"Is that Maria Callas?"

Regina gave a quick glance to the turntable and then turned her eyes back to the letter in her hands.

"Hmm. She was magnificent," she declared. "I wish we had arrived in this world a couple of decades earlier, so I could have seen her even once." She began to pace the study with that pensive air. "I saw Caballé many times; she was excellent. A Spanish lady who could joke with her audience in German and then switch to singing in Italian in an instant. But Callas… It's as if the muses themselves created her to enchant the mortals of this world, only to make them suffer when they took her away. There will never be another voice like Callas's."

Regina's sound system was very good. The voice of the Divina inside the study contrasted with the raindrops falling on the porch. The face of the one who was once mayor of Storybrooke was hidden in the shadows, but her friend didn't need to see it to know the woman's mood was steeped in melancholy.

"I vaguely remember the first two decades of the curse. You worked hard to make opera an important activity in Storybrooke. Many still attend; the town theater always sells out."

"In the first decade of the curse, I got bored and went to live in Mexico for a while. Remember? To come back, I had to convince myself that the purpose of sacrificing my father was to see Snow suffer without her prince. But in the city where I lived, Zacatecas, there was an exquisite theater, the Fernando Calderón. I modeled the town theater on it. If I couldn't bring the asado de bodas, the theater would have to suffice. And opera… I genuinely enjoy it. I'm not saying it ironically, or to be pedantic; I truly like it. We had nothing like it in the Enchanted Forest."

"We had bards and minstrels. They were very entertaining, especially the traveling caravans that went from village to village, and court music was different, but you're right, there was nothing like it in the Enchanted Forest. Is that why you like it so much? I know there isn't much from our home that you remember fondly."
"Maria had a complicated life; she grew up with her own version of Cora. Opera is the kind of thing my mother would have forced me to do to conquer a prince or a king. Fortunately, she never got the chance to ruin that for me. But don't ask me why there are no harpsichords in this house."
"There is a piano, however."

"Yes, a Steinway, the best money can buy. I never played anything outside Storybrooke; other pianos have flaws when you're used to playing on one of those. Not that I can play anything now, either. When you destroy and rebuild something with magic, something always tends to be lost—an essence I can't quite pinpoint, but something important nonetheless. And it's out of tune. No piano tuner would find his way to a town that doesn't exist. A shame. I loved that piano, but I suppose love is a weakness."
"Regina, I'd like to know why you called me here."

"I also consider you my only friend. And I will never forgive myself for what I did to you to destroy Snow."

"That's in the past, Regina. I want to believe that what matters is the present… and the future."

"Oh, the future. I'm glad you mentioned it, because there's something very important I must tell you."

Kathryn swallowed hard before saying:

"Whatever it is."

The Callas vinyl reached the end of È Strano… Ah! Fors'è Lui…follie!, the first solemn notes of Addio del Passato from La Traviata began to resonate around the shelves, the spines of the leather-bound books, the Persian rug, and the ebony-carved details of the furniture.

"When you get involved with magic, it's very common for it to take part of you."

Regina spoke without looking at her friend, her fingers still clutching the letter as if it were a fragile relic. She walked slowly around the room, the soles of her shoes barely murmuring on the Persian rug.

"Witches don't get sick because as soon as a threat enters your body, magic eliminates it immediately."

Kathryn interlaced her fingers, uncomfortable. Her knuckles cracked slightly, but Regina didn't notice.

"Unfortunately, that means your immune system never learns to fight anything; it becomes lazy."

The mayor nodded subtly, unsure whether to interrupt or wait. She felt like she was listening to a confession in a foreign language. Something inside her knew exactly where that conversation was heading, but she refused to name it.

"Kathryn, when I was three years in exile…" she sighed, squeezed her eyes shut, and lowered her head, defeated. "I know you and Fred have seen more than you want to admit."

"Regina…"

"It started in my pancreas, and by the time they realized…"

***

The Evil Queen and the Wicked Witch of the West were going to face each other in a duel to the death on Main Street at midnight. The rumor, like anything that falls into Grumpy's hands, spread like wildfire. The Dark Court didn't seem concerned in the slightest. Preparations for the 80s street party on Mifflin continued flowing like water in a calm river. Néstor got the permits to close the street, Lucio and Julio installed giant speakers that really looked like they were straight out of 1980, and someone had already hung several disco balls all along the street. There were smoke machines and an obscene amount of alcohol being prepared.

Emma found out from a nurse at the hospital. She had spent the whole morning searching for Rumple and Zelena's hideout, and now that she had a little break, she was going to take advantage of it to see her mother, who wouldn't leave David's side for a second during the day. Sometimes Henry would join them for a while, writing in his journals or fixing his watches, but most of the time she was alone. It couldn't be good for the pregnancy, and Emma couldn't convince her to go home and let the nurses handle it.

"Your true love is the most important person in your life, Emma."

She wished it hadn't felt like such a personal attack in so many ways.

The Savior had found information in Rumple's books about how to perform various magical tests, but she hadn't found anything conclusive, and Belle had no more ideas either. No one talked about Regina; it was like a forbidden topic since the toad conversion. But when the rumor of the duel reached her, she couldn't help but panic. That witch had placed a petrification spell on Granny's along with a super-resistant blood magic barrier, and she had managed to kidnap and enslave the Dark One. Regina could be a despot whose magical skills terrified a continent, but counting curse time and exile, she must have gone over 30 years without practicing. Turning the green witch into a toad wasn't an option… or was it?

All day, Swan had a terrible feeling of anxiety eating away at her stomach. She couldn't even eat a single bear claw until dusk. Mifflin was already packed by the time she decided to go. The guests weren't just dressed up; having genuinely arrived in 1982, most just had to dig through old things in the closet and revive a pretty entertaining era. Today's teenagers, fooled by the "Just Dance" Rasputin illusion, were no match for people who experienced Storybrooke's disco craze at its peak.

Sometimes there was some Rock too, and people who didn't shine with Voulez-Vous did so with Living on a Prayer. Regina was by a food bar, wearing modern clothes, talking to a very downcast Kathryn and a contemplative Fred. Her glass was on the table, and her eternal lit cigar was in her left hand.

All for freedom
And of pleasure
Nothing ever lasts forever...
Everybody wants to rule the world

Tears for Fears resonated through the speakers when Emma took the woman by the arm, begging for a moment. Regina didn't even bother to give her a resentful look, just one of deep annoyance.

"Regina, what's this madness about you fighting a witch at midnight?"

The woman transported them to the foyer of her mansion, where the echo of the party sounded muffled enough to talk calmly.

"Miss Swan, what the hell do you care?"

The socialite took a deep drag of her cigar in frustration. She didn't even look worried about the fight, just annoyed by Emma's presence.

"Zelena has Rumple as her bitch. Of course I care, Regina."

*Your true love is the most important person in your life, Emma.* Snow's hollow words echoed in her mind like a curse.

"You are the person in the world with the least right to say that."

How could she make her understand?

"I lied to you, Regina. I *do* know who Pinkerton is," she admitted in a whisper.

That threw her off. Good. Regina went very still, anticipating whatever Emma was about to admit.

"After you left Storybrooke, I started going to the opera every weekend. Sometimes, if I concentrated hard enough, I could see you sitting there, very elegant, in your closed box. Belle started teaching me Italian, and I went to see Lucia di Lammermoor, Tosca, La Traviata, Norma, La Bohème, Rusalka… But I only saw Madame Butterfly once. It was too painful to watch.

The others aren't a walk in the park either, Emma, opera is heavily based on Greek tragedy, it's a beautiful song to pain. But Regina didn't dare say this for fear of scaring away her moment of sincerity.

Outside, the song changed; now it was With or Without You by U2.

"You were right. I saw myself in that son of a bitch Pinkerton, and I didn't like it. But I hated it even more when I realized that if I was Pinkerton, you were Cio-Cio-San, and the only way you had to leave that shitty situation with dignity was…"

Her eyes filled with tears; she didn't dare continue, the scenario too devastating to even imagine.

"I tried," Regina admitted cautiously, the memory of a bottle of painkillers on a sink crossing her mind. "I failed."

The blonde would never call that a failure.

"God," she said, horrified, hiding her face in her hands. "What I have done?"

Emma stayed silent in that position, processing the terrible consequences of her impulsive actions.

Maybe it was how emotional everything had been that day: Zelena's threats, Rumple's letter to Cora saying her firstborn was the most talented sorceress he'd ever known, or the confession to Kathryn, but Regina couldn't help what happened next.

"I saw The Force Awakens," Regina confessed suddenly. "It didn't convince me. But Clone Wars has some fascinating plots. Quite complete for a computer-made series aimed at kids." She swallowed hard before continuing. "You'd be right to think I became Anakin Skywalker. I got so obsessed with the idea of taking revenge on Snow, just like he was obsessed with saving Padmé, that I lost sight of what mattered: You, Henry, our family. But it's just that everything always turns out fine for her while I end up in misery. And when I regained my sanity, the process of losing you all was almost complete."

Emma nodded, still unable to process what was happening.

"Don't go to the duel with the witch, Regina," she pleaded. "I'll fix it. I'll break the barrier; I'll give you back your freedom."

It didn't matter if she didn't forgive her; Emma had to find a way to give back everything she had stolen.

"It's a duel, Emma," she replied obstinately. "My honor is at stake."

"Jesus, Regina. I can't stand everyone's medieval attitude," she cursed.

But it didn't matter how many curses or pleas they made because no one could convince the woman not to go. That woman had threatened Henry, Kath, and Fred. And she was Green; there was no worse crime against fashion than that. Black coat, red gloves, Regina appeared on Main Street just as Zelena was detaching a traffic light.

"Didn't anyone tell you? Black is my color."

Zelena was waiting in the middle of the street with a small crowd as witnesses.

"But it looks much better on me," she responded maliciously. "I was starting to think you weren't coming… or that you were already dead."

Regina didn't take the bait.

"Well, I couldn't let my sister leave so easily. Could I?"

"So you've talked to Mommy?"

"No need. I accept we share blood. That's more than you deserve."

"You're afraid she'll see the ruin you've become, eh?"

Regina used the most sacred movement for witch duels: the bitch slap.

"Rumpelstiltskin isn't going to save you this time."

And when did he ever save me, crazy?

"He should have chosen me."

Realization hit Regina with a hint of humor.

"Ha, are you jealous of *that*?" she asked, pointing her finger at the aforementioned man.

"You have everything I've ever wanted, and you don't even deserve it. But I'm going to take it all away," she promised.

"Including the stomach ache, or do I have to keep that?"

Zelena threw Regina against Doc's blue Miata. She didn't know how many ribs broke, but it was definitely more than two. That made her quite furious, and her own magic too, so much so that the fireball in her hand appeared as easily as a sigh. A pity the green one extinguished it as soon as it appeared.

"You can't beat me, little sister. Everything he taught you, he taught me, but I learned it better."

Damn you, Rumple! Really? That damn pathological obsession with having a backup for everything.

The Wicked Witch took Regina by the neck; she almost lost consciousness before realizing she was going to throw her against the clock tower. The socialite was left breathless from the sheer impact, not to mention the crack of the other ribs that were still waiting to break. That woman had overpowered her like a steamroller; there was simply no way to win.

"Oh no, Regina. Are you dying?" Zelena appeared beside her at the top of the tower, next to the rusty clock mechanism. "I never said I wanted to kill you, not yet. Just destroy you. But for that, I need your heart."

Well, that explained why some peasants held such a grudge; she had forgotten how terribly uncomfortable and painful it was when someone rummaged in your chest to extract your heart.

"Where is it!?" It was the first time all night she seemed genuinely furious.

"My mother taught me one thing. Never bring your heart to a fight with another witch," she explained in a half-choked whisper, and with a devilish smile added, "It's something you'd know if she hadn't abandoned you."

The green witch was livid. Regina thought she might finally kill her for real.

"I will have your heart, Regina. I will have everything that is yours!"

And then she flew away on a broomstick, through the window she had thrown Regina through.

A small push of purple magic was enough to help her get to her feet, but she barely managed it. She didn't have much energy left to transport herself, so she decided to walk.

Emma Swan appeared for another round of reproaches and puppy-dog looks.

"Miss Swan. They're playing ABBA. Go to the party and let me sleep. I'm fine."

Emma insisted.

"Are you sure?"

She didn't look very convinced about leaving.

"Of course. Go away."

Emma finally left, perhaps still embarrassed by her abrupt honesty that afternoon. It didn't matter. Regina entered the house and took a few steps. Right now, she should be in a 5-star hotel in Paris, but no. She was walking with crushed bones in her old Mifflin foyer. Well, she *would* be in a building with many beds, but maybe not a hotel, precisely; perhaps a hospital, she admit.

And then she collapsed against the nearest wall, a trickle of blood falling from her mouth as she lost consciousness.

End of Act I

Chapter 14: Interlude: Vissi d’arte – Regina and Her Relationship with Pleasure Through the Years

On the day Socrates was to be executed, he busied himself trying to learn an especially difficult flute piece. When questioned about the usefulness of this while the executioner was preparing the hemlock, the philosopher simply replied: "Just to know."
Young Regina would have empathized completely with Socrates. Knowing things, reading things, learning things simply for the purpose of doing it felt good. That was her first pleasure—in her father's estate, hiding from Cora to study the kingdom's historical and literary volumes. It wasn't that Cora didn’t value knowledge; in fact, she treasured it. But she forbade her daughter access to anything that wouldn’t be useful for her future plans of grandeur.

Later, a little older, came aesthetic pleasure—the beauty of forms, scents, and textures that entered through the senses and soothed the soul. Her father was the greatest patron of this indulgence, bringing into their home the most exquisite paintings, the most delicate sculptures, the most powerful literary works. Her mother despised such things because she recognized them for what they were: a relief for Regina in the hell of growing up under her thumb.

"Pleasure is dangerous, Regina," she warned. "It’s like a candle flame when you’re a moth. The light may be beautiful, but if you get too close, you’ll burn."

The first displays of power that magic and the Dark One gifted Regina were pleasurable—not for the power itself, but because she could finally rid herself of the monster she called mother.

Sex was not a pleasure; it was an obligation imposed on her by her husband… or so she thought until she fell into Maleficent’s silken wings. With her elegant and seductive stride, her soft caresses, and her ease at wrenching orgasms from her, the queen finally understood how easily people lost themselves in pleasure. She had always been cautious—a primal fear instilled by Cora, warning her not to fly too close to the flame. But her life with the king was cold, and she didn’t mind burning a little if it meant not freezing to death. Mal also taught her that sex could be a battlefield—hawk or dove, predator or prey, dominate or be dominated. And how deeply will could vanish in that arena!

Unfortunately, with her altered sleeping curses and other experiments, Mal was all too accustomed to a kind of pleasure Regina found particularly unappealing: losing oneself with the aid of substances. Regina’s life had never been her own; the last thing she wanted was to lose control of the one thing that somewhat belonged to her: her body. Still, she acquired a taste for some things—the light dizziness after good tobacco, the moderate euphoria of decent wine. Mal’s wild drugs taught her that a person would do anything to feel good for a while. The idea of mastering that need formed in her mind then, and so the Dark Court was born.

Leopold’s death meant not just freedom from the pig who’d abused her since she was seventeen—it meant discovering her greatest pleasure yet: autonomy, power, freedom. The gods had been indifferent to her pain all her life; their representatives on earth, the fairies, had despised her since childhood for her lineage—something beyond her control. Fine. She didn’t need them, or their kingdom either. Her only masters would be time and destiny. From that day on, she’d be like Goethe’s Prometheus: she would cease honoring callous divinities and create people in her image—a race that would suffer, rejoice, and respect no one but her. The fairies swore eternal contempt for her, and their impotence against her growing empire’s power became yet another pleasure.

Unfortunately, war and Rumplestiltskin pushed her to cast the Dark Curse—a Pyrrhic victory that punished no one as harshly as herself (and perhaps Jefferson). Remembering was hell, torture—and the old temptation to turn to Mal’s opium to forget lingered there.

Most of the pleasures Regina had collected followed her to the new world, but now she had to double the dose. The price—besides her poor father—was an emotional numbness as vast as the universe. Her pursuit of erudition led her to the most important philosophers of her new civilization. That’s how she stumbled upon Aristotle and his paradoxical pleasure in pain: watching others suffer and knowing it isn’t happening to us hides a cursed satisfaction. But tragedy, the man claimed, purges the soul through pity and terror. What if it was something else? What if it wasn’t joy in others’ pain, but the realization that we suffer—yet we’re not alone, because others suffer with us?

Aristotle led her not just to Oedipus Rex, Antigone, or Electra—he led her to the art that would deliver the promised catharsis: opera. Regina’s first opera was Tosca. The clerk at Portland’s record store insisted she take the 1952 Mexico live recording—"Callas’ most visceral Tosca." Yes, in form and content it was musically beautiful. But the pain of the work… And there, in the darkness of her study, recognizing in "Vissi d’arte" the young woman who’d held her fiancé after her mother tore out his heart… Regina wept for the first time in decades. She wept for Daniel. She wept for the innocence stolen by her own Scarpia. She wept for her father and the cursed life that hadn’t been worth his sacrifice.

But the most dangerous pleasure—the burning flame she should have stayed away from—was the loving gaze of a child, a woman’s gentle hands… in short, love. That weakness her mother had warned her about so often. Henry and Emma’s love felt like a dagger disguised as a rose, plunged into her heart. And this pleasure was so dangerous because once tasted, nothing else compared. Nothing could replace it.

After exile, books and art lost their flavor—they lacked Henry’s curiosity beside her. Sex no longer felt like a connection of two souls—because it wasn’t with Emma. The comfort of smoke and alcohol didn’t last as long as before. Like Cavaradossi, her dream of love had vanished forever.

And in the third year, just as she was regaining some mental health after her failed suicide attempt, Death arrived. It sat at her table and said:
Drink all you want. Eat all you want. Sleep when you’re tired. Feed your eyes and ears with whatever you desire. Because whether you do or not—I am here. And soon, I will come for you.

And Regina, with nothing left to lose, did just that.

Chapter 15: Non lagrima o fiore avrà la mia fossa,/ Non croce col nome

Notes:

Hello! I wasn’t planning on writing anything today, but then I ended up listening to Hello Seahorse and remembered the night my ex dumped me—right in the middle of a thirty-page sociolinguistics project. Then La flotadera started playing, and I thought, “Come on, Norma, the four people who always comment want to know about Regina, and you want to write about her too. Your ex is old news.” So here’s this humble chapter for you all.

By the way, I feel like Arunima is an album that fits Emma and Regina’s relationship in this fic really well—because of that line, “fue la distancia lo que mató el amanecer...” If you enjoy Mexican indie rock, I totally recommend it.

Act II: Vesti la giubba e la faccia infarina

 

Vesti la giubba e la faccia infarina

La gente paga, e rider vuole qua

E se Arlecchin t'invola Colombina

Ridi, Pagliaccio, e ognun applaudirà

Chapter 14: Non lagrima o fiore avrà la mia fossa,/ Non croce col nome

One of the things that most annoyed his father and brother when he was young was that Victor always, always understood the assignment. That was his greatest pride. The assignment of helping a proud woman who believes she needs no one—whether because she was once queen of an empire, mayor of Maine's best administration, or one of the nation's best-connected socialites—required crossing certain boundaries to do it right. His wife, Mabel Ratched, and the Midas couple understood this well.

Bending rules isn’t exactly a crime in an emergency. Victor and others had seen the duel—the woman thrown against a car and a building. Even a witch would’ve had serious injuries; a healthy person wouldn’t have survived. That she’d walked away meant nothing. Regina was stubborn, refusing to show weakness if she could help it. How her royal dignity had endured constant hospital stays these last years? Only the gods knew.

Outside, Eurythmics’ Sweet Dreams threatened to shake the neighborhood’s foundations. Regina hadn’t even made it past the foyer before collapsing. Someone should have dragged her to the ER before she climbed that tower, but regrets were useless now. It was time for surgical precision.

"Dr. Hopper, you’re a psychiatrist. That means at some point, you were a medical resident."

"My ER and trauma rotations are theoretical knowledge from the curse," the man replied nervously.

"It’ll have to do. Stabilize her before the ambulance arrives."

"She’ll murder us for this."

"First, she has to survive. Do you know her medications?"

"Painkillers and antidepressants. Antiemetics and oral chemo are rejected by her magic."

"The cancer won’t be cured at this stage. Maybe her magic knows what it’s doing."

"Professor, hold her gently," Mabel instructed Fred, handing him an IV bag. "Victor, open the emergency kit."

Whale’s expert hands palpated Regina’s neck:

"Weak pulse. Shallow breathing. Hypovolemic shock."

Mabel and Victor worked efficiently over Regina’s shattered body.

"Will she survive the night?" Kathryn asked, trembling.

"We can manage the trauma. But the cancer? I don’t know. I don’t know what her magic can handle versus what’s up to us. I’ll know at the hospital. Zelena only sped up the inevitable."

The ambulance arrived. Regina went straight to surgery to control internal bleeding.

Kathryn waited outside the OR, hands clasped, back hunched as if crushed by the weight. Fred loved his wife so devoutly he’d taken her name without a second thought. Seeing her like this broke him.

When she heard his footsteps, she looked up and smiled wearily. The recent days—parties, political attacks from fairies, Anti-Court factions, and the Court itself—had been exhausting even for two healthy people.

"How’s David, darling?"

She tried for casual, but resentment bled into her tone.

"The same. Can’t hold his own drool. Caught a cold, so they don’t want Snow near him."

She nodded pensively.

Zelena’s petrification spell had retraumatized Fred, reviving nightmares of being a gold statue. If not for David… But Regina had also helped him that morning without hesitation. And Kathryn adored her.

"Love. I know we owe David, but I feel you’re keeping something from me."

"I told you Regina finally confessed this morning," he sighed, fighting back rage. "Exile immunosuppressed her, Fred. It’s not just the cancer. I doubt she spent a single day outside Storybrooke without being sick."

That was horrifying. And it made sense.

"You know why they did it. If the entire cult—plus Blue—had learned about Archie’s supposed murder, none of us could’ve stopped them from burning her at the stake. They’re fools, but even they knew saving Emma’s true love required swift action."

And it cost them their reputation and political power.

"Yes. But they couldn’t be bothered to research what losing magic means. They ‘saved’ her from execution to condemn her to a slow, painful death. It’s always the same." He rose from the plastic chair and paced. "They have stupid luck where everything works out, and the rest of us live with the consequences."

"I know. I’m sorry, love."

"We need damage control," Kathryn said wearily. The job was hell. "If the fairies or any enemy learns of her illness, they’ll exploit it."

"That’ll take time. Regina’s surgery has hours left. You deserve a moment."

"Why would I need a moment?"

"To mourn your friend. You can’t pretend this isn’t destroying you forever."

"I just got her back, Fred. And soon I’ll have to say goodbye forever."

"I know."

Fred held her tightly, letting her feel safe enough to cry—for everything since that morning: Granny’s attack, finding her friend at home…

The hospital’s white light didn’t hurt.

Maybe because Regina was used to it. To sterile coldness. To chemical-clean scents no spell could replicate. To slightly scratchy sheets, needles, the monitor’s soft beeps confirming she was still here.

Again.

Another bed. Another broken body.

She moved her fingers first. Then her eyelids. It hurt less than expected—a bad sign: either she was sedated to the bone, or things were worse than she’d thought.
Kathryn sat beside her. Impeccable as ever, in one of those folding chairs pretending to be comfortable.

"Awake?" she asked flatly, as if waking were paperwork.

Regina barely nodded. The movement made her central line glint at her collarbone.

"Storybrooke General. Room 203. Private floor," Kathryn listed efficiently.

"Did I miss breakfast?"

"Two. It’s Saturday."

"Inconvenient."

Kathryn smiled—brief, toothless, hopeless, but sincere.

"How much do they know?" Regina asked, not really wanting the answer.

"Officially, you’re here for injuries from the duel with Zelena. Bruises. Contusions. Fractures. Possible magical poisoning."

"The scans?"

"Archie and Whale falsified negatives before the new tech came to check you. We’ll bribe him eventually."

"Oh. That was… considerate."

"Good news: no leaks. Yet."

Regina closed her eyes. Not from fatigue. Just to avoid the ceiling.

"I assume you have a damage-control memo ready."

"Two, actually. One if you survive till the barbecue. Another if you don’t make Monday."

The ex-mayor made a sound between a laugh and a cough. Her chest burned.

"Which seems more feasible?"

Kathryn didn’t answer immediately.

"We’re betting on short-term for now. If you want to change the narrative, you’ll need to stand up sooner."

"Splendid. Always dreamed of dying under a PR strategy."

Silence. The mayor wasn’t ready for jokes.

Kathryn took her hand—like she had at Mifflin’s entrance. But this wasn’t comfort. It was a cold, administrative gesture. The hand of someone already counting down days.

"You have a little time left, Regina. Your magic stabilized the trauma this time, but there won’t be a second."

"Then I’ll avoid being thrown against buildings. Noted. That leaves the more urgent matter."

"What are you talking about? The urgent matter is you not dying in your foyer!"

Regina turned to look at her with one of those half-smiles only defeated queens wear.

"Kathryn, I must break the barrier. Soon. I won’t die in Storybrooke."

The mayor stopped writing. She looked up with the expression she used to receive bad news without letting her voice shake.

"Would it be so terrible if I could attend your funeral?"

"The funeral doesn’t worry me," Regina said dryly. "I worry about what comes after. Do you have any idea what those unhinged fairies will do to my corpse? Do you want Henry to see that?"

Kathryn didn’t answer.

"I’d rather have no grave," Regina pressed, "than one that’ll be desecrated."

"I’d never allow it."

"They won’t ask permission."

Kathryn looked down. That line hit harder than any other.

"Why didn’t you say anything sooner?"

Regina inhaled deeply. It hurt. Everything hurt. But that pain wasn’t new.

"I do damage control too, Kathryn. For three years… Ever since ‘remission’ vanished from the prognosis."

Kathryn stood abruptly and walked to the window. She wouldn’t cry in front of her. She’d tried so hard to do things right—return to politics, rebuild the town, run the administration while the heroes played happy family. Be the adult in the room. But lately, everything circled back to Regina. Regina’s illness. Regina’s legacy. Regina and that ancient fear that everything she touched—the good, the brilliant, the terrifying—was about to vanish.

No grave. No desecration. No Henry seeing that.

Kathryn understood. Maybe more than Regina knew. She’d seen what fanatics disguised as faith could do. She’d seen fairies purge altars of fallen witches. And she’d seen Henry’s eyes fill with pride when he spoke of his mother as if she could still save the world.

"Regina, I hate you."

The queen was used to it. Everyone in Storybrooke reminded her eventually.

"I hate you for making me love you just when there’s nothing you can do to stay." Her voice finally broke.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to."

"Of course not, you fool. You don’t choose who you hurt by loving them."

Outside, clouds threatened another storm.

"You know," Regina said, adjusting her pillow without losing composure, "I was being dramatic about the grave."

A pause. A faint smile.

"I have a plot at Père-Lachaise in Paris. The only place on earth fit for a queen."

"Where your eternal love rests," Kathryn replied with measured tenderness. "Maria Callas."

"And Puccini," Regina added, as if mentioning old neighbors.

Silence. Not awkward, but understanding.

"My neighbors will be opera people. Like me. I’ve been dying a long time. Everything’s in order."

Kathryn didn’t move. She stood by the window as if awaiting a report to read or a decree to sign. But her eyes stayed on Regina, who showed no discomfort or pain.
The silence broke as Victor Whale entered with a folder.

"I need to discuss your scans. Comparing new ones with New York’s, there’s a discrepancy in liver invasion rates, and—"

"Save it, Whale," Regina cut in softly. "Since this hell began, all I’ve heard is: ‘Mrs. Mills, if we try X, you’ll live five years.’ ‘Well, that failed, try Y for four.’ I’m done."

Her rage wasn’t fury. It was pure, distilled exhaustion—a poison that no longer worked.

"I tried everything. Nothing worked. My most hopeful projection is alcohol and opioids poisoning my liver before the lung tumor suffocates me."

Victor frowned.

"The lung?" He scanned the report. "No… that won’t be possible."

Regina eyed him suspiciously.

"What?"

"Your magic’s begun rejecting alcohol."

Silence. Thick. Grotesque.

Regina clenched the sheet, knuckles white with contained fury. She hated every loss of control since her diagnosis. Hated her magic deciding for her now. Hated that even dying her way was failing.

"The good news," Victor added clinically, "is another failing organ will likely kill you before the lung does."

That seemed to calm her slightly.

"Thank you for the well-wishes, Victor."

He smiled wryly. Nothing left to say. Kathryn adjusted a blanket over her feet without questions. Regina closed her eyes.

For now, that was enough.

Chapter 16: Hört der Mutter Schwur!

Notes:

I’m going to be honest. Writing chapters from Emma’s perspective is a bit hard for me because I can’t quite find her voice. And I don’t want to write Snow as a one-dimensional villain—I want the characters to feel human. And let’s be real, humans mess up. But it’s really hard for me to empathize with her. I can even find something redeemable in Whale, that psycho, with his brotherly love and scientific curiosity—but Snow? She’s tough for me.

“Emm. I need you to talk to Snow,” Ruby Lucas stated flatly, setting her friend’s lunch down on the desk. “Whale already warned her she needs to stay away from David while he’s contagious. It’s also not good for the baby for her to be sitting with him for so many hours.”

The sheriff was reviewing a series of Storybrooke maps, with several areas of interest already marked. Mayor Midas had ordered her to capture a flying monkey so the fairies could study it and determine if the conversion could be reversed. It was as good a lead as any, since she was nowhere near figuring out how to break the curse after the method that broke the last one failed. Emma didn’t want to believe it was because Henry no longer loved her; the boy had assured her that wasn’t the case. There just had to be something else they weren’t seeing.

“I already talked to the dwarves, and they’ll keep an eye on her. I’m a bit short-staffed since most of them turned into monkeys. They’re catching up with their newly rescued kids or repairing the damage from last night’s witch fight.” The blonde walked over to the coffee machine and began preparing her cup. She’d spent all night responding to calls on Mifflin Street after the party. Apparently, Zelena had been desperately searching for something and had broken into nearly every house on the block.

“No, the dwarves are guarding Regina at the hospital,” Ruby replied casually. “The mayor doesn’t want any more green surprises.”

Emma looked at her as if she’d just announced she was moving to Mars. “What’s Regina doing in the hospital? Is she planning her next party there?”

Sometimes Ruby forgot that Regina had made it her mission to erase Emma from her life in every possible way. And that when Emma was sleep-deprived, she was a total blonde stereotype. “Emma, Regina had emergency surgery last night. Zelena threw her against a car and a building. Did no one tell you?”

The sheriff turned pale twice over. “What?! But she walked home! I asked that stubborn witch four times if she was okay, and she said yes!” Because now she was trying this new thing: respecting Regina’s boundaries before giving her a rage-induced aneurysm. Maybe she’d rushed it.

“You exiled her from her town and then kidnapped her,” Ruby explained condescendingly, lifting a clean mug to make her own coffee. “It doesn’t surprise me she doesn’t trust you.”

Emma didn’t even wait for Ruby to finish making her coffee before grabbing her jacket. “I have to go see her now…”

“Hey! Hold up, crazy,” warned the werewolf. “The mayor told Granny Regina’s still sedated and that she’ll send Fred to cut off the head of anyone who bothers her. And I’m one hundred percent sure she meant you.”

“Ruby…” Emma admonished.

“She must be in pieces in that hospital bed and doesn’t have the energy to turn you into an amphibian if you push your luck,” Ruby reasoned. “Besides, she’s still asleep and has her friends Fred and Kathryn. Your priority should be your mother, Emma. She’s been wasting away since David’s attack.”

“And what do you suggest I do? If she won’t listen to the doctor, why would she listen to me?”

“Because you’re her only daughter?”

Emma didn’t respond. She began mental calculations—schedules, availabilities, scheduled patrols. She’d have to call Mulan to cover for her while she went to talk to Snow. The sheriff’s station couldn’t keep running like this, stretched thin while the Wicked Witch kidnapped children, attacked the deputy sheriff, petrified restaurants, hurled citizens into cars, and vandalizing property. And Snow had to start putting in some effort to make things less difficult. She loved her father, but a few days with visits from her and Henry wouldn’t kill him.

“If the dwarves are on an errand for Kathryn, will they let me pass?”

“Sneezy will probably escort you to the psych ward.” Then, with a somber seriousness that reminded Emma this woman had been through a bloody war, Ruby added: “It’s the family you chose, Emma. Accept what comes with it.”

The accusation was clear. Sometimes Ruby made it very clear she couldn’t be completely impartial in certain situations. Emma was fine with that. If she wanted to live surrounded by worshipers who triggered her superpower every 5 minutes, she just had to go around the corner and knock on doors where her mother’s old campaign poster still hung.

Several municipal workers were already cleaning Main Street. Emma passed the crane and the workers removing the shattered traffic light. Doc’s Miata had already been towed to the impound lot, and Belle was helping with the street cleanup while workers cleared the face of the smashed clock tower.

“Emma!” the librarian called out as she passed. “Going to the hospital?”

The sheriff nodded, not wanting to stop long. “Can you take a book to Regina? She asked for it days ago for her research.”

“Research?”

“To bring down the barrier.”

Emma didn’t know how to respond. So Regina was doing research. Her pretended indifference to the town’s plight was just another facade. “I think she’s still sedated, Belle. But if I see the mayor, I’ll make sure she gets it.”

“Sure. That makes sense,” the librarian said, her gaze drifting to the shattered clock face. “I know witches are made of tougher stuff than regular people, but I can’t help wondering how she’s still alive. I heard she walked home.”

As Belle went into the library for the book, Emma stared at the street wreckage. She hadn’t been present during the duel, having to break up a fight between court members and fairy-faith parishioners. By the time she ran to Main Street, Regina was already walking away. One more thing to add to her endless list of "what ifs" and guilt. How could she have been so naive? When had Regina ever been honest about her own health? Once, she’d gone to work sick for a week before Henry found out and forced her to take the weekend off. And her superpower didn’t count anymore because she couldn’t trust herself when it came to the former mayor.

Upon arriving at the hospital, the blonde was met by the dwarves. But they didn’t seem to be caring for Regina; they seemed to be guarding against her waking from post-op sedation to conquer the town. She’d have to talk to Kathryn about assigning more sensitive sentries.

Sneezy, who’d taken the day off from the pharmacy to join his brothers on duty, escorted her to the basement where the psychiatric patients were held. He seemed nervous about something.

Snow was exactly where Emma knew she’d find her: sitting in the chair beside David’s bed as he napped. It was easier to see him asleep than with that look in his eyes. The room smelled of camphor and eucalyptus infusion—not that David could drink it anyway.

“Mary Margaret, we’ve talked about this. You need to stay away from David for a few days, just while he’s contagious. He’s not on his deathbed, and we *will* find a way to reverse whatever that witch did to him.”

Snow didn’t flinch. She just gave Emma that look she hated—the one that seemed to say *I’m your mother and I know what’s best*.

“Emma, I thought we’d already talked about that. Your True Love—”

“—Is the most important person in your life,” Emma finished for her, sudden fury rising in her gut. “But you know you have to take care of yourself for the baby. Don’t you care about the baby?”

“Sweetheart, the baby will be fine. I know things seem dark and difficult sometimes, but it always works out in the end.”

*Yeah. For you.* An old resentment resurfaced in Emma’s mind, one that had only grown since the horrendous trip to Neverland, when Snow had announced she’d stay there with Dreamshade-poisoned David, letting her and Henry return alone to Storybrooke if the chance arose. It hadn’t happened, but as David often said: *The intention is what matters*.

“At first I thought it was just against me,” Emma accused. “I was your Savior. You chose the whole kingdom over me.”

“Emma, Regina was going to kill you—” Snow defended herself. The mention of Regina—and the book for her secret research in Emma’s hands—only enraged her more.

“I thought this baby would matter to you. Isn’t this what you wanted most? To live the motherhood you missed with me?” The memory of the cave still hurt. Snow had said it so casually, as if Emma were a broken project and a new baby the perfect replacement—as if motherhood was about her, not her children.

“What I said in Neverland came out in a secret-stealing cave for a reason,” Snow explained defensively. “You were never supposed to hear that. They were the worst intrusive thoughts I’ve ever had, and I’m so sorry.”

Right. Because Pan was the perfect excuse for everything. Snow said hurtful things in the cave? Pan’s fault. Henry misses his real mother too much? Pan’s fault…It was as if Snow couldn’t conceive that some things might also be her fault.

“But it was true. It’s what you felt. And the worst part is, you don’t care about risking the baby just to be with Dad. None of your children matter more to you than your True Love…”

“Emma…”

“I gave up Regina for you,” Emma finally exploded. “I was weak, okay? After years of abandonment, I thought I had the right to be someone’s daughter. And now she’s seriously hurt, and her friends are absolutely right not to even let me look in the direction of her room. But you don’t care about any sacrifice made by anyone… And you’re not willing to sacrifice anything for anyone but yourself.”

That truly wounded Snow. “Regina made me give you up when you were a newborn! How can you say that?”

“It was you and Dad who decided to listen when people told you the weight of the world was my responsibility. When I had to give up Henry, I did it to give him his best chance. When you gave me up, you did it because it was the best chance for you.”

Snow slapped Emma in a fit of rage but immediately regretted it. The sheriff squeezed her eyes shut, carefully considering her next words.

“The funny thing is, Regina never made me choose between you and her. Not because she was afraid of losing, but because she knew it was a horrible thing to ask.” Emma opened her eyes, her voice raw. “You’re right. True Love is the most important person in your life. I should have taken Henry and left with her when I had the chance.”

Emma left the room, ignoring Snow’s calls. Snow didn’t follow her; she stayed with David.

The blonde took the stairs to the reception floor and caught the elevator. Storybrooke General had only one private floor, and Regina wouldn’t settle for less. The moment she stepped out, she was met by the tired, kind smile of Fred Midas, alerted by some traitorous dwarf.

“Sorry, Emma. Strict orders. I don’t want to cut off David’s daughter’s head, but my wife will make me sleep in the bathtub if I don’t.”

“Oh, sure. I understand.”

“You okay? You seem upset.”

“Yeah, yeah, I just… How’s Regina? Is that Norma by Callas I’m hearing?”

“She listens to opera every day. Kathryn didn’t want today to be an exception just because she’s heavily drugged. The prognosis is still guarded, but Whale thinks her magic can handle the rest of the trauma now that he’s controlled the internal bleeding.”

“That’s great, right?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Fred didn’t sound convinced. “What’ve you got there, Emma?”

“Oh. It’s a book from Belle for Regina. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out about her secret, living in a town as small as Storybrooke?”

“What?” The former knight’s voice was full of panic.

“The research on the barrier. Regina said she wanted nothing to do with the curse, but she’s researching the barrier.”

“Ah,” he relaxed slightly. “That. Emma, when someone’s trying to escape from their abduction, they don’t go and tell their kidnapper about it,” he tried to joke. Emma didn’t smile.

“Just give her the book, okay? And tell her I’m sorry I didn’t bring her to the ER myself. And that I will find a way to fix everything, alright? For now, I’ll assign more suitable guards.”

“Sure, Emma.”

***

Sunday morning, Regina resumed her update breakfasts with the Midas. Magic had healed most of her incisions while she slept, but the broken bones remained a problem. The Queen had stopped understanding what her powers were doing to her. Crossing the town line had supercharged her with power and energy, burning off most of the drugs in her system. Now it was healing her wounds, making her feel much better than she actually was. But there were days she couldn’t summon even a spark of purple power to her fingers, let the pain through, making her want to sleep all day. Apparently, this Sunday was a sleepy day, because she passed out cold after a card game with Archie. Now the cricket wouldn’t want to pay all he’d lost.

When she woke in the afternoon, an unwanted visitor had slipped into her room.

“I’ve spent years trying to understand if what you had with Emma was your final revenge against me.”

Snow wore one of her most hideous coats, peach-colored. It looked terrible. Regina, still foggy, was confused. What was she doing here?

Rain had started sometime during the day, the temperature dropping slightly. The patient called the nurse, ignoring the unexpected nuisance.

“Mabel, do you think I could have another blanket?” she asked, her voice hoarse from sleep and drugs.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The nurse ignored the visitor and efficiently tucked the blanket around the woman.

Regina finally acknowledged Snow’s presence: “Miss Blanchard, my ribs hurt. I’m going to sleep the rest of the afternoon so I can go home tomorrow.” She settled into the pillows, pressed the morphine button, and fell back asleep without another word.

“Kathryn is definitely going to throttle me when she finds out Regina woke up on my watch and didn’t eat anything before falling back asleep,” a weary Fred said from the doorway.

Snow started to say something, but Fred cut her off. “I don’t know Regina as well as my wife, but I know one thing. She would never have chosen to love Emma or adopt Henry if she’d known who they were.” He met Snow’s eyes directly. “Do you really think she’d put her heart anywhere near you again?”

The knight left but returned a few minutes later with security guards behind him. “This floor is private for a reason, Snow. Let Regina rest.”

Chapter 17: Premiato il sacrifizio/ Sarà del vostro amor;

Notes:

Hello! Looks like we survived another round of site maintenance. To celebrate, I’ve decided to leave this chapter here for you all. I hope the experience wasn’t too traumatic. Until next time!

 

Tell me who you really love

Who are you to take over my mind

with your eyes on me?

All for you I am climbing the sky

of golden green

-Golden Green, Agnes Obel 2016

It was one of the rainiest Septembers in Storybrooke’s history. Archie also believed winter would arrive early this year, but a true frost wouldn’t come until the summer rains finally gave way to autumn winds. The psychiatrist passed respectfully by the new grave in the cemetery—its soil already sinking, flowers wilting—and walked calmly toward the Mills crypt, where Regina had summoned him at noon. Against all odds, and against medical advice, the socialite had been discharged that Monday morning. Archie understood her urgency but wished she’d given herself more time to heal.  

Regina was flipping through the book Belle had sent via Emma while stirring samples in a flask. She wore a thick wool sweater, and shallow cuts still peeked out from beneath her scarf. Her gaze occasionally drifted to another blue leather-bound tome, her palm resting on its stiff cover as if afraid to open it fully.  

"I know what you’re going to say," she greeted him. "I should be in bed right now. In fact, I was postponing this, but I think I should already be in that absurdly expensive hospice in Paris." She shrugged. "But my magic makes me feel better than I actually am, and I need answers."  

Archie nodded gravely. Now that Kathryn and Fred knew Regina’s secret, she seemed far more comfortable discussing it with him. It was as if the only opinions that mattered had already been voiced. That didn’t make it easier to hear, though.  

"Any updates on the barrier?"  

"Yes, and it’s what I feared." She gestured to Belle’s book. "Now that I know I share blood with Zelena, I could shatter the spell right now." She lifted a snow globe Henry had gifted her on his seventh Christmas. "Unfortunately, doing so would drain all of Storybrooke’s magic into the world like water spilling if I smashed this toy. That would condemn most magical creatures to my same fate."  

The unspoken words hung in the air: It would condemn Emma to die like me. 

The man studied Regina’s expression carefully. Sometimes it was hard to separate the doctor from the friend. The mere ghost of Emma shattered her composed facade. Regina’s friends were deeply concerned about her detachment toward her own death, fearing she wasn’t processing it properly. Archie knew that if Regina had lived with her diagnosis this long and seen a grief counselor, she might be handling it better than they realized. Those not handling it well were Kathryn and Fred, but they weren’t ready to talk, and Archie wouldn’t push them.  

"What do you plan to do, then?"  

"Well, since I’ve grown rather fond of gnomes and merfolk, I suppose I’ll have to find a way to turn the barrier into a permeable membrane—allowing safe passage for people without letting magic leak out. But that will require a sample of Zelena’s magic. We must wait; Kathryn said she’s already ordered a monkey captured."  

Regina took her overcoat from the nearest chair and her leather gloves from the table.  

"I’d like you to accompany me elsewhere, if you don’t mind, Archie."  

She then showed him a suggestive playing card from her pocket. Archie recognized it from the deck they’d used the previous morning.  

***

Both walked quietly along a hidden forest path. Fine rain dripped from the leaves as they moved slowly, Regina’s ribs still not fully healed.  

"One of my greatest regrets about exile is not being there to protect Henry from my mother."  

Cora’s attack on Storybrooke was one of the most brutal Archie had ever witnessed—even under Regina’s reign or the Dark One’s assaults. Knowing Regina wasn’t there to fight alongside her had only fueled Cora’s efforts to destroy Mr. Gold, aided by Hook. Both were eventually captured and sealed by fairies in distant caves. Henry had bitterly joked that Cora wasn’t executed because the Charmings couldn’t get close enough and "didn’t have a daughter to manipulate against her." The boy had been the Queen of Hearts’ primary target.  

"What do you think she wants with him?"  

The path was less muddy than other forest trails. A dwarf—or someone fiercely loyal to the fairies—brought the prisoner food once daily, but it was challenging enough for a convalescent who was also a chain smoker.  

"Basic power play," Regina reasoned coldly. "Kill the monarch, control the heir, secure the loyalty of the kingdom’s key players."  

"Would Cora have killed you if her original plan succeeded?" Archie couldn’t hide his horror.  

"I suppose," she replied with another shrug.  

The casual resignation in Regina’s tone as she spoke of Cora’s atrocities chilled Archie’s blood.  

"Have you discussed her with anyone besides me? Does Dr. Grenvil know?"  

"Parker has intuited much," Regina admitted. "But too much must stay unspoken. If I mentioned magic, he’d adjust my medication or blame chemo brain."  

It made sense. Yet it was still tragic that Regina had no one with whom she could be wholly honest about the ghosts haunting her past.  

"So he can’t fully help you."  

The queen didn’t answer. They’d reached the cave entrance where Cora was imprisoned. A shiver ran through Archie as they stepped inside without another word.   

The Queen of Hearts waited behind the bars of a small cell carved into the cave’s farthest wall, seated with icy dignity on a wooden stool. Her eyes gleamed with ambition at the sight of her visitors. Archie found a crate for Regina—who masked her agitation masterfully—to sit on. The doctor waited near the exit.

"Well, well, Regina. Six years late. Is it proper to keep your mother waiting like this?"  

Regina made a micro-expression Archie caught before she could conceal it: the flinch of a child bracing for a physical reprimand.  

"Save the lecture, Mother. I’m here to discuss Zelena," Regina demanded, her queenly persona resurfacing. Had Archie not known better, he’d never believe this woman had slept all yesterday in a hospital bed.  

"Who is Zelena?" Cora’s ignorance seemed genuine, but Regina pressed on.  

"Your firstborn," she snapped impatiently. "Tall? Redhead? Green?"  

"Redhead?" the prisoner asked, surprised. "With an Oz accent?"  

Yes—Regina had met dignitaries from Oz; their accent was nearly indistinguishable from this world’s London English. The queen remained still, impatient for the story she’d come for. Cora offered an enigmatic smile and, without a trace of remorse, recounted her youth: a miller’s daughter who’d crossed paths with a supposed prince and surrendered her virginity. The man proved a fraud when she sought him out to reveal her pregnancy. Her quest nearly failed until she encountered the true crown prince, Leopold, and almost convinced him to marry her—until Princess Eva (Leopold’s first wife and Snow’s mother) discovered the pregnancy and had her banished. The child born of that affair held no use, so Cora sent her away on one of the tornados that occasionally swept through the village to Oz.  

At first, Regina was speechless.

"Let me understand: you married me off to the man you almost wed in your youth? A man already too old for you?"  

Cora merely widened her hyena smile. Regina’s greatest mistake was thinking her worst tormentor wasn’t the woman in this cell. Yes, Snow was a selfish fool, but she was merely the monster Eva’s envy and Regina’s own rage had created. That’s why Regina no longer wasted time on her. But all the torture of her childhood—the hand that ripped out Daniel’s heart—was the work of the beast before her.  

"Zelena ruined my chance before she was even born," Cora continued, as casually as watering plants. "A gardener’s daughter could never achieve greatness. Not like you, Regina."  

Leopold’s abuse, Rumple’s manipulations, the war, nights haunted by Daniel’s lifeless body cooling in her arms, flinching at the creak of leather...  

"Greatness? There wasn’t a second of my marriage to Leopold when I wasn’t miserable," Regina retorted.  

"And that fueled your spectacular magic," Cora’s voice twisted with perverse pride. "You became Misthaven’s greatest conqueror. You terrified those stupid fairies. You have extraordinary power, dear. Free me, and together we’ll reclaim your throne."

What a throne—built on death, toppled like the temples she’d destroyed.

"I don’t need a throne, Mother."

What use was it now?

"Of course you do, Regina. That’s why you’re my legacy."  

Her legacy. So that’s what this was all about. The Evil Queen was the stain Cora intended to leave on the earth. The pain it took to create her didn’t matter—only the result. What would this arrogant woman think of her "magnificent legacy" when Regina couldn’t leave her bed in a few months? The spectacular creation of a woman who despised weakness wouldn’t even be able to use the bathroom unassisted. Would anyone tell Cora when it happened? For some twisted reason, dying before her felt like true vengeance. By the time that wretched woman rotted in her moldy cell, her "glorious legacy" would have long ceased to exist. 

"Archie, we’re done here."

Regina rose and left without looking back.  

***

The friends’ update breakfast shifted to lunch, but no one touched their chiles rellenos.  

"Now that my heart has joined the cocktail of ingredients Zelena’s desperately hunting, the list of possible spells has narrowed considerably," Regina said, her hands trembling as she held her fork—though Archie knew it was rage this time. "According to Miss French’s treatise on time travel, she intends to return to the past. If the prisoner’s story was even 10% truth and 90% manipulation, she plans to prevent Eva’s interference in Cora and Leopold’s marriage." 

Fred stopped toying with his rice, stunned.

"The same Leopold...?"

"Yes."

"Ew," Kathryn shuddered.  

"So that’s what she meant by ‘taking everything from you’? She wants to steal your life?" Archie tried to grasp the logic.  

"Technically, she’d be stealing Snow’s life—as the spoiled daughter of that old man," Regina clarified, cutting a portion she wouldn’t eat. "But in her mind? Yes, she’d be stealing my destiny as the daughter Cora kept." Then, in a tone that betrayed her exhaustion, she added: "If not for Henry and Emma, I’d be tempted to let her."  

What would that marriage mean? Snow would never exist unless Leopold had an affair. Emma and Henry would be erased. And unless Cora also had an affair with the ever-proper Prince Henry of the South, Regina wouldn’t exist either. The Dark Curse? Never cast.  

"What do we do now, Regina?" Fred asked, lost.  

"It’s time to put Emma on the right trail," she announced, dropping her utensils in frustration.  

"Should I bring her here now?" Kathryn offered, fumbling for her napkin.  

"No rush," Regina said, her voice calculating. "Zelena went hunting for my heart the moment she beat me at the clock tower. Something tells me she’s in a hurry—perhaps waiting for an astrological event to empower her spell." A faint, weary smile touched her lips. "Let’s seize the narrative. Hit the brakes. Without my heart, a symbol of wisdom, or a child with pure innocence, she’s powerless." She pushed her plate away. "And I truly need another nap."

Chapter 18: Sempre libera degg'io/Folleggiar di gioia in gioia

The next day, better rested and with more energy, Regina studied the reproduction of Hans Holbein the Younger's engraving The Empress on her study wall. She sat in her favorite armchair while her copy of Fabio Glissenti's Discorsi Morali contra il dispiacer del morire lay ignored on her lap. Smoke from her cigar spiraled upward, but her mind wandered back to the cave where her mother waited regally on her stool. The queen disliked the weight of being such a woman's legacy.

"Do you think I'm like Cora?" she asked Kathryn, who had just entered the study with her briefcase.

Kathryn had suffered an anxiety attack before leaving home, knowing what she had to do here. She wasn't ready for such questions but answered as best she could.

"Did you sell Henry off to a crowned pig you were previously engaged to?"

"Not yet."

"Then not yet."

Regina closed her book with a pout, then noticed her friend's anguished expression.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to, Kath. I can have the notary send someone from New York."

"Good luck to those New Yorkers trying to find Storybrooke. No. Any modifications you have in mind for your will, I can handle." The mayor set her things on the desk while Regina remained in her leather chair. The Dance of Death in the engraving hadn't changed since her last visit, but she supposed she had the right to look away too.

"Should you be smoking?" Kathryn asked, rummaging in her briefcase for her favorite pen. She used that soft tone reserved for moments when she didn’t want to sound like a mayor or a worried friend, but like someone bracing for a painful answer.

Regina exhaled slowly, smoke tracing imperfect lines against the window light.

"Quit smoking?" she repeated with a dry smile. "Have you tried it?"

She took another slow, precise drag.

"Before, I might have believed I could quit opium. And I'm not willing to quit either. It's not worth it anymore. Besides, tobacco helps me think, and I have much to think about."

Kathryn didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Regina didn’t look at her. The cigar burned like a small torch between her bony fingers. Perhaps a way to hold on, or to not let go entirely.

"Alright," the mayor began with a sigh. "Obviously everything goes to Henry, right?"

Regina nodded. She stood and went straight to the bookshelf, placing the book in an empty space before searching for another with her eyes. She still avoided facing Kathryn directly, who also kept her eyes fixed on her paper.

"Yes, the money," she confirmed. "There’s still far too much. I could maintain this spendthrift lifestyle until 2250. I made good investments since the 80s," she remarked, almost proud. Then her tone darkened. "But the house will fall apart again when I die. The vault and apple tree protections will vanish, and the Benz will be as crushed as I found it in the garage." The sound of the pen stopped. The socialite clarified: "A witch’s spells fade when she dies. It’s one of magic’s many prices."

Another heartfelt sigh from Kathryn. Regina didn’t care; she could take as many as needed.

"And what will happen to Storybrooke?" Kathryn asked, her voice controlled—the mayor’s tone. The queen knew the more diplomatic her friend sounded, the harder this was for her. This was a terrible idea, but now that they’d started, it was best to continue.

"The design is mine and Rumple’s," Regina explained. "But I didn’t cast it this time. Everything should be fine." Silence. Then the sound of pen on paper resumed. Regina took another deep drag (it was a very good cigar). "Anyway, back to Henry. There’s a solid college fund plus a trust. The rest of the fortune will be his at 25. The gold can dazzle a boy easily; I don’t want it happening too soon."

The former mayor turned around, the book she sought—COPLAS DE DON JORGE MANRIQUE POR LA MUERTE DE SU PADRE—finally in her hands. Kathryn seemed overwhelmed for a moment.

"Regina, how does one keep the weight of dying in secret from crushing them?" Her politician facade slipped.

"Until a few weeks ago, there was no one to defend the secret," Regina rationalized. "And holding grudges helps a lot."

Faced with Kathryn’s thick, pensive silence, the elegant woman added softly, delicately, without condescension:

"That’s what the thanatologist is for. You should speak with him too—he sees friends of the dying and recent grievers."

"Storybrooke doesn’t have a thanatologist," Kathryn countered. "I doubt our regular psychiatrist counts. His doctorate came with the curse."

"That’s why I’ll ensure everyone can leave town safely when the barrier falls," Regina stated with determination. Kathryn was almost relieved this small obsession kept her friend’s mind distracted—until Regina added: "Look at my poor court, Kathryn. I took them from their homes and brainwashed them with pleasures to make them loyal to me. Now they’re here, rejected by other citizens. I owe them freedom—to see the world I’ve seen. And I want you and Fred to see it too. That’s why I’m leaving a significant sum for both of you, to travel when your mayoral term ends."

Yes, this was definitely more than the mayor could bear.

"Regina, I don’t want your money," Kathryn’s voice faltered.

What I want is for you not to leave.

"It’s not like I can take it with me, dear," Regina joked. "And Henry doesn’t need all of it."

Regina placed the book on the desk and pointed to a passage for Kathryn to read. It was in Old Spanish, but Kathryn understood enough:

Nuestras vidas son los ríos  
que van a dar en la mar,  
qu'es el morir;  
[…]  
allí los ríos caudales,  
allí los otros medianos  
e más chicos,  
allegados, son iguales

"The gravedigger at Père-Lachaise knows this must be the epitaph, but ensure someone verifies it’s there."

Kathryn set down the pen and looked away but nodded, taking the book to store with her things.

"I have a dilemma regarding Henry," Regina said carefully. "I know he wants to reconnect, but I don’t know if it will hurt him more. Should I let him near the dying flame, even if he’s destined to get burned? Should I seize the chance to leave him good memories while I can?"

"Despite his flaws, Henry loves you, Regina. There’s no way you can change that."

The queen reacted as if slapped. She’d almost preferred the opposite.

"Then I suppose I must use the strategy of the last 6 years: yield to indulgence."

For the first time, Kathryn accepted one of Regina’s offered cigars. Both smoked in silence until the mayor had to leave.

***

Lucio and Julio had just discovered Spotify and stumbled upon a Mexican alternative playlist. For some reason, they decided the whole neighborhood needed to know. After Kathryn left, Regina sat on her back porch listening to the music and continuing to smoke.

No es que no te quiera  
Es que te necesito lejos  
Pues es cuando estás lejos  
Que yo más te quiero, corazón.

Wow. Sor Juana actually had a sonnet that explained it well. It was paradoxical, yet precisely captured her feelings toward Miss Swan. A week before her abduction, Regina had been discharged from her latest health crisis. Had her kidnappers infiltrated her apartment then, they’d have found her curled in the armchair by the window, covering her IV bruises with Emma’s ugly coat. It was all she had left of her.

It wasn’t about the implicit magic of the True Love bond they shared—it couldn’t be, in a magicless world. It was about the conscious decision that started everything behind it. Now Emma patrolled past her house daily, stopping for minutes pretending to check maps when Regina knew perfectly well she was searching for traces of Zelena. Regina felt like strangling her—though not in the sexy way.

The beats of Hello Seahorse! couldn’t mask the sound of boots on her gravel path. Today was the day Kathryn had finally sent the Savior over with some pretext. Regina flicked ash with an elegant wrist movement and took a deep drag, the embers burning like a beacon for the navigator approaching.

"Hi, Regina. You look surprisingly good for having major surgery just days ago."

Emma wore her typical red leather jacket over a white t-shirt. The Sheriff’s badge Regina herself had given her shone on her belt. The blonde stopped halfway up the gravel path, looking up at her interlocutor still on the porch.

"It’s not a true witch’s style to be ill, Miss Swan," Regina replied with dry irony, as if telling a joke only she understood.

"Mayor Midas said your garden’s overrun with gnomes," Swan commented, revealing her excuse for invading the yard. "Need a spell? I’m sure you can handle it yourself."

"And you’re right—I already did," Regina replied with just enough petulance to annoy Emma. "Kathryn worries too much. Her job’s horrible; I don’t blame her for seeing a potential crisis in everything."

"Then I guess I should go," Emma turned but mustered courage. "I know I handled things badly. I’d like a chance to fix it, but I can’t do it alone. It’d be nice if you helped with this problem, you know? You’re the most competent and powerful sorceress in town."

Regina smiled—one of those calculated political smiles Emma liked to erase with a kiss.

"I’m not a hero, Miss Swan. And don’t try playing the guilt card."

No, that path would never work with her. Emma wouldn’t even consider disrespecting her like that again. There was something about Regina’s careless pose, the relaxed way she held her cigar. She enjoyed seeing Emma flustered and didn’t bother hiding it.

"I know you’re researching how to bring down the barrier," Emma accused, recalling Regina’s earlier feigned refusal to help. Maybe she could do the same for the rest of the curse if she was in a hurry.

"That serves my own interests," Regina pointed out.

"Do you at least have a lead on breaking the curse?" Before Regina could refuse again, Emma added: "Advice to an old acquaintance isn’t a big ask."

The streetlights flickered on, reflecting in Regina’s dark sunglasses. Emma felt a wild urge to rip them off and kiss her madly but sensed her advances wouldn’t be welcome.

Finally, the former mayor took pity:

"Well, dear, have you tried looking for the Savior?"

This disoriented Emma.

"WHAT?"

"The Savior, Miss Swan. Must I spell it for you?"

Regina took another drag and exhaled with satisfaction. Emma had never seen her smoke this much since her return. Pre-curse, she barely touched one occasionally and always hid it from Henry.

"Regina, what are you talking about? I AM THE SAVIOR."

Hm. The poor woman said it like it was fundamental to her identity. A pity Regina had to shatter her illusions for efficiency. If Emma broke this curse, the barrier might revert to Regina’s original spell.

"No, you are a savior, not THE Savior," Regina explained. "At least not this time."

Emma was even more lost.

"Explain."

With a calculated sigh, the queen explained: A machine as finely designed as the Dark Curse couldn’t be undone by something as mundane as True Love’s Kiss. It would’ve been idiotic if Snow had kissed David two days after arriving and broken the curse. True Love *is* the most powerful magic—near impossible to curse... like a master key opening any lock... unless you forge a stronger lock. The Dark Curse was exactly that—a lock requiring very specific keys: True Love, yes, but *only* the True Love of a Savior and a True Believer—two unique keys the curse itself creates.

"Let me get this straight. The curse is a lock opened by a specific key. Henry and I were that key."

"Yes. The key to my curse. This new curse will have chosen others to break it. Another Savior. Another Believer."

Contrary to Regina’s expectation, Emma didn’t seem conflicted about not being the eternal messiah. She looked relieved, as if the world’s weight had been on her shoulders unnoticed. Maybe she no longer wanted the role. Maybe she just wanted to be Emma—as Regina had always seen her.

"Any idea where to start? Know any other kid born to parents who love each other… a whole lot?"

"No idea, Miss Swan. That Jonathan Whale seems promising. I hear he pranks his father daily, but having not set foot in Storybrooke for 6 years, I won’t comment." Regina stood. "Now, I have errands to run, if you don’t mind. Shoo, anda," she shooed Emma away like a stray puppy. "Go find your new Chosen One."

Regina went back inside and slammed the door. Emma lingered, deep in thought, for a good 15 minutes before leaving the way she came.

Chapter 19: Ridi, Pagliaccio, e ognun applaudirà

The council meeting was scheduled for 10:00 AM, but as usual, school board representative Mary Margaret Nolan arrived late. Fred had just dropped his wife off at City Hall after breakfast with Regina. Despite having no real updates on the curse or barrier plan, their lunches had become a habit. On days without news, the queen filled conversations with tales of her global adventures: magnificent operas in Paris and Milan, frenetic carnivals in Rio and Rome, massive street performances in Mexico, and bustling ferry rides along Turkey’s Bosphorus. Fred was especially captivated by stories of historic castle ruins, bastions, and walls—cornerstones of his knightly life in the Enchanted Forest, now mere curiosities in this new world. Yet the socialite made no promises to take them, knowing she might not live to fulfill them. 

The Chamber of Commerce rep tapped his leg impatiently; the Farmers' Society president frowned while scribbling notes; the Head of Sanitation checked his watch every two minutes; and Sheriff Swan seemed ready to doze off from lethal boredom-fatigue. If Snow was five minutes later, the session would dissolve without resolutions—a waste of time, and Storybrooke’s mayor despised little more than wasted time. 

City Infrastructure Advisor Michael Herman was about to leave when Mary Margaret appeared, flushed from haste. Attendees straightened in their seats, eager to finish. Agenda items progressed smoothly until Herman addressed Main Street’s witch-fight damages: "Repairs will consume 40% of our annual budget. I’ve prepared a cuts plan to last until fiscal year’s start."

He moved to distribute copies, but Kathryn interrupted: "We appreciate your dedication, Councilman Herman, but citizen Regina Mills has made a significant donation to cover repairs." 

Herman nodded, visibly relieved. Emma looked up from her notepad doodles at Regina’s name. Mary Margaret’s lips tightened into a line, meeting her daughter’s gaze—Emma immediately looked away, jaw clenched. Two other councilors shifted uncomfortably, but predictably, Snow spoke:

"Is it prudent to accept the Evil Queen’s money? Wouldn’t that invite her interference in municipal affairs again?"

Kathryn’s resentment toward Snow was no secret, so her glare surprised no one.

"Mayor Midas," interjected Treasurer Lady Tremaine, "what are ex-Mayor Mills’ intentions with this donation?"

Neither the Farmers' president nor Snow hid their flinch at Regina’s former title.

"Per her statement, the amount equals a cognac bottle she can’t enjoy for health reasons," Kathryn replied with a dismissive wrist flick. "Storybrooke can use it better. The paperwork is flawless. A private citizen donating to their community isn’t illegal."

Tension thickened the room. All sensed a repeat of the meeting that had first approved seeking Regina’s help—hopefully without fists flying this time.

"The Mayor is right," declared Legal Advisor Albert Spencer. "Regina maintains residency here, and her taxes arrive punctually—even back taxes somehow cleared. Her donation violates no laws."

Snow’s cheeks flushed. Of course Tremaine, Spencer, and Herman would side with Regina—they were villains like her. But she’d expected better from Kathryn, always a fair leader.

"Pardon, but some citizens expressed concern about Regina Mills’ closeness to our Mayor. We wouldn’t want poor associations tarnishing Storybrooke’s government reputation."

Kathryn slammed her pen down and stood abruptly, furious.

"I don’t know who gave you that impression, but I am not town property. My associations are my business alone. Anyone with issues can expect my resignation on their desk by tonight!

The Mayor’s outrage further enraged Snow but drew a smug smile from Spencer and poorly hidden glee from Swan.

"No need for such temper, Madam Mayor," Tremaine soothed. "You’re entirely right."

This displeased the Farmers' president.

"But the fairies’ religious authority—"

"—Has no place in this government," Kathryn stated firmly. "A few’s religious views won’t rule all. If fairies have issues with american citizen Regina Mills’ activities, they may report them to proper authorities—provided they violate penal code."

"Preferably with reliable evidence," Spencer added drily. "None wish to recall the… turbulent mechanisms that cost this town its previous mayor."

A direct warning to Snow. 

"Councilman Spencer is right," Emma spoke for the first time. "The Sheriff’s Department acknowledges its unprofessionalism disregarding due process against ex-Mayor Mills. Since this council rejected my resignation then, and Regina’s donation’s legality is confirmed, can we proceed?"

The teacher glared at her daughter with mingled resentment and longing. Swan looked away, resuming her doodles.

"The agenda is complete," announced Kathryn’s secretary, Drizella Tremaine.

"I declare this council session adjourned."

Snow White bolted from her seat without a backward glance.  

***  

Winds whipping the forests heralded autumn’s approach. Ruby tread through leaf litter, crossbow ready; Mulan swept the area 20 feet away with a longsword; Emma closed their triangle, gripping her revolver like her life depended on it—which it did. Capturing a flying monkey that could turn you into one with a scratch was no easy task, and no one believed growing wings was painless.

Dwarves approached from the forest’s other side, tightening a circle around a trap holding one of Zelena’s primate minions. They weren’t pleased with the Sheriff, viewing her wounded loyalty to her mother as abhorrent—much like her past affiliation with the Evil Queen. Tensions had simmered since they’d let their hero into Regina’s hospital room. Fred Midas was as furious with the Sheriff’s Department as Kathryn herself, and a lawsuit threat already sat on the Charmings’ counter.

Underbrush was damp—every hunter’s pants would be soaked by day’s end—but it wouldn’t matter if they finally caught one of those infernal creatures.

"Hey, Em," Ruby half-shouted. "Did you talk to Snow about the council meeting?"

The blonde debated pretending not to hear or answering honestly.

"You know I don’t speak to Snow anymore, Rubes."

"The werewolf nodded, adjusted her crossbow grip, kicked stones, and stayed on course.

"I know your mom can be an idiot sometimes, Emma, but you must understand—being hunted by Regina was no joke in the Enchanted Forest. That kind of trauma leaves… marks."

Emma’s jaw clenched again—she’d need to ask the dentist about bruxism soon.

"Regina wouldn’t even be here if not for me. She made it clear Storybrooke’s government doesn’t interest her. Not everything in her life revolves around my mother."

Monkey shrieks grew nearer—it had likely fallen into the white-magic trap Emma spent weeks crafting.

"No," added Mulan, straining to hear gossip from 40 feet away. "Now she revolves around wild parties, smoking like a chimney, and drinking cognac so expensive half a dozen bottles could buy Storybrooke."

Ruby spotted dwarves approaching with pickaxes through the trees. At the center, trapped against a sturdy fir, a monkey writhed.

"She doesn’t drink anymore—Kath said it mixes poorly with pain meds," Ruby commented, loading fairy-enchanted arrows.

"Not sure. Regina strikes me as someone who’d enjoy the journey of combining those two," Mulan hinted, watching Swan’s reaction. Emma needed to accept the woman she loved had changed.

"Can we stop discussing my ex?" Emma snapped. "We’re here for a monkey, for god’s sake!"

As if hearing, the creature shrieked sharply.

"Ah, right. Emma doesn’t like anyone badmouthing her megalomaniacal despot."

"Ex-megalomaniacal despot."

The circle closed around the trapped monkey. It shrieked and thrashed but couldn’t break free. Ruby fired her arrows; Zelena’s simian lieutenant stilled under the net.

"Take it to the fairies’ prepared cave. Someone call Mayor Midas."

***  

Regina reviewed tax forms at Kathryn’s request. This cursed town couldn’t produce a functional citizen if their lives depended on it. She sipped amber cider on her back porch, but the drink turned to clear water upon touching her lips. A Count of Monte Cristo fragment surfaced: "Those who drink plain water are men of ill intent—proof being Noah’s Flood." 

The garden gate screeched open—unchanged for 30 years. Regina glanced up, expecting the gardener her court would send for that evening’s barbecue. Henry appeared on the gravel path instead.

"Hi, Mom. Lucio said you needed a gardener."

She froze, unsure how to respond. Regina hadn’t decided about the boy. She wanted indulgence but refused to be the selfish woman who’d destroyed a continent over obsession.

"And you are one?"

"Emma says we need to save for college."

Regina nodded thoughtfully. Work would give him perspective—structure every teen needed.

"My mower’s broken. Know how to use a scythe?"

The boy nodded hopefully.

"Scythes always remind me of that skeleton card from the game we played when I was little. Remember?"

"Death, in our lotería," Regina darkened briefly but recovered. "You always spilled corn kernels everywhere."

"My cards never won!"

"Oh, they did—you just missed turns staring at them."

"I swear I’m a better gardener than lotería player. Wouldn’t want gnomes overrunning your barbecue."

Regina nearly said the gnomes were Kathryn’s invention and he should leave. But these moments with Henry were stolen—she had to cherish them.

"The scythe’s in the shed."

Henry worked efficiently for an hour. Grass leveled, tulips weeded, hedges nearly pristine again. During a break, he tried conversation:

"Oh, you wear glasses now."

The socialite smiled wearily.

"Well, after 40, vision fades. I aged, Henry."

She didn’t look a day older. Mr. Gold claimed witches lived long—Henry would have time to find her. Yet she seemed exhausted… and ill.

"What else did I miss?" he whispered timidly.

"Oh, Henry. Nothing worth telling," she dismissed, though her throat tightened. "My travels aren’t interesting to a boy your age."

"I heard you attended Italy’s biggest party, Mom. Your trips sound interesting to anyone. But how you partied isn’t what I want to know."

"No?" Her voice wavered.

"No. I want what matters. How have you been? How did you feel? Even painful things. I want to earn your trust again."

I want to be your son again. I’d give anything for that.

"I don’t think it’s possible," she finally said. "Too much pain stands between us—most mine toward you. I don’t deserve that chance."

And too much pain from me toward you—maybe I don’t deserve it either, Henry thought, heart heavy.

"But at least I can still be your gardener?"

Regina wanted to refuse but lacked strength to push him away. She nodded, slipping glasses back on and focusing on forms. Henry lifted the scythe and trimmed grass near the house as his adoptive mother watched from the corner of her eye.

Notes:

Hi everybody, I know I can be a little pedantic in my writing, so I thought in coment some facts about my writing process in Tumblr. Opera passages on the titles, books references, some medieval art I've seen recently, but most of all: music, because music is always with me and the work flows with the music. Here's the link if you are interested, or you can find me as mpskyfall. https://www.tumblr.com/mpskyfall?source=share

Chapter 20: Ben diceste le cure segrete/ Fuga sempre l'amico licor.

The sacred truth about carne asada is this: it’s never a true carne asada without a speaker blasting basslines from old cantina songs: Cardenales de Nuevo León, Los Cadetes de Linares. And beer—Carta Blanca or Corona. The grill must burn charcoal embers (mesquite if possible), fanned with a hat. There must be grilled onions, some sausages, and the meat must’ve been seasoned the day before. If it ends in drunkenness? Even better. A variety of salsas is essential—verde, roja, and guacamole. Pico de gallo absolutely must have serrano chiles.

Regina had witnessed the art of carne asada during her sabbatical from the curse in Zacatecas, along with callejoneadas and the Morismas de Bracho. To her, these traditions were little more than cults to drunkenness. The queen had no idea where to find a donkey trained to transport mezcal, and Storybrooke lacked both tamborazos and street performers. The only tradition she could recreate in her backyard was the carne asada, and her court seemed to relish it immensely.

What she’d loved about Zacatecas was how unlike Storybrooke it felt—a town frozen with 1982’s technology and architecture. Founded in 1546, Zacatecas was older than the entire country where Storybrooke now sat, and the nearest sea was nearly 600 kilometers away—kilometers, mind you; they didn’t measure distance in footsteps. During that time, she’d lived unnoticed, working for a small law firm. No one knew her; she was just "doña Regina," living in an ordinary house near the Calderón Theater. No one feared her, nor did they flatter her due to the curse’s invisible strings. It was the most peaceful period she’d ever known, and had her neighbors not eventually noticed she wasn’t aging (thanks to the unbroken curse), she’d have stayed forever.

The socialite wasn’t enjoying herself as much as she’d hoped. How could she listen to Los Cardenales de Nuevo León and resist the alcoholic thirst those songs awakened in any rational human? And then the lyrics grew painfully personal:

No fue suficiente besar otra boca
Busque mil amantes pa' olvidar tu amor
No fue suficiente tomarme una copa
Compre una cantina para ahogar tu adiós

Aunque presiento que jamás voy a olvidarte
Ni llorándote el resto de mi vida
Ni comiéndome a besos mil amantes
Ni tomándome toda mi cantina

"Lucio! Can you change the song?"

"Of course, Your Majesty."

Los Cadetes de Linares, Un viejo amor:

Que un viejo amor
No se olvida ni se deja
Que un viejo amor
De nuestra alma sí se aleja
Pero nunca dice adiós
Un viejo amor

Well, that wasn’t helping either. Regina was about to retreat indoors for peace when Julio handed her a styrofoam plate piled with meat fresh off the grill and an authentic mexican glass-bottled Coca-Cola. Henry, swept up by the party crowd, sat in a corner watching Kathryn and Fred embarrass themselves attempting norteño dancing. The professor even wore a black Texan hat (likely beaver) on his head.

Whenever Regina doubted her mothering instincts, she’d ask: What would Cora do? Then do the opposite. In this situation, Cora would’ve prioritized herself, consequences be damned. The opposite approach wasn’t simple—no matter what she did, Henry would get burned. A middle ground, perhaps?

Lucio, clearly intoxicated, pulled Julio away from the grill and onto the dance floor. In Storybrooke, they weren’t a count or a duke—just two young men free to love whomever they chose. In Misthaven, historians might’ve called them "close friends" or "roommates." Here, their love was legal, and they refused to hide it any longer.

The only downside? Now the meat would burn.

Inspired by their heartfelt moment, Regina decided to take the first step. She couldn’t give much—nothing was left—but she’d try while time remained.

"Hey, Henry. Here, eat."

Regina handed him her untouched plate. Plenty more meat sizzled (if they could find another griller), and she wasn’t hungry. Clara—once a baroness, now vivacious—passed by with warm corn tortillas; Regina swiped a few for the boy.

"Not spicy yet, right?" he asked, surprised by her sudden attention.

"I thought I raised you better than that." Regina frowned.

"Well, yeah," he conceded. "But you always go for salsa verde, and I always preferred roja."

"I’d be the worst boss you’ve had if I dictated your salsa choice," she joked, forcing levity.

"My boss, sure." The title clearly displeased him.

Regina took a deep breath, steeling herself. It hurt less than yesterday.

"Listen, Henry," she began calmly. "I think we must accept we failed each other as mother and son. I’m deeply sorry."

"I swear I am too."

"Good," she replied with measured warmth. "Feeling it matters. But we must acknowledge other truths. You have your new family, and I have… a tight schedule."

"You’ll leave the moment the barrier falls." No accusation—just fact. Yet sadness tinged his voice.

"Yes," she admitted, unable to reveal she was going much farther than he imagined. "That doesn’t mean we can’t try something else in the meantime."

"Something else?"

"We could be… a kind of friends?"

"Friends?"

"You don’t want to?" Desperation threatened to crack her voice.

"I do!" His enthusiasm made Regina nearly spill her soda.

"Good."

Alfredo and Carmen—viscount and viscountess—collapsed mid-dance, drunk to the bone, laughing hysterically.

"This isn’t as fun sober," Regina lamented.

"It’ll pass," Henry comforted. "I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself after Zelena’s attack."

Regina didn’t respond, already regretting her vulnerability. She bit into a plain tortilla. Not from hunger. Just to stay in that moment a little longer.

Kathryn stepped away to take a call, then whispered to her host:

"Your monkey’s ready. We can slip away tonight, after el grito de Dolores."

Regina stood immediately to excuse herself—but Henry had frozen mid-bite. Petrified. Just like at Granny’s. All her guests were statues. The hairs on Regina’s neck rose as she recognized the magic that had shattered her ribs days prior.

Zelena sat calmly at Regina’s study desk. Rumple wasn’t visible, but his presence lingered like smoke.

"What are you doing here?" Regina demanded.

"Scouting my future office," Zelena said breezily. "So many plans, Regina. Really? Horses and vinyl? No wonder you’re Mother’s disappointment."

Being Cora’s disappointment wasn’t tragic—but Regina’s last prison visit suggested otherwise. Had Cora been whispering in Zelena’s ear? Something to investigate later. For now, provocation:

"I’m the disappointment, and you’re the abandoned one. Ironic, isn’t it?"

The Wicked Witch seemed wiser now; letting Regina bait her clouded her goal.

"I’ve been studying this world’s tools," she stated coldly. "Your illness is… painful, little sister. Debilitating. Humiliating. If you remember your own name in your final drugged haze, it’ll be a miracle. You should thank me. Never being born is a gift compared to that."

Regina knew every word was true. She wouldn’t give Zelena the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Where’s the fun in that?"

"Join me, and we’ll rewrite history as we please," Zelena offered—not to destroy, but to seduce. Classic villainy: poison wrapped in honey. "We’ll ensure you never tangled with Rumple and his magic. Perhaps you’d never fall ill. You’d keep your money and your… distractions. You’d never know I existed."

The silence that followed might’ve frozen birds mid-flight. Regina drained her soda, set the bottle on the desk, and pulled a cigar from the box near Zelena’s gloved hand.

"Tempting," she admitted, lighting it. "But there’s always a price. I’m unwilling to pay one that high."

Zelena smirked and took a cigar.

"To your health, then, sister." She toyed with it, then vanished in green smoke.

As before, Regina freed everyone with a snap, hoping no one noticed this time. Her phone rang insistently—How does Swan always call at the worst moments?

She answered after the fourth drag, smoke still curling from her lips.

"Miss Swan. I’m asking for the last time: delete my number."

Mentally, she reviewed blood-magic protections needing renewal.

"Regina? Listen, we’re short on time. Does your research require a magic sample from the monkeys?"

"Why would I tell you that?"

"The Mayor’s council is watching her like hawks since her public support of you. She’ll have no choice but to hand the monkey to the fairies once I deliver it. If you need the sample, your best shot is while it’s still in my custody."

Truthfully, Regina’s setup since Kathryn’s first visit gave her full access. But this was a perfect chance to sleep early—rest was vital for the healing magic still mending her ribs.

"Why are you doing this, Swan? Won’t Mommy dearest be furious?" A century wouldn’t make her trust Emma easily.

"I’m trying to undo what I did," Emma replied, almost shy. "The kidnapping was beyond rude. I’m truly sorry."

Silence. Regina wasn’t sure she’d heard right.

"Emma Swan apologizing. This must be the strangest day of my life."

Understatement of the year.

"C’mon, Regina. Get your ass here before the Midases arrive."

"I’ll handle the Midases," Regina assured calmly. "There’s a six-pack of Carta Blanca with Kathryn’s name on it, and my court won’t let her leave until she drinks it."

"You’re the only person I know who can get our mayor that drunk."

"Ha! You should’ve seen her at her engagement party to your father! Midas couldn’t show his face for six months after."

Regina couldn’t see her, but she knew Swan was smiling. It reminded her how much joy that would’ve once brought her—if things between them hadn’t ended as they did. There was a time when Emma’s smile would’ve lit up her world, even on a day this exhausting.

"I’m on my way," she stated instead, all bureaucratic coolness.

And hung up.

Notes:

I must confess that if I knew how to edit, I’d flood the internet with SwanQueen edits set to opera arias and regional Mexican songs. No middle point. But since my talents lie elsewhere, here’s a Regina who loves Zacatecas almost as much as I do. p.s. Carta Blanca tastes poorly, and we take it in the carne asada just because the tradition said it. I feel very bad for Kathryn in that matter.

Chapter 21: e fidente credeva /più che in Dio stesso, in te !

Notes:

Hello, I'm really sorry for disappearing. Even though I was fully vaccinated—like the rest of my family—I caught chickenpox, and I started showing symptoms on Sunday. I have a perfectly decent writing schedule from midnight to 4 a.m., but I’ve had a fever and chills these past few days. It looks like I won’t have a fever today, so I wrote this chapter to distract myself from the itching. If it turns out a bit tearful, you can blame the irresponsible person (whom I don't know) who didn't vaccinate their children and started this whole damn outbreak, as well as the stupid colonizer who brought this ridiculous disease to the continent. I’d send hugs to you, my readers, but I’m still contagious.

I wanna buy you roses
'Cause the words are dead,
Follow in the blindness
On the arrow head
'Cause the words are dead
And you know it
Yeah the words are dead
Lower them down

—"Words Are Dead", Agnes Obel, 2013

Storybrooke, Maine – Four months before the Dark Curse broke.

Getting the ever-responsible Madam Mayor out of her office was always a challenge, but this was one of those rare summer days when the weather was truly nice, and Emma wanted a day alone with Regina. Of course, the woman didn't allow herself to be convinced until the last item on her to-do list had been signed and filed into the correct tray. Henry had a field day out of school and wouldn't be back at the mansion until after six.

Hate sex was fine. But then acts of service started slipping in here and there, and before they even realized it, they actually began to care about each other. Love sex was much, much better than fine.

Since the Sheriff had been everywhere in town except the beach, she managed to convince her partner to go there with her. Regina had shot her one of those stern looks Emma adored when she suggested going into the ocean—but she still went in with her. Emma had recently discovered she could persuade Regina to do nearly anything if she looked at her a certain way. She tried not to overuse this new superpower, just in case it stopped working, but sometimes, it was simply irresistible. The water, as Regina surely already knew, was freezing, but the blonde slowly got used to it. Clinging to Regina's coat for warmth, she steadied herself as the waves crashed against their bare feet.

There was something Emma really needed to talk about.

"Regina," she began nervously, "I know you have your girlfriend."

"Oh, do I?" Regina raised an eyebrow. Emma loved when she did that. Most of Storybrooke found it intimidating—Emma knew it just meant curiosity.

"Your girlfriend, Maria Callas," she said, like it was obvious. "Who am I to compete with her?"

Regina laughed, genuinely pleased. That unfiltered laugh was another thing the citizens of Storybrooke rarely got to hear—and Emma pitied them for it, because it was the most wonderful sound in the world.

"I'm glad you know your place, Miss Swan," Regina teased. A wave—larger than the rest—threatened to soak them, but they managed to dodge it.

"But I’d be very honored," Emma continued, suddenly serious, "if you let me be the other woman."

Regina studied Emma’s face carefully, searching for any sign this was a joke, too.

"I think I can manage two girlfriends, Miss Swan," she said sarcastically.

"Do I have to share you with the dead woman?"

The mayor returned to her usual seriousness.

"Sometimes you’ll have to share me with the dead stable boy, too. Take it or leave it, Miss Swan."

There were few things from the past Regina let slip, but the most important ones had made their way to Emma’s ears—like why Regina visited the cemetery every Wednesday, though there were never flowers or even a grave for her mother. Henry’s father and Regina’s first love had also eventually come to light.

"Alright," Emma agreed, with all the seriousness she could muster. "But don’t bring your Maria’s music into our bed."

Regina laughed again, and her laughter was all the music Emma would ever need. Whether it was the cold water or the way Regina laughed, Emma’s ribs ached from how much she loved her.

She didn’t know it yet, but in four months, the water would grow colder—and the music... would fade away.

***

The sheriff waited on Mifflin Street, still dressed in the hunting gear she'd put on that morning to track the flying monkey. Henry had left her a message an hour ago letting her know he’d been invited to the cookout. Good—that was an excellent first step. The boy deserved to have his real mom back. He might be sixteen, but almost every formative experience a child should have had was lost in the four years no one remembered. And kids who were emotionally twelve shouldn’t be away from the only maternal figure they really knew.

The socialite stepped out of her house with one of her infamous cigars lit in her left hand, wearing one of her heavy, long tweed coats. Emma knew the weight of the fabric and the way the seams hugged her body comforted Regina—like expensive cloth giving her an embrace. Emma found herself wishing, like she did most days, that she hadn’t lost the right to ask why Regina needed that comfort.

"Where’s the beast, Swan?" Regina asked as soon as she approached.

"We’ve got it drugged in the truck—if you follow me down the alley a few houses down..."

"Last time I was in an alley with you, I ended up kidnapped."

"I thought I was helping you, Regina. I was wrong. And I’ve apologized for that."

"Your apologies are just words. And words are dead."

Emma didn’t know what else to say. She nodded toward the path they needed to take. The smell of tobacco reminded Emma of the night she’d meant to report Regina as a corrupt official—but also of those nights when Henry wasn’t home, and they lit a cigar by the fireplace after... an encounter. Could someone who was still clearly in recovery smoke like that?

Mulan and Ruby stood guard by the truck, their expressions tense. If the fairies—or their boss—caught them in this position, the consequences would be dire. The sheriff’s department couldn’t afford another loss, especially when they were already overwhelmed. Regina gave them a nod; only Ruby returned the greeting politely.

Both women entered the truck. The guards closed the doors to avoid prying eyes. The first thing that caught Regina’s attention was the creature’s visible discomfort, even though it was sedated. Regina knew the feeling well—whatever they'd given it had knocked out its consciousness, but not its pain. She fought back the urge to vomit and focused on taking a few magical samples. Then, recalling the feel of Zelena’s magic in her broken bones and mentally flipping through some transformation spells, she cast a test enchantment and waited.

"You don’t have to do this if it doesn’t work, Regina," Emma said. "After this, I’ll ask the fairies for help."

The woman gave her a sharp look. Was that a joke? Or a genuine declaration? Eventually, she decided Emma Swan was naïve enough to trust the very people who’d once imprisoned her in Storybrooke—assuming her story about the barrier was true.

"If you do that, don’t mention I was involved. We’re not exactly on good terms," Regina warned.

"Why not?"

A mischievous smile spread across Regina’s face.

The monkey stopped trembling. It seemed calmer. She had hoped to reverse the spell entirely, but if she could at least ease the creature’s suffering, that would be enough.

"Hmm. Something about me banning their religion in my kingdom," she admitted. "And when they resisted, I may have started a little genocide against them."

Well, that was the kind of answer you’d expect from the Evil Queen. But Emma had never really known that woman. And genocide seemed… a bit much coming from the same Regina who baked muffins on weekends because Emma liked them.

"Regina..." she said, disapprovingly.

"They started it," she defended herself. "They didn’t acknowledge my legitimate succession."

"Wasn’t it Snow’s father’s kingdom?" Emma asked. Not that she doubted her “legitimacy” (god, were they really talking about medieval royal succession right now?), but she was genuinely curious.

"Sort of," Regina allowed. "Snow’s father annexed my grandfather’s kingdom. As his last living descendant, after my father, I claimed my birthright... and then annexed my dead husband’s territories too. All legal."

There was Mayor Mills again. The trained lawyer who always adhered to the legality of the written word—even if the morality behind her actions could be a little... murky. Still, genocides were bad.

"Right. This is the part where you say you’ve changed and that you regret it all," Emma joked.

"No, I don’t regret the thing with the fairies."

They could have saved a scared little girl from the monster that was Cora—but chose not to. Regina regretted many of the consequences of her past, but waging war against that self-righteous, hypocritical religion wasn’t one of them.

Emma cleared her throat. She seemed nervous. Regina had a feeling what was coming, but kept her eyes on the sleeping monkey.

"Listen, Regina. I know things didn’t end well between us—and that you think my words don’t matter, that only my actions should—but I will act. Starting with this monkey. And when I find the new Savior, the first thing I’ll do is make sure the barrier falls. I’ll never make another decision for you."

A green aura began to surround the monkey. Regina looked at Emma, unable to hide what she truly felt any longer.

"It’s not just about the barrier, Swan. I know you want another chance. You think we can go back to how we were before everything went to hell—but that’s not going to happen."

Emma closed her eyes and stepped back.

"How do you know?" the sheriff whispered.

"Because—even though life changed me a lot in the last six years—you haven’t changed at all, Emma," Regina said with resignation. "You’re still the same impulsive person who makes decisions without thinking about how they affect others. I want to believe that’s your Charming genes, but deep down I know it’s how you were raised—in a world where it’s eat or be eaten. And I’m truly sorry," she added, her voice finally sounding as tired as she felt. "Not a day went by that I didn’t regret casting that stupid curse—until I adopted Henry. But," she continued, more firmly now, "I feel like no matter how much I regret it, or how hard I suffer, you’re always going to resent me for it."

The aura changed from green to purple.

"That’s not true, Regina," Emma rushed to say. "How could I resent the Dark Curse when it’s what allowed us to be together? What gave us Henry?"

It was a desperate argument—because Regina couldn’t hate anything that had to do with Henry, and Emma knew it. The socialite closed her eyes in distress, her hand drifting unconsciously to her stomach.

"You say that now because you’re cursed too—by the same thing I am. This true love nonsense. I’ve never trusted anyone the way I trusted you, Emma. But maybe we just aren’t what’s best for each other."

Of course Emma’s heart shattered—but she didn’t get a chance to respond.

The monkey suddenly twitched, spun three times, and was engulfed in a cloud of purple magic. When it cleared, a familiar-looking woman stood where the creature had been. Same high cheekbones, same dark eyes, same long hair. The Greek octopus-handed woman Regina had seduced on her last night in New York was, somehow, a flying monkey in Storybrooke.

"Looks like, with or without our help, you would’ve ended up here anyway," Emma said. Her voice was broken—and her gaze even more so.

In a strange way, it made sense. Zelena had seemed convinced that Regina’s heart was the only one that could work for her spell. If her seduction attempt had said anything, it was that she was desperate to get it—by any means.

"You’re still an idiot, Miss Swan," Regina muttered.

And then she knocked on the truck’s door so the deputies would let her out.

***

There weren’t enough staff at the sheriff’s department—or under the fairies’ command—to keep the cave guarded 24/7. And he knew it perfectly. Sometimes, extraordinary situations called for extraordinary measures. He hadn’t been invited to the carne asada—only to the Mexican party afterward. That was the definitive sign he was no longer in the Queen’s inner circle.

There were other matters, too—things his former associate would be interested in discussing.

As always, the prisoner awaited him with the regal posture of a lady. He began with formal greetings and moved on to express his concerns.

"Her Majesty’s ideas were visionary. Ruling in Spanish? Of course. English is a barbaric tongue—it doesn’t distinguish between ser and estar, or between amar and querer. And the Dark Court... the most dangerous political entity with the right guidance. But exile has affected our Queen’s mood in an unfortunately softening way—it’s weakened her heart," the diplomat said, as seductive as ever. "Her interactions with the courtiers make it clear she intends to let them go. We can’t allow that waste, Lady Cora."

Cora smiled, understanding.

"You’re right, dear Néstor."

"Those of us who care for Her Majesty’s legacy must take action—even if she doesn’t fully understand it now, one day, she will."

"I think I can help you with a plan, my dear."

Chapter 22: Quale occhio al mondo/ può star di paro/ all'ardente occhio tuo nero?

Notes:

Hello! I'm feeling a bit better, and I'd rather keep the unfortunate details of the chickenpox to myself. I still get sleepy early, so this update doesn't have all the detail I initially wanted, but if something's missing, we can look at it in a possible future edit. In the meantime, here it is.

“Hi, Emma. You look sad. Want some pozole? You’ll have to take yours without radishes, though.”

It was early in the loft above the Charmings’ apartment. Henry’s worktable was a mess, as if he’d been tinkering with his watch until late after returning from the Mexican party. Emma knew Regina had sent him home early, before the courtiers started provoking the fairies with their obscene fireworks. But apparently, she hadn’t let him leave without a giant pot of pozole.

The sheriff only set foot in the apartment when she was sure Snow wouldn’t be around. Most times, it was to check that Henry wasn’t lying about his whereabouts, that he was eating, or doing his homework. Then she’d go back to one of her endless patrols or take a two-hour nap in one of the station’s holding cells—her only real sleep of the day. When she wasn’t pulling double shifts, she was in Rumple’s library or scouring the municipal records, inspecting birth registries from around the time of the curse.

Even though the boy had put on a convincing act, Emma knew he wasn’t as cheerful as he seemed. And even though the dish's spice was going to wreak havoc on her later, she accepted the pozole to see if she could figure out why Henry looked so tired.

“Regina didn’t work you to death in the garden yesterday, did she?” she asked to make conversation. Normally, he wouldn’t let any jab at her mother slide, but since Regina had let Henry get closer lately, his defenses were relaxed.

Emma grabbed a bowl and served herself some pozole.

“No. But I think after yesterday’s celebrations, her tulips are going to need intensive care. I’ll draft the compost list later.”

Storybrooke’s atmosphere was getting weirder by the day. At first, the court had been a novelty—something that piqued the curiosity of townsfolk not involved in politics. But cultural differences were starting to backfire. The neighborhoods around Mifflin were now constantly full of noise and music, which made the more suburban folks nearby bristle. Spanish wasn’t a huge issue; the town’s schools had intensive programs, and the curse had granted most people basic fluency. What was impossible to reconcile was the courtiers’ unwavering loyalty to Regina—and how quick they were to reach for their weapons if anyone so much as mildly insulted their queen.

What disturbed Storybrooke’s conservative faction the most was that the current mayor lived in Mifflin—and she looked quite comfortable with the situation. That faction, living in the convent’s shadow and represented on the council by Mary Margaret and Thumbelina (president of the Farmer’s Guild), seemed to live only to provoke the courtiers, even though most of them lived on the other side of town.

Then there were folks like the Chamber of Commerce, who kept pushing Kathryn to make sure Regina never left town with her profitable festivals. And the dwarves, who loudly denounced public debauchery—until they were fully immersed in it themselves at the first opportunity. Everyone was fighting all the time. Emma was sick of the chaos. She just wanted her dad to get better, to sleep a full night, and for Henry to stop looking so sad from missing Regina.

“So, are you going to tell me why you’re so down?” the boy asked as he sprinkled a generous amount of oregano over his bowl.

“Kid, that was my line. You totally stole it.”

Emma grabbed a fork from the drawer, eyed it suspiciously, then remembered she was about to eat mostly liquid and went back for a spoon.

“Too bad. I asked first. You didn’t get bitten by the monkey, did you?”

“No, but Kathryn yelled at me for not handing the monkey over. Which was hilarious because she was very drunk. But being an adult means learning you can’t laugh at your boss, even when she’s sloshed.”

“And why didn’t you hand over the monkey?”

“Because your mom turned it back into a person.”

That got the boy’s attention. During most of the carne asada and the Mexican party that followed, Henry had kept a close eye on Regina’s movements and hadn’t noticed her leave, except for one or two bathroom breaks—or so he thought. When had she left to meet Emma and reverse the monkey spell? Did she sneak out of all her parties like that, just like at the rave? Or was it just those two times?

He knew she used events as distractions to keep the foolish fairies occupied, but he had no idea how efficient she was at slipping away. He should’ve noticed. He should’ve pulled her out.

Emma began eating. Lately, Henry rarely saw her have a proper breakfast.

“Did you and Mom fight again? Did she turn you into a rabbit this time?”

He was hoping to get a smile out of her, but only got a sad grimace.

“Regina said nothing between us can ever work because I’ll always resent her.”

Silence. Henry avoided her gaze and stood up. Suddenly, he remembered the pozole would go well with a bit of chopped cabbage.

“Well, don’t rush to contradict her, kid.”

“Emma…”

“So it’s true? You think I’ll never get over my resentment? You think I can’t do it for her?”

“I think you can do it for her.”

“Then...?”

“I don’t think you’ve ever really tried, Emma.”

Emma groped around for her coffee, only to realize she hadn’t poured any yet. Seriously—when was the last time she’d slept?

“Of course I’ve tried. I’ve defended her from Snow, backed her on the council, handed over the monkey, and got yelled at by my boss for it…”

“All I remember is that when the first magazines with those Paris Hilton-style photos came out, you were angry instead of relieved,” Henry said bitterly.

He returned to his worktable and began organizing his tools. The gear he needed wouldn’t be available until he could get a look at Mr. Gold’s stock. Orders from outside Storybrooke weren’t coming through. If Gold didn’t have it, the project would have to be postponed indefinitely.

Emma looked like she was about to explode. And then—

“She looked good, Henry,” Emma burst out, raw and vulnerable. “I was desperate to go out and find her. I felt claustrophobic in this damn prison. I missed her so much. I loved her so much. I cried myself to sleep thinking she was gone. And instead of being dead in a ditch like I imagined a thousand times, she was… fine. She was kissing supermodels, smoking like a chimney, drinking bottles worth the loft’s mortgage. I thought she’d moved on while we were still wrecked over her. I was selfish. I handled it badly. It never occurred to me that maybe she was just as broken as we were...”

She trailed off. Henry didn’t know about the suicide attempt—and he didn’t need to.

“It never occurred to you she might’ve been doing all that to distract herself from how awful she felt?” Henry asked. He wasn’t judging. He genuinely wanted to know if Emma had truly been that blind.

“Well, at that point, denial seemed as good a method as any to distract me from the crippling guilt I’ve felt since the day of the sentencing.”

Henry finished lining up the Bergeon screwdriver set.

“Well, now there’s two of us,” he said with a sigh.

Another silence. Emma’s pozole remained untouched. Another morning without a proper meal.

“You didn’t look as relieved as you think,” the Savior said. Not as an accusation, but because she suspected the reason.

“You know about Pan’s visions,” Henry confirmed. “At that point, just knowing she was alive was a massive win, but…”

“But?” Emma pressed.

“She didn’t look happy, Emma,” he said, almost involuntarily. “And I know, because I remember when I was little, and we were happy together. What I saw in those pictures… didn’t look anything like that.”

“Kid, you should’ve told me.”

“You were too busy throwing jealous tantrums,” he reproached. “And it wasn’t even my biggest concern at the time.”

“Then what was your biggest concern?”

“That’s how one of Pan’s visions starts. One of the worst ones, Emma.”

The sheriff grabbed his cheeks gently and looked him in the eyes.

“The dreams are back, aren’t they?”

“Emma…”

“That’s why you can’t sleep, right?”

How could she know that when she was barely ever around? Why burden herself with this when the whole town was falling apart and she was splitting herself in a hundred pieces to hold it together?

“They’re worse now that Mom’s here. I don’t like the way she looks since she got back to Storybrooke. Or how Fred and Kathryn act around her.”

Emma eyed him suspiciously.

“What do you mean? How are they acting?”

“They’re always with her, Emma—but they don’t let anyone else near her. And they look... they look sad.”

Henry didn’t want to scare Emma with his suspicions. After all, his only proof was a vision from Neverland and a mayor constantly stressed to the edge. Pan was a sadist, but rarely a liar. He’d sworn one of the visions of the Charmings was true—and it was. He’d said the same about Regina. And in the only two visions where she lived extravagantly, she was, she was…

But maybe it was all a trick, right? Maybe that bastard was just messing with them. Emma already had too much on her plate—with his grandfather, the curse, Zelena, and Regina’s latest rejection.

“They’ve been like this since the clock tower incident. Maybe they got scared when Regina actually got hurt.”

Emma wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Henry—or herself. Except... that wasn’t entirely true. Fred and Kathryn had looked drained since the 80s party, before Regina went off to that duel. Did they know she couldn’t win? If so, why hadn’t they stopped her?

Emma didn’t have the full details of Henry’s visions—just that they were very, very bad.

“No, Emma. I talked to them that morning, and they were nervous. Defensive. What if there’s something wrong with Mom and they know it?”

The possibility terrified Emma. She wanted to deny it right away, but she couldn’t ignore how Fred Midas had rushed to block her from visiting Regina in the hospital. But she couldn’t tell Henry that. He already looked too stressed.

“Henry, listen to me. We’re traumatized, okay?” she tried to reason with him. “What happened in Neverland left us in a constant state of panic about the people we love. Pan didn’t threaten us so much as he threatened our loved ones. And who’s the person we love most?”

“Mom. But—”

“Exactly, Henry. Regina. Now that she’s here, we’re remembering how scared we are of losing her. But that doesn’t mean it’s really going to happen, okay? She has her magic. The worst already happened—and that was facing me. Her friends, her court—they won’t let anything bad happen to her. Not even Zelena.”

“But in my vision, it wasn’t Zelena or anything external that pulled her away from us—it was…”

Something in Emma’s paranoid gaze made him stop. Would it be human to steal the last illusion she had left—the one where she could defeat any threat with a gun and her father’s sword?

“It’s fine. You’re right. I think I’m just being paranoid,” the boy relented. “Can you call Archie for me and ask for an appointment?”

“I’ll book one for both of us. And Henry—listen. I know you and Belle are helping with the barrier research and feeding info to Regina. But could you please take a break? Let the adults handle it, okay?”

Henry nodded as he finished organizing his tools. But Emma wasn’t convinced he’d keep that promise.

Chapter 23: Nell'ora del dolore /Perché, perché Signore/ Perché me ne rimuneri così?

“Regina. Regina. Wake up, Regina.”

Kathryn hated waking her friend that Thursday, but Regina had insisted attending Tosca’s premiere was non-negotiable.

Little light filtered through the bedroom curtains that afternoon. The queen slept restlessly, having shed her tailored suit jacket and covered herself with a simple blanket—as usual for post-breakfast naps. But today she seemed disoriented, confused by Kathryn’s presence.

“Hey, are you okay?” Kathryn asked, hand still on her shoulder. “Need oxycodone?”

The socialite seemed even more bewildered by the blunt offer.

“Kathryn, are you dealing drugs now? If money was tight, you should’ve told me. I’d have lent you funds before you resorted to this.”

The mayor startled.

“Regina, you’re scaring me,” she admitted. “I’m calling Dr. Whale. Forget Tosca—we’ll catch the next show.”

Regina shook her head as if finally connecting dots. Yesterday’s carne asada and Independence Day festivities had thrown her mind back to her ’80s Mexico days, but recent memories were resurfacing. Maybe the new painkiller disagreed with her.

“No, no. Tosca,” she recalled. “Storybrooke. Emma kidnapped me, we’re back. And you just offered my oxycodone because I need it for pain now. You’re not a dealer—you’re mayor, and we’re friends again.”

Kathryn nodded gravely, unconvinced.

“Yes. No. We’re definitely not going.”

“No,” Regina insisted. “I was dreaming about the donkey that sells mead in Zacatecas’ historic center—got confused, but I’m fine now. You promised I’d adore Floria Tosca, and we are going.”

Was the donkey delirium or just one of those inexplicably Mexican things?

“You sure?”

“Kathryn, I hate seeing you so frightened,” Regina soothed with a tired smile. Pain shadowed her eyes, but she’d push through. “I’m dying, but not today. I’ve got months left, and Storybrooke’s slowing it down. It’s opera night. This confusion was just a bad opioid trip. I’ve had worse.”

She didn’t wait for approval, rising slowly—pausing to steady herself against dizziness—before disappearing into the bathroom.

***

Emma expected chaos that night. Storybrooke’s opera nights were routine—even she attended—but this university tribute to Regina’s hedonism would provoke fairy extremists. A weapons ban notice meant attendees would be armed. Mulan, despite being full-time sheriff, still liaised with the Merry Men, whom Kathryn hired as private security.

“Regina wasn’t impressed with Robin when I introduced them,” Mulan told Emma. “Thought she liked blondes, but she glanced at him for twenty seconds and went back to discussing tonight’s staging with Fred.”

“Good luck distracting Regina from opera—especially Tosca. Her Maria performed it ninety times, so…”

Emma remained distracted by Henry’s morning visit. Was something really wrong with Regina? She mentally reviewed their encounters: unstable in her NYC apartment (but drunk, she reminded herself), the violent reaction crossing into Storybrooke’s magic, the trembling when she’d turned her into a toad (though her magic felt extraordinarily strong that day—rage tremors, surely). She’d avoided her since, watching from afar as Regina entertained her court between parties. During Zelena’s duel, after freezing Granny’s, she’d seemed normal—acclimated. And at the ’80s party, she’d looked pale, but maybe learning the green witch was her sister explained that. Post-battle fatigue was normal.

“Mulan,” Ruby cut in, “Emma’s ignoring us. She’s miles away.”

“On Mifflin Street, I bet.”

“I’m strategizing how to protect the theater from fairy-fundamentalists,” Emma defended.

Was Regina’s slow acclimation normal? NYC and Storybrooke shared similar climates, and she’d been back two weeks.

“And how do we protect fundamentalists from the court?”

“They’ll be safe if they stick to their boring religion and stay home. No music or alcohol allowed.”

“Duty and practice are different. And we all know courtiers are lethal with knives.”

How could Emma know about Regina’s health when she’d made it clear to stay away, and Fred/Kathryn shared nothing? Maybe Archie—he’d leaked Regina’s secrets before. But this time, she had no pretext. Regina was nothing to her now. That right died with the exile and the kidnapping.

“Fairies know it too. If Thumbelina and Lucio knife-fight again, it’s their problem—I’m not stepping in,” Mulan declared irritably.

No—Archie wouldn’t work. Regina trusted him. Everyone in her life had disappointed her. If Emma needed dishonest intel, it had to come from someone Regina had no expectations of: herself.

“Fine, let them kill each other. This department declares itself unable to contain riots.”

***

Henry wore a rented tuxedo. Without Regina’s limitless funds, he budgeted carefully. On his left wrist: a restored ’90s Seiko 5 with 7S26 movement—his first completed project with Rumple. He knew opera from childhood but rarely saw it live. It hurt too much without Regina. The good news: she’d invited him to her private box. That’s what friends do, right? Plus, it was a big night for another friend. Emma took a million photos before patrol. Even Snow, briefly leaving David’s hospital vigil, snapped a few.

The theater was filling when Emma dropped Henry off. A red-jacketed usher recognized him instantly, guiding him to a side staircase leading to the pre-show champagne toast. Henry didn’t expect tension so soon. A pianist played cheerful pieces; attendees nibbled hors d'oeuvres nervously. In a corner, Regina in an elegant red gown argued heatedly with Jefferson. No sign of the singers—likely dressing backstage. Archie pulled Henry aside before he could investigate.

“Henry! First Tosca?”

“I owe you no favors, Jefferson. Think I forgot Daniel? Or you kidnapping Emma?” Regina’s voice cut through the murmur.

“Ah, yes. My first live Tosca. So excited for Grace.”

Archie nodded, more anxious.

“I don’t care what you remember! You’ve no right suggesting Grace attend conservatory outside Storybrooke!”

Jefferson’s retort echoed.

“She’ll do great tonight. Generous of the company to let her sing so young.”

“The company’s lucky she agreed.”

“You can’t trap that girl’s talent in this decaying hole because you’re scared to let her go!”

Archie stirred his drink. Henry checked his watch. Fred and Kathryn approached, unsure what to say.

“Funny, Regina. I’ll take no parenting advice from the woman whose son replaced her with his new-found extended family.”

Henry froze. Is that how the town saw it? How Regina saw it? A micro-tremor shook the theater. Jefferson’s glass shattered.

Miraculously, the second-call bell rang. Kathryn seized Regina’s hand, dragging her to the box with Fred close behind. Archie guided Henry there too. The night hadn’t started and already felt awful.

Archie left before the show, patting Henry’s back. No one mentioned Jefferson. They just settled into plush seats, closing the aisle doors. Regina discussed the theater’s architectural inspirations with Kathryn, her favorite Tosca performances at La Scala. She only dared glance at Henry at final call, asking if he was comfortable. When lights dimmed and the curtain rose, the theater’s murmur dissolved like a collective sigh. Opera was sacred here.

The overture’s tense, elegant notes began. The tenor playing Mario Cavaradossi appeared to paint his fictional church mural.

“You sure this man will make me cry with E lucevan le stelle?” Regina whispered.

“Trust the process.”

Act I, Scene 6: Grace entered, singing “Mario! Mario!...Son qui!” as if born for it. Her blue, caped dress flowed with each step. Her voice—clear as ice water—filled the hall before the orchestra could cushion it.

Regina leaned forward instantly.

“I see. What fascinating coloratura! That girl was born for bel canto.”

Kathryn nodded, satisfied.

Henry tried clinging to the beauty. But soda churned in his stomach, Jefferson’s words festered: “The woman whose son replaced her…”

It wasn’t even false. He left. He let the Charmings love him. He believed that damned book when convenient. Had he even tried understanding her? Villainizing her was easier. Regina made it hard—always hurting or hurt. But she’d also chosen him. Worst of all: she’d invited him here. Despite everything, she’d brought him. Because that’s what you do for friends.
Friends?
Is that what we are?

Regina commented more on Grace’s talent. Kathryn nodded silently, watching her friend, not the stage. Fred seemed absorbed, though his hand rested on a hidden dagger. The socialite observed Grace through slitted eyes—as if the melody soothed or pained her. She hadn’t touched her champagne. Her body seemed stiff, braced upright.
Henry looked at her. He saw no queen, mayor, or socialite. Just his mother. And he saw she wasn’t okay. She didn’t show it. But he knew her well enough: breathing only through her nose, the faint tic in her left eyelid, her grip on the armrest like an anchor. Henry thought of his dreams, certain the worst would come tonight. If he cried, he’d blame E lucevan le stelle. Or maybe Vissi d’arte, coming sooner.

***

Emma entered the hospital through the back door, in civvies with her badge tucked away. The admin wing was empty—staff released to attend the opera or bolster plaza security. Grace Jefferson was debuting as Floria Tosca. Even non-medical staff had taken leave.

If her timing was right, Act II was underway. Soon, Grace would sing Vissi d’arte, vissi d’amore. Regina adored that aria—Emma knew it reminded her of losing Daniel.

Vissi d’arte, vissi d’amore,
non feci mai male ad anima viva…

I lived for art, I lived for love… never harmed a living soul.

Emma needed no more distractions. She slipped into records—visited weeks ago during Grumpy’s panic attack case. Even Victor Whale would be at the theater with his wife. She pitied whoever was stuck watching Jonathan. She picked Mulan’s lock on the secure filing cabinet.

“C’mon, Regina. Please let me be wrong,” she murmured, fingers tracing names until “Mills, R.”

Paper files. No digital copies. Classic Storybrooke General.

She found them.

Opening the first file froze the air in her lungs.

Primary Dx: Pancreatic adenocarcinoma. Stage IV. Metastatic involvement liver/lungs confirmed by PET. Grade III esophageal varices. Moderate ascites. Pain controlled w/ opioids. Patient declined surgery/chemo. Palliative plan confirmed.
Prognosis: 4-6 months.

Nell'ora del dolore
Perché, perché Signore, ah
Perché me ne rimuneri così?

And in the hour of grief, why, why Lord, why reward me thus?

Emma couldn’t breathe. Words blurred through tears. She flipped to attachments: notes from one Parker Grenvil about depression (“understandably”) and grief therapy; countless failed treatments; Whale’s notes on magic interacting with her clock tower injuries:

Moderate magical interaction: sustains vital energy in unstable equilibrium. Prognosis uncertain if leaves Storybrooke.
Catastrophic hemorrhage risk: high.

Emma closed the file. Shaking.

A few streets away, Grace’s voice soared—pure, perfect. Lacking Callas’ dramatic weight but piercing the heart. Regina, already emotional from the Act I Te Deum, shed a tear or two.

The Savior dropped the papers, sinking into a chair, face in hands. Fluorescent lights flickered above. Her world had shifted. Regina was dying. Had been dying all along. And Emma had been too hurt, too proud, too cowardly to see it.

***

“Since you keep crying over Mommy, thought you’d want to see her.”

In the dream, Henry and Pan stood in an unfamiliar city. A bridge spanned a river nearby; beyond it, a structure Henry recognized from TV.

“The Eiffel Tower. Paris.”

The imp, dressed in a Rumple-style three-piece suit, nodded maliciously.

“Yes. The Evil Queen’s that pretentious. A normal city wasn’t enough. Had to pick the rat-infested one with the tourist cemetery. Can’t wait to join that circus, I suppose.”

“What are you talking about?”

Pan didn’t answer. Nodding toward a path, he led Henry through intricate alleys to an old building. They entered unannounced—invisible anyway.

“What is this place? You said we’d see Mom.”

“Can’t you read?” Pan snapped, chin-jutting toward a reception sign. “One would think the Evil Queen educated her heir better.”

“That’s in French.”

“Yet she taught you Spanish just fine.”

Henry ignored him. Arguing was pointless. Pan flowed through corridors; Henry followed. Staff wore surgical scrubs—a medical facility. Another “sick Regina” vision. Earlier, he’d found a tabloid: a businessman’s daughter pregnant. In the background: his mother holding champagne. Maybe she’s just recovering from addiction. Not the first time Pan showed her hitting rock bottom.

Pan stopped in a hallway. Two nurses—one young, one experienced—chatted in French. Henry understood:

“This job isn’t for everyone, dear. School teaches us to fight for patients till the end. Palliative care isn’t like that.”

“I understand.”

“Come. Let’s check on Mrs. Mills.”

Henry followed them to a room decorated like a luxury hotel suite. There, in a hospital bed, lay his mother.

Regina slept unnaturally deep—heavily medicated.

“Regina Mills, 42. Terminal pancreatic cancer. Lung/liver mets. Currently presents with bleeding esophageal varices.”

“Shouldn’t we transfuse? She must be anemic.”

“That buys days at most, child. Therapeutic obstinacy isn’t accepted here. At this stage, it harms more than helps.”

“So we’re just letting her die?”

“Letting nature take its course while keeping her comfortable. That’s palliative sedation for. Renal function declining, but no NG tube or PEG—she can’t eat now.”

“I get it. Loss of appetite signals the body shutting down. Limited resources—abandons digestion to focus on heart/brain. She hasn’t long.”

“No. Mrs. Mills may leave us today. If she wakes confused, play along and sedate her if needed.”

“What about family? Shouldn’t they be here?”

“No family. Doesn’t mean we let her transition be traumatic, does it?”

“Not what I meant. She’s so young. Parents, or a child should be with her.”

“All dead, I’m told. A shame, but perhaps easier knowing she leaves no one behind. Get a blanket. Earlier, she reported chills around this hour. Be attentive now she’s so close. I’ll put on her music—Mrs. Mills adored Maria Callas.”

“See? Your mother found a clean place with kind nurses. Most hospices aren’t this nice.”

Henry hadn’t noticed Pan enter. His eyes stayed fixed on Regina. Her breathing wasn’t labored but was shallow. They’d dressed her in her favorite blue pajamas. Few tubes besides the clavicle catheter. Still, anyone could see: she was dying. Alone. Again.

“Had you given me your heart back then, you’d have spared her this spectacle, Hen. But you and your wretched family interfered. So this ‘gift’ is all I offer. Because this—dear boy—is her true ending. The Evil Queen’s finale. And you did everything to make sure she wouldn’t want you there.”

“You’re lying. You’re dead—Grandpa Rumple killed you.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s false, great-grandson.”

Pan patted Henry’s cheek, kissed it, and grinned grotesquely.

Henry woke in his Charmings’ loft bed, forehead slick with cold sweat.

Chapter 24: Tre sbirri... Una carozza... Presto

Hey, yeah, I'm the one that you wanted

Hey, yeah, I'm your superbeast

Hey, yeah, I'm the one that you wanted

Hey, yeah, I'm your superbeast

Rob Zombie – Superbeast — 1999

For David, describing the situation he was in wasn’t easy. After the initial terror of confronting his own fears—fears given flesh in the form of himself—and enduring the agonizing spell cast by the Green Witch, an essential part of him had vanished. His mind could no longer connect with his body. Over time, some senses returned. Although he couldn’t will his head to turn, his sight was one of them. That’s when he realized they’d taken him to the town hospital. And so, he waited—confident that the fairies or the doctors would eventually find a way to help him.

During his crusades against King George or the Evil Queen, he’d faced dire moments before—and somehow, they always found the path back to a happy ending. This didn’t have to be any different.

Then hearing returned. Snow, his beautiful wife, took to reading to him by his bedside, just like in the old days of the curse. It made him feel safe, since it was easy to fall into fear in this state. Emma visited often too, but she hadn’t grown up in the Forest with them. She didn’t understand how the things that always guided them through the darkness worked, and she often looked sad and hopeless when she came. David blamed Regina and her stupid curse for that absence of hope in his daughter. If only someone could hold Emma and tell her everything would be okay...

Touch came third—and with it, discomfort. Rumple, one of his most pragmatic allies in the Enchanted Forest, was no longer available, and the fairies couldn’t find any magic residue to guide them in discovering the truth. Emma, as wonderful as she was, possessed magic due to her status as the child of true love, but she had never trained under any skilled sorcerer. Her efforts, while brave, were completely useless.

The nurses spoke of traumatized children, friends struggling to pay rent, and fears of the witch—yes—but the strongest fear was the one that lingered: remaining stuck in a place where no one was sure they could survive long-term. Their lives were starting to resemble the one David had led as a farmer, before the fairy tale with Snow ever began.

One night, he nearly died of fright when the Evil Queen herself appeared beside him—dressed in a long overcoat with a strange hairstyle from no era he could recognize. She, too, performed her tests with strangely gentle hands, and she was the first in days to treat him like a person and not an object. Maybe that was the human side that Emma and Henry had come to love so deeply. She was the one who identified the core issue: “Did that Green Witch steal your courage?” she’d asked with the certainty of a discoverer. And though David couldn’t reply, and wasn’t sure how she knew, he wanted to scream yes—that was exactly what the witch had done. Then she covered him with a blanket, which was kind—it was a cold night—and left with her goldmine of information.

The prince received frequent visitors. Snow was there all the time. Sometimes Belle came by with book suggestions, Henry appeared quietly with his journals and watches, and Emma—though less often—would stop in to update him on town affairs, as if he were still her patrol partner.

Fred and Kathryn, great friends from the Enchanted Forest after Fred’s life had been saved, came sometimes too. But one night, Fred showed up alone, looking deeply troubled. Kathryn wasn’t with him. Later, he returned again—this time anxious.

“You’re my friend, David, and I’ll always care about you. But what you all did to Regina was beyond horrible. I don’t know if my family will ever be able to forgive you.”

David had no idea what he meant. The exile had been awful for everyone—especially for Emma and Henry—but if it spared them from seeing Regina’s head on a spike every day or the trauma of watching her burn at the stake, seeing them angry and depressed felt like a price worth paying. Fred came less and less. Kathryn stopped visiting altogether. The next day, Emma and Snow had a terrible fight right in front of David about Regina’s exile. It felt horrifying—his poor little girl torn between love and loyalty, and Snow should never have slapped her.

Worst of all, he never saw them together again after that. It was all too frightening, but if it meant protecting the baby, David didn’t mind if Snow stayed away for a while. She seemed possessed.

So Emma began visiting at odd hours—once Snow had gone home and David was awake. The Green Witch had turned out to be Regina’s half-sister, and apparently she'd truly hurt her in a duel. Things in Storybrooke were spiraling out of control. The fairies were growing more erratic, the court more provocative. Chaos could erupt any moment, and Emma looked more overwhelmed every day.

That night, the nurses were fewer than ever—Jefferson’s daughter was making her opera debut. Regina’s most lasting mark on Storybrooke was how sacred opera had become to its citizens, and rumor had it Grace was a rare gem. But Emma didn’t go to the opera that night—or on patrol. She went to David’s room, carrying a massive bottle of liquor. She laid beside him on the narrow hospital bed, and began to speak like a zombie about what she’d read in Regina’s medical file that afternoon.

Oh, if only he could have moved. But he was condemned to listen as Emma unraveled beside him, powerless to comfort her.

“I can’t save Storybrooke,” she whispered through tears. She didn’t sob—they just fell from her face like a broken faucet. “I couldn’t save you. I can’t save Regina. I can’t save anyone.”

Her words hurt more than any wound Zelena could have inflicted.

“I should give up. I’m not worthy of being the Savior.”

The room remained silent. Only the faint hum of fluorescent light accompanied them. And then another wave of aching words spilled from Emma’s lips.

“I didn’t understand Henry’s relief. Back then, my stupid jealousy seemed so important. Regina is the person I’ve loved most in my life—I love her so much. But she seemed to be doing fine without me. Now I’d give anything to go back to how it was—to a reality where she lives her life away from me, but happy… alive. Because before, I could fool myself into thinking maybe. Now that I know, the thought physically hurts. It feels like the world collapsed and I’m still breathing. Why do I have to keep breathing when Regina is going to stop soon? It doesn’t seem fair. I don’t want to. I can’t.”

Oh God. Emma, no. Please, no. Henry wouldn’t survive it. David wouldn’t survive it. Where was Snow? Couldn’t she see her daughter couldn’t take anymore?

This had to be one of Regina’s strategies, her twisted plans, right? Didn’t she see how cruel she was being?

“And the worst part is—she’s hiding it. Pretending nothing’s wrong. Saying she just wants to leave here to go live her reckless life. I don’t think she wants us around when the end comes. Why would she want the people who hurt her most at her deathbed?

That did sound like the Regina David knew. Always full of pride and bitterness. So… was it true? No. If it was, surely she wasn’t so stubborn as to do this to herself. No one deserves to die alone. Not even the Evil Queen. Emma had to stop this. She had to tell Henry. This—this couldn’t be the happy ending they all deserved after the nightmare of Neverland.

But this wasn’t the Enchanted Forest. It was Storybrooke, Maine.

Happy endings didn’t seem to live here.

***

Henry couldn’t bring himself to watch the entire third act. Sure, the tenor wasn’t Pavarotti and he struggled to match Grace’s level in the duets, but his shining moment finally came—and just as Kathryn had promised, his rendition of E lucevan le stelle made Regina cry. That’s why Henry had to excuse himself. Regina’s last months in Storybrooke before the exile had been miserable, mostly due to his own behavior toward her. Seeing her cry—even if it was just a reaction to the art she so deeply loved—was something he simply wasn’t ready for.

Had he stayed, he would’ve witnessed the fulfillment of the prophecy made earlier that season. Mario Cavaradossi was executed, and just after Floria Tosca threw herself into the void, a mob of fanatical followers of fairy faith stormed the theater to cause trouble. Their original plan was to disrupt the opera at the end of the first act, during the symbolic Tre sbirri... Una carrozza... Presto—the famous Te Deum—a subversion of a sacred rite seen by many as profanation. However, their disorganization allowed the court to witness the opera’s conclusion.

Naturally, knives began flying everywhere. Kathryn knew it wasn’t a good day for Regina, and she had taken every precaution—hiring the Merry Men as added security—to ensure her friend wouldn’t be distressed during her big night. The Storybrooke opera house, modeled after the one in the city Regina had loved, was the closest thing to a sacred temple for those whose lives had stripped away their faith. Showing up there with weapons was as profane as Scarpia scheming Mario’s murder and Floria’s violation during the sacred hymn.

The fairies’ intent was clear: provoke the Evil Queen out of her truce, force her to retaliate and justify their ideology. And unfortunately for them, the Evil Queen reacted. With an awe-inspiring burst of purple magic, the theater flooded from the orchestra pit to the last lighting tier. The fanatics were disarmed and teleported mere inches from the barrier, where some inevitably fell into Zelena’s simian trap. But not before Lucio was wounded.

That night, in Storybrooke General's waiting room, Regina—still in her gala clothes—was furious. Emma emerged from the basement, her senses still dulled by pain and tears. The sight was devastating, like seeing one of the pale goddesses from the operas she adored. Brimming with fury and magic, Regina stood radiant. Emma could almost pretend everything was still in its right place. That rage—the way Regina felt every emotion with such intensity—was one of the most beautiful things about her.

“This is your fault, Swan.”

“Forgive me.”

There were too many things to apologize for. Sorry for not loving her the way she deserved. Sorry for not believing in her when she needed Emma most. Sorry for abandoning her at the worst time of her life.

“Sorry isn’t enough,” Regina snapped, strong and fierce. “Lucio’s hurt! At first, those idiots’ attacks were laughable—like moths crashing into a lamp, harmless. But they’ve crossed a line I can’t allow. It was your job to protect my people.”

It was my job to protect you, Emma thought. But she didn’t dare say it aloud.

“I know. I’ve failed, and I’m truly sorry. I’m sorry I let you down, Regina.”

But the apologies only seemed to offend her further.

“I suppose if the Sheriff's Department can't punish the fairies, they won't be able to stop my people from storming the convent either,” she threatened.

Kathryn placed a hand on Regina’s shoulder to calm her. In her eyes was the same worry and sorrow Henry had mentioned that morning.

“As mayor, I beg you not to. As your friend, I promise Lucio will be fine. Please come home with me so you can rest.”

Regina looked at her with suspicion, as though she wasn’t used to people caring about her well-being. Then came the silent conversation between them—one that made Emma feel far more nervous than she already did. Of course Kathryn wanted to protect her friend. But was there something more behind the urgency? Was Regina’s physical decline so advanced that a convent raid might be risky? How much time did she have left, according to those estimations?

“I’m going to arrest Thumbelina. And Blue too,” Emma said firmly. It was all she could do without crossing Regina’s personal boundaries. What she’d done with the medical files had already been a violation. If Regina wanted Emma to know, she would have to grant her that knowledge willingly—if she ever deemed Emma worthy of that grace.

Fred, in his tuxedo and gala coat, looked at her—an incredulous smile forming as if to say, Your mother is going to kill you if you do that.

“We all know she’s the mastermind behind the raids. This will send a message.”

“And why didn’t you do that before?” Regina demanded, with barely contained rage.

“Because no crimes had been committed yet. The most important lesson we’ve learned in Storybrooke is that due process is sacred.”

Regina raised an eyebrow—tired and sarcastic—as if to say, Really?

“Kathryn, do you trust that Emma will do what she says?”

That hurt more than anything—the lack of trust, the need to validate Emma’s words through someone else, because Regina’s faith in her was completely destroyed.

“Yes. Otherwise, she’ll hand me her badge tomorrow,” Kathryn declared—an ultimatum Emma grasped instantly.

Kathryn’s husband stepped away to answer a call, returning shortly after.

“Okay, that promise sounds great,” Fred said nervously. “Maybe not the best time to mention that the members of the court who aren’t here have already invaded the convent… and are trying to shake its foundations with Rob Zombie songs.”

“Rob Zombie?” Regina perked up, almost amused. “Anything good?”

“The usual, I guess.” Fred shrugged. “Dragula, Living Dead Girl, Superbeast.”

“Superbeast? They should’ve waited for me to arrive before playing that one.”

“I thought we’d agreed you weren’t going.”

“Oh come on, Kath. They’re not going to leave on their own—I have to go get them. And I don’t want the fairies to show up after their two-hour trek from the border only to find them still there and launch another attack.”

“And who’s going to stay with Julio while Lucio’s discharged?”

“I will,” Fred volunteered. He definitely wanted to see what the courtiers had done with the altar of the temple, but Kathryn remained uneasy about Regina waking up confused after her nap—and she wasn’t about to leave her alone.

Besides, Regina had already shown—elegantly—that if the fairies wanted the Superbeast, she was more than capable of giving it to them.

Chapter 25: Te Deum laudamus/ Te Dominum confitemur

“I feel like whoever picked the playlist is a fan of Twisted Metal 4.”

Ruby watched the temple from a distance through binoculars, elbows resting against the patrol car’s hood. The angry courtiers had zeroed in on that spot for their destruction. For now, the rest of the convent seemed untouched. The wolf woman couldn’t help but think back to her curse days—late ’90s and early 2000s—when she’d gone through every Twisted Metal game on her PlayStation 1. Honestly, given the mood, she wouldn’t be surprised if the courtiers mounted a machine gun on Regina’s Benz and launched a demolition rally across the property.

“Shouldn’t we intervene?”

Her patrol partner wasn’t feeling nearly as optimistic. Mulan was watching too, wearing a guilt and exhaustion she no longer bothered to hide.

“Mulan, there are literally three of us,” Ruby objected. “And we have no clue where Emma vanished off to. What exactly do you want to do? You’re the one who said you weren’t getting involved if people started pulling knives again.”

“Yeah, but I was being dramatic. And that was before poor Lucio got hurt.”

Lucio’s injury was minor—he’d likely head home that night to be doted on by Julio. But blood had never been spilled before, and it was clear the Dark Court members—usually patient by Regina’s command—weren’t willing to tolerate that breach.

Carmen passed by carrying a brand-new sledgehammer from the hardware store. Alfredo held a chainsaw, and Clara’s canvas bag looked stuffed with hammers. That altar was definitely not making it to sunrise.

“Okay. I think the courtiers actually understand the meaning of ‘profanation.’ Unlike the fairies, they don’t throw it around lightly.”

The first cracks of stone rang out near the entrance. The chainsaw roared over the chaos of Rob Zombie.

“When the fairies get back, it’s gonna get ugly—you know that, right?” Mulan warned, with a blend of dread and realism.

“Yeah.” Ruby nodded, resigned to whatever fate awaited on this insane night.

“Time’s Running Up” by Cirrus blasted through the speakers.

“Yup, definitely a Twisted Metal 4 fan. ‘Dragula’ was in III, but this one’s from 4. Songs and levels were decent, but the starter vehicles were all new, and the old ones showed up as boss fights. Beating Sweet Tooth in the carnival was almost impossible. That damn clown gave me permanent coulrophobia.”

Mulan scratched her head, bracing herself for another Ruby deep-dive she hadn’t asked for and didn’t really understand. She did that a lot when she was deeply anxious.

“Think Kathryn can convince Regina to stop them?” she asked—not very hopefully—unaware Kathryn was actually trying to get Regina to avoid the place and go home to sleep.

“Maybe. But if she doesn’t get here now, there won’t be much left to save. Glass is scarce, remember? Repairs won’t be easy. Plus, the opera house windows need fixing. That altar is already rubble for sure.”

Suddenly, the power cut out. Someone had taken out the building’s electrical system.

Then something happened that reminded them who the courtiers truly were—not peasants or masons, but nobles surrounded by art and indulgence all day long. They began to sing the anthem of discord—the aria lifted directly from Tosca:

Tre sbirri... Una carrozza... Presto.

Their chorus and tenor outshone the university’s by far. These voices would have matched Grace’s.

And the counterpoint to this truly irreverent singing was the destruction—sledgehammers and blades, the chainsaw, stones and sticks, shattering glass and splintering wood. Not just the altar and furnishings—the entire temple trembled at its foundations.

In the midst of this devastation, the court sang joyfully in flawless Latin and Italian:

Te Deum laudamus
Te Dominum confitemur

Tosca, mi fai dimenticare Iddio

Te aeternum Patrem
Omnis terra veneratur

They had no lord. They had a lady. Regina—closest thing to divinity in their eyes. And Lucio was the nearest thing to a preacher. It was almost hypnotic—like something pulled from an apocalyptic art film. No one had ever warned them that rage could look this glorious.

“Ten bucks says after this they’ll start with Zadok the Priest—but singing ‘queen’ instead of ‘king.’”

“I’m not betting. Why would I throw ten dollars away that easily?”

***

When the socialite arrived in her black Benz, accompanied by her friend the mayor, three of the temple’s walls had already collapsed. Just as Ruby predicted, the court was singing a modified version of Zadok the Priest in praise of their queen:

God save the queen
Long live the queen
May the queen live forever
Amen, amen, alleluia, alleluia, amen, amen

Because while the Te Deum was already a fine spit in the face of Catholic tradition, they couldn’t miss the chance to stomp all over Anglicanism too. This went far beyond fairies now. It was a full-blown war against any religion that sought to call their lives a sin.

“Is this another opium trip, Kathryn?” Regina asked, visibly unsure.

The daughter of Midas clicked her tongue, clearly displeased.

“No, your court is actually tearing down the Storybrooke temple while practicing their choral skills.”

Everyone was still in tuxedos and evening gowns, fresh from the theater. That didn’t stop everything they touched from ending up looking like abstract sculpture. A few steps away, Baroness Clara was mercilessly smashing a silver chalice with a hammer.

“The check I’ll have to write Gold is going to be monumental,” Regina muttered, still in shock.

“The sooner you stop them, the cheaper it’ll be,” Kathryn urged. And the sooner it ended, the more likely they’d avoid another confrontation.

“No. I’m not stingy. Let them vent a little longer. They’ve tolerated enough.”

It wasn’t exactly like the old days of anti-religious crusades. In Misthaven, it had been the Black Knights who immolated temples. But the courtiers had nothing to envy from that military efficiency. All that was missing was fire—though perhaps they were trying to spare the rest of the convent. They were taking revenge, but not cruel enough to leave the fairies without a place to sleep.

Amid the rubble, Néstor watched in disbelief. He looked quite upset too. The political consequences of this attack would be colossal. Regina wouldn’t care—she didn’t seem interested in planning a future in Storybrooke—but he did. He needed the destruction to end as soon as possible.

He approached the queen as soon as he spotted her, with all the protocol and etiquette required to convince her to act. Regina never did anything that wasn’t her own idea—suggestions had to feel like hers, or she’d never accept them.

“Your Majesty, this… this has to stop. They won’t accept my command, Your Majesty. They don’t obey my authority as your right hand.”

Regina looked at him with the disdain she rarely bothered to hide. The boys had told her about some very strange inquiries—suspicious moves from the man standing before her.

“Néstor. I’m no longer a queen,” she reminded him coldly. “I don’t need a right hand. Besides, that was the original idea behind founding this court—that they obey no one but me. They’re not a military body. They’re angry nobles.”

The man’s expression fell. His entire plan depended on gaining control of the court. His miscalculation (and Lady Cora’s) was underestimating the devotion those drunken nobles felt toward the woman who tried to pass as ordinary—but who everyone knew would always carry the shadow of the crown.

“The consequences of these actions, Your Majesty…”

“What’s the penalty for damage to private property in Maine, Madam Mayor?”

“It’s a church, Regina. Possible sentences of two to five years in prison and fines up to $25,000.”

“Per person?”

“Yes. But this town isn’t like the rest of Maine. If you pull them out now, I’ll convince the council to ignore the situation. The attack on the theater will be taken as provocation, and Thumbelina will be properly prosecuted for Lucio’s injury.”

“Fine,” the queen replied, annoyed.

All she had to do was appear in the middle of the chaos in a cloud of purple magic. The courtiers stopped what they were doing and bowed the moment they saw her.

“Darlings,” she didn’t even have to raise her voice, “Lucio is on his way home. Why don’t we all go to sleep and prepare for tomorrow’s scandal?”

As if she’d spoken the magic words, the courtiers gathered their tools and left the site in an orderly fashion.

When they arrived at Mifflin, everyone was exhausted—but Néstor was determined to try his luck.

“Your Majesty, I know my actions may have seemed lukewarm from your perspective, but if you’d let me prove my loyalty…”

Fred was waiting for his wife at the door of 108, looking calm considering the situation. Lady Midas walked toward him with a tired smile, leaving Regina alone with the former advisor.

“Dear, your test came the day the curse broke. They formed a mob and were going to kill me in front of my son. Yet I didn’t see your face until the day everyone knew I’d regained my magic.”

“Your Majesty, I feared for my life,” he replied, indignant.

“You feared for your political position,” she clarified, composed. “You were a useful element during my reign. No rumor escaped your hands. But now I know your true face. I wouldn’t be surprised if tomorrow you sat at Snow’s table if it guaranteed you a safe position.”

Not Snow’s table exactly, but Regina was so close to the truth…

“That’s very unfair, Your Majesty. I’ve dedicated the best years of my life to your service.”

“Yes, because it suited you. But I no longer trust you, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. And whatever you’re planning with my people… I truly hope you understand how loyal they are to me.”

Regina turned away. The Midas couple were making out on the porch. She wanted to tell them it was rude to eat bread in front of the hungry—but they looked cute together. She simply walked past them and slid the key into the lock.

“Want to come in, or shall I see you tomorrow?” she asked out of courtesy before closing the door.

“I think we’ll see you tomorrow, Regina.”

“Good.”

***

The bubbling of the distillation station held Regina’s attention. One drop here, another there. Zelena’s green magic, the barrier sample, fairy dust.

On the other side of town, Emma Swan was slamming Blue’s face against the patrol car hood as she cuffed her.

The potion, now distilled, was stirred by Regina’s precise movements. Contractors measured the theater’s dimensions, inventoried every possible material. Tosca would be performed without delay once Thursday returned—if all went well.

Archie and Regina, seated in a pair of comfy armchairs in the crypt, watched the vial of green liquid on the worktable, impatient, waiting for the change that would signal either opportunity or failure.

Thumbelina was ambushed by Ruby, surrounded by other faithful constipated by the demolition of their sacred place.

The liquid shifted from green to purple, like a flower blooming in slow motion inside the vial.

“And now, Regina?” the cricket/psychiatrist asked nervously, cleaning his glasses with a soft cloth.

The alchemist leaned forward, a hopeful smile on her lips.

“We wait a week for it to settle,” she said calmly. “Then—freedom.”

Chapter 26: Non far che i tuoi figli divengano preda/ d'un folle che sprezza l'eterno poter!

Notes:

Over the next few days I might go a bit quiet because (and this is where the opera snobs will probably disown me) I haven’t seen Nabucco. I know, what a crime—it’s in Callas’s repertoire, obviously! Given the characterization I gave Regina, she’s definitely seen it at least three times. I feel that the theme of religious conflict fits perfectly with these episodes of The Fairies vs The Court. Contrary to what it might seem, I don’t choose chapter titles randomly.

It was highly likely Ruby would be reported for police brutality, but the view remained immensely poetic. Thumbelina had a black eye—exactly the same one Regina had received the day of her pre-exile capture. Blue looked on the verge of collapse. The sight of her precious temple demolished, followed by her arrest, had taken a toll. Now she stared at Emma behind bars, sitting on the cot with her hands cuffed behind her back, eyes promising an eternity of torment in whatever they thought came after death. Thumbelina looked calmer, but not by much. She toyed with the chain of her cuffs while rubbing her aching eye socket.

Outside the Sheriff’s station, a congregation of loyalists protested the release of their leaders. An e-mail from Kathryn confirmed what Emma had suspected—the council, flooded with evidence of the fairies’ provocations at every public place where Regina had shown her face in recent weeks, along with the medical report from Count Lucio of the Summer Lands (he desperately needed a name from this world), convinced everyone not to take action against the court—on the condition that Regina cover the damages. That upset the loyalists even more. They’re very good at attacking, but easily offended when they are attacked.

Honestly, she didn’t understand it—it was as if they couldn’t comprehend that blind hatred had consequences. And while the fairies claimed abuses of power and religious persecution at the hands of the Evil Queen, that was a crime Snow and David had already punished during their reign in the Enchanted Forest. What they were doing now had no place in Storybrooke, Maine. Stabbing a young man at the opera simply for exercising his freedom of thought was unacceptable.

“Mulan, do you want to interrogate Thumbelina or Blue?”

“I want nothing to do with Thumbelina.”

Emma took the former president of the farmers’ association and led her into the room. The woman remained stoic, hands cuffed tightly on the table, back straight, her work overalls stained with dirt, as if she’d woken with a clear conscience to begin farm work before heading to the temple’s volunteer cleanup. Not once did she ask about the boy’s condition.

Duke Julio of the Autumn Plains wanted blood to spill. That was the only law the courtiers struggled to adapt to—no noble in town was used to punishment for being looked at the wrong way not ending in execution. Fred calmed him down as a favor to his friend, who was at the cemetery making up for the missed visit to her father’s grave on Wednesday. Emma couldn’t help but wonder whether Regina was preparing her future resting place beside him or didn’t intend at all for her remains to be returned to town. The hollow ache that formed in her stomach when she opened that file kept growing, and the most painful thoughts crept in at the worst moments without warning.

“Well. We’d better get started,” the Sheriff urged, eager to be done with it. “Is Vittoria Bechi your legal name?”

The suspect gave her a Kubrick-worthy stare. “That’s the name the Evil Queen gave me when she dragged me here. My name is Thumbelina.”

Emma scribbled a few notes in her journal, nodding: Visible resentment toward person associated with the victim.

“All right. Tell me what happened yesterday at the opera, Thumbelina.”

“The repulsive followers of the woman who embodies sin itself staged a performance highly offensive to those who honor the sacred rites of the divinities.”

“Sure, but they didn’t write Tosca. That was Luigi Illica and Giuseppe Giacosa in 1900. And it’s not the first time it’s been staged in the city. There have been 50 performances in the last 30 years. Why did your friends decide that yesterday was the moment to express their discontent so radically?”

“We’ve been warning those faith desecrators. They didn’t listen. The message had to be more forceful.”

“Do you call stabbing a 19-year-old boy forceful?”

“You’re a princess of the Enchanted Forest, Emma. That woman’s ‘boys’ are a threat. They hold all the resources our land produces. Tomorrow, when they inherit their parents’ domains, they’ll join their armies with that harpy’s and march against your mother again.”

“I thought Snow stripped them of all their power.”

“We also thought the purple witch couldn’t return. Eventually we’ll go back to our homeland, and she’ll unleash her fury on us.”

“Clearly you haven’t heard what they say, Thumbelina,” Emma countered, more tired than angry. “These kids talk nonstop about La Scala in Milan, Amsterdam’s canals, ancient theaters in Turkey. Regina promised that someday they’d explore this world freely—not to conquer it, but to live it. They don’t care one bit about your enchanted forest.”

“That’s what they want you to believe… And when you least expect it, they’ll stab you in the back. We’ve seen it time and again with the boundless mercy Queen Snow showed that woman.”

Emma, angered as always when someone spoke ill of that woman, got straight to the point.

“Did you stab Lucio—yes or no?”

“I’d stab every Lucio in the world if it meant freeing my people from that plague,” she announced proudly, her eyes gleaming with fanatical frenzy.

“All right. Thank you for your confession,” the Sheriff replied calmly, as if used to dealing with sectarian lunatics. “You’ll await your trial in custody.”

“The Evil Queen will betray you, Princess Emma,” she warned darkly.

Emma didn’t respond. She simply closed the file, jaw clenched, like someone who’s just heard an old threat in a new voice.

***

Friday was a dreamy day for Regina. The indiscriminate use of magic the day before had taken a toll. Fortunately, it wasn’t enough to keep her in pajamas—that would’ve been a very bad sign. She tidied her room, had breakfast with the Midas family, and then took a nap on the study’s sofa while Nabucco played on the turntable for the first two hours.

By nine in the evening she’d recovered enough energy to visit Lucio, who was healing in much the same way, listening to the same Hello Seahorse! record from the other day.

 

Y es tu nombre
Palabras muertas que me persiguen sin querer
Y las imágenes que aún conservo del ayer
Si yo me quedo
En soledad y sin tu querer
Fue la distancia lo que mató el amanecer

(And it's your name
Dead words that haunt me unwittingly
And the images I still keep from yesterday
If I stay
In solitude and without your love
It was distance that killed the dawn)

 

That couple listened to heartbreakingly sad music for how happy they actually were. Regina liked the girl’s voice—clearly trained in vocal technique—and the band’s style was captivating. But she wasn’t naïve enough to think she could get through that album without a bottle of apple cider, and since that was off the table, best not to even think about it.

Julio was an excellent host, and also a nurse. Lucio would be out of bed in no time. What Regina didn’t like one bit was how much the conflict had escalated. The temple’s demolition was one message, but the stabbing was another. Her magic had been enough to protect them for now, but she didn’t know how long that would last. The two main agitators were in custody, but Snow’s response was still pending.

After a pleasant dinner, Regina went to sleep for another 12 hours. A newspaper announcement had caught her attention and she intended to respond to it the next day. Saturday arrived, along with another breakfast with Kath and Fred—less optimistic than the last. Thumbelina’s statements were disturbing, and Regina didn’t feel up to learning how many more lunatics shared that mindset.

Around noon, Henry waited in the park. Emma had left the Bug and its keys for him. Regina showed up punctually for the appointment Clara had arranged.

“I saw the ads saying you’re looking for a driving instructor,” the queen greeted. “Hope you don’t mind I brought my own tool of the trade,” she gestured toward the black Benz.

The boy didn’t know how to respond. Henry felt deeply tired. Pan’s dream—the one in the Parisian hospice—kept returning with one or two variations that made it more cruel each time. Sometimes Regina would wake from sedation calling for her father, for Daniel, or for Henry himself; sometimes the nightmare last long enough to see nurses covering her with a sheet after she died. Each time he’d wake up crying with a violent urge to throw up.

That Regina had withdrawn from public life after her health declined in the wake of the duel with Zelena didn’t help at all. Then there were Jefferson’s cruel words in the theater foyer. Did Regina really live believing she’d been replaced? Well... she had been replaced. Was that why she kept her distance? Why she no longer wanted to be his mom and had only offered fleeting friendship?

But she looked so confident, so hopeful about spending the afternoon together for lessons, that Henry found the strength to push aside his guilt and respond honestly.

“I’m not sure that upgrade fits in my budget,” he confessed timidly.

“I wasn’t going to charge you,” she replied, almost offended. And a little hurt. As her son, Henry had never needed to pinch pennies for anything.

“Then I won’t charge you for fixing your garden,” he countered.

Regina smiled, aware the boy was playing dirty.

“Let’s go with the rate you put in the ad,” she conceded, defeated. That money would return to him eventually as inheritance anyway. “Consider the Benz a favor to me. I don’t like driving just anything.”

“What car do you have outside Storybrooke?” he asked curiously. He was sure Regina had something exotic parked somewhere, like nearly everything else she did beyond the town.

“None,” she shrugged. “I’m always traveling from one place to another,” she explained. “I never stay long enough in any one place to buy a vehicle. If I need transport, I’ll call a private service or take the metro.”

The truth was Regina wanted nothing more than the Benz. The car in which one learns to drive always finds its way into the heart. Plus, it was the car she’d used to bring Henry home the day of his adoption. If he accepted the deal, it would be poetic for the boy to learn to drive in it too.

“I don’t want to damage your car while I’m learning,” he admitted.

“I’m a very good instructor,” she said with calm confidence. “You’re not going to damage it. And if you do, I can buy another one. It’s not a big problem, Henry.”

The boy sighed, then nodded. She returned a radiant smile—one he hadn’t seen in a long time. They both climbed into the Benz, Henry on the driver’s side.

“Henry, why isn’t Emma teaching you?”

“She doesn’t have time, with all the wild things depending on her. And if I learn to drive, that’s one less thing she has to worry about.”

The woman nodded thoughtfully.

“Put on your seatbelt. You need to adjust all your mirrors so you can clearly see any car behind you. Lesson one is starting the car and how not to ruin the gearshift doing it.”

Henry swallowed hard, and with a mix of fear and relief, turned the key. The Benz’s engine responded smoothly, as if it too remembered that first journey together.

Regina glanced sideways at him, her voice barely a whisper:

“You’re going to do great. You always have, Henry.”

Notes:

Update: I just listened to the full 1949 recording of Nabucco with Callas. It’s pretty great. It’s Verdi—of course it was going to be good. Oh, and the plot has one sister trying to kill the other! I definitely need to give it a deeper listen, read the libretto, and draw some wild parallels. I should’ve done this sooner.

Chapter 27: Sorridi e spera! Io son l'amore !

I wish I could lay down beside you
When the day is done
And wake up to your face against the morning sun
But like everything I’ve ever known
You disappear one day
So I spend my whole life hiding my heart away
I can’t spend my whole life hiding my heart away
Adele – "Hiding My Heart" (2011)

Something peculiar happened that Saturday night. Regina was drinking coffee with bread when she noticed: the cup felt hot. She stared at her hand as if it were a cunning liar that had orchestrated a particularly cruel deception. The central port under her collarbone had been placed there because the first chemo drugs began damaging nerve endings in her hands, leaving tremors and numbness behind.

But, she reflected with measured awe, the tremors hadn’t appeared in days, and now the cup registered the correct temperature. Regina stepped into the backyard, pensive. When she first arrived in town, she’d thought Storybrooke’s magic felt strange because she was ill—but that no longer seemed entirely true. Her manic magic, as unpredictable as it was disobedient, had decided to repair some nerve damage. Now she could feel the essence emanating from the soil.

During the brief period when she’d regained her powers before exile, the energy in every foundation of her town seemed to whisper, "I am yours; my strength is yours." Now it was hostile: "You shouldn’t be here," it screamed clearly, almost with desperate urgency. Her body had been too damaged to feel it before, but her magic had always known.
Storybrooke was rejecting her in every way possible, while her magic fought on—in strange, defiant ways—not just against her inevitable physical decline, but against the hostile magic of the town that had once been like another child.

***

Henry was thrilled with the driving lessons. He’d learned to start the car smoothly, read basic dashboard signals, interpret the engine’s RPM language, and they’d even progressed to slow laps in the empty parking lot so he could grow accustomed to the vehicle’s steering response. Now he was in the garden, heroically determined to rescue Regina’s crushed tulips.

The lady of the house watched him through the window—a mix of melancholy and gratitude in her eyes—when the doorbell rang. Emma stood at the door, expression altered. She hadn’t come for Henry, nor did she seem afraid of being stoned or turned into an amphibian. The Sheriff’s badge hung at her belt beneath her red leather jacket. Regina, unaccustomed to an Emma Swan who took her job seriously, let her in cautiously. May the gods she didn’t believe in forgive her weakness for tormented blondes.

"I don’t want to disturb your rest, Regina, but it’s urgent. Your mother escaped the cave. We think powerful magic aided her—or someone who knew the prison’s logistics intimately."

The socialité narrowed her eyes wearily. That sounded like two very specific names. Powerful magic fit Zelena perfectly—a woman as starved for maternal love as Regina was for painkillers. Meticulous knowledge of logistics screamed "Nestor" in every syllable. The combination was a migraine she couldn’t contain.

Regina said nothing, simply walked to the dining table as Emma followed. From the study, Callas’s voice floated into the room. Emma’s Italian wasn’t fluent, but she grasped the basics:

Sorridi e spera! Io son l'amore !

Tutto intorno è sangue e fango?

It felt jarringly out of place. And Emma was furious—with Callas, with Daniel. This wasn’t the deal. They’d agreed to share Regina. They had no right to claim her for themselves yet.

The woman in question finished her ruminations. From her seat, she made a calm observation born of sheer pragmatism. Whatever she planned for Cora would stay locked in her vault of secrets.

"You look tired, Miss Swan. It’s not weakness to ask for help, you know? There must be many heroes in Storybrooke willing to aid a savior."

That was quite the euphemism. Swan responded in the language Regina had patented long before Greek philosophers coined "rhetoric": sarcasm.

"God, why didn’t I think of that sooner? I suppose that’s why I kidnapped a certain person."

Her interlocutor blinked, aware she was slipping into their old push-pull dynamic.

"I’ve been busy. Rebuilding my mansion from rubble, settling legal affairs, hiding my heart away... so Zelena can’t use it in her mysterious spell. Hiding my heart away... like that song. I’ve only heard Adele’s version, I think..."

The blonde was thrown by how easily Regina rambled that morning. She didn’t seem high yet, but something had clearly mellowed her into this stream-of-consciousness state. Maybe that’s why the news of her psychopath mother hadn’t shattered her.

"When will you catch that witch, Miss Swan?" Regina asked with sudden clarity. "I can’t spend my whole life hiding my heart away."

She quoted the song again. Emma sidestepped the question—unable to deliver what was demanded—but offered a solution that might resolve one of Regina’s problems.

"I found a spell in Gold’s library to prevent anyone from taking your heart from your chest." Hope tinged her offer.

Regina smiled ironically.

"I know the one. It won’t work." She seemed utterly convinced.

"Of course it will."

The blonde knew the root of Regina’s doubt: the magic only responded if you loved the person you sought to protect.

"You’ve got nothing to lose by trying."

"Who taught you magic?" Regina’s brow furrowed in curiosity—just as Emma adored. "Blue didn’t."

The Sheriff shrugged.

"Ever since we returned with the new curse, it’s like riding a bike. Muscle memory. Try it."

The socialite wasn’t convinced. Years of painful training with Rumple screamed otherwise. And Mal’s tricks were more useful in bed than anywhere else... Particularly that two-tongues enchantment— And she was rambling again.

She wasn’t wholly persuaded but wanted to see how far Emma’s "muscle-memory magic" went. Her own magic whispered excitedly that Emma’s power was potent, kind—unlike Zelena’s or Storybrooke’s—likely due to its white nature.

"If it fails, it goes back where it was," Regina warned.

"Deal." Emma shrugged, a smile playing on her lips.

A leather pouch materialized in Regina’s hand, wreathed in purple magic. Emma took it gently, extracting the darkened heart speckled with crimson light. Regina’s life—already fragile—literally rested in her hands.

Regina stood. Emma stepped close, one hand settling on her waist to keep her near, the other pressed to the woman’s chest. Regina watched her with an inscrutable gaze. With delicate care, Emma pushed the magical organ back into Regina’s ribcage. Then she called upon her own magic—felt it surge through her veins, sparking every nerve ending to her fingertips—and whispered the spell she’d memorized for emergencies. Henry could’ve used this before Neverland.

Her fingers glowed gold. That caught her attention—her magic usually shone white. Emma noticed gold light and a flicker of red seeping past Regina’s silk blouse collar, proof it had suffused her chest.

"Your magic feels... strange, Regina," she murmured. Not as angry or tired anymore—but relieved to feel that other power tangling with hers.

"I know," came the calm reply.

"How do you feel? Did it work?"

Another aria drifted from the study—Callas, ever the jealous ghost. Emma held her breath. Regina weighed her answer.

"Yes. I think it did." She could feel the shift—strong magic coursing through her veins.

They locked eyes. A tranquility neither had felt in ages flooded them.

"Where was it?" Emma’s curiosity surfaced.

"Hmm?"

"Your heart. Where were you hiding it?"

Zelena had combed forests with flying monkeys and personally ransacked Mifflin Street for it. Regina must’ve had one hell of a hiding spot.

The sorceress’s sly smile was priceless.

"In David’s sock drawer. Glamoured as a holey pair."

"What?! You broke into our apartment unseen?"

The Sheriff couldn’t believe it’d been there all along—like nearly everything involving Regina lately.

"Of course not. I magically mailed it. David isn’t using that drawer now, and Zelena would never search my enemies’ home."

Silence. Only Callas’s notes and Henry’s garden shears cut through the quiet, apart from their steady breaths.

"Emma?"

Regina’s eyes burned intense under the incandescent light. Her skin radiated warmth.

"Yeah?"

"Could you... remove your hand from my chest? This is getting awkward."

"Right. Sorry."

They stepped apart awkwardly. Callas was singing Un bel dì vedremo—that eternal reminder of Swan’s betrayal. If she could, the savior would smash that damned vinyl against the wall.

Henry burst in—shirt sweat-damp, smelling of fresh-cut grass. A blush warmed his cheeks beneath the shadow of stubble. Maybe I’ll teach him to shave with a safety razor, she thought. She wanted every transitional rite she could steal: driving lessons, shaving, maybe taxes. Emma would have him for life; Regina had little time left to hold onto.

"Henry, want lemonade?" she offered casually. "I’ve worked you hard enough today. Emma will have some too before she leaves."

The boy nodded shyly and slipped into the hall bathroom to wash up. When he returned, he paused at the spiral staircase, eyeing the foyer.

"Is that chandelier new?"

That question again. Kathryn had asked. Archie too. Everyone had seen it before—a polite conversation starter—but Henry had lived here his entire childhood. He knew damn well it wasn’t new. Regina had bought it secondhand in Portland in ’96, years before he was born. She told him so, studying his reaction.

"Ah. Right," he marveled, as if the memory had been buried. "I broke one of the arms with my new slingshot when I was seven. You had it fixed. Made me use the back door so I wouldn’t knock Marco off the ladder."

The Savior stared at the fixture too. Regina watched the gears turn in her mind as she struggled to recall. It was enough.

With a precise flick of her wrist, she lowered the chandelier carefully. She approached, scrutinized it, then laughed outright. The irony was undeniable. One way or another, Regina’s choices always circled back to wound her. The heart in the socks wasn’t the only glamoured object in Storybrooke.

Another flick of her wrist—the fixture dissolved in purple smoke, leaving behind a diamond the size of a  billiard ball. The infamous trigger Rumple and his son had warned about gleamed mockingly before them.

End of Act II

Chapter 28: Interlude: İkbaharda İstanbul’da lâleler (Istanbul’s spring tulips)

Bana kaderimin bir oyunu bu
Aldı sevdiğimi verdi zulmü
Dünyaya doymadan geçip gideceğim
Yoksa yaşamanın kanunu mu bu
[...]
Bu yalnızlık bu dertler
Is this but a game of my fate?
It stole my love, gave me tyranny
I’ll depart without quenching my thirst for the world
Or is this life’s immutable decree?
[...]
This loneliness, these sorrows...
Orhan Gencebay – "Kaderimin Oyunu" (1972)

Ottoman Turkish resembled modern Turkish as much as Shakespeare’s English does today’s, or Cervantes’ Spanish mirrors contemporary usage among Hispanophones. Yet it was identical to Agrabian—and that was all Regina needed to decipher the ancient manuscripts she’d come seeking. Istanbul’s universities guarded their sultans’ divans jealously, but with bribes here and there, she secured access, handling the fragile, centuries-old pages with meticulous care.

What Agrabian couldn’t do was help her communicate across the city. The average Istanbulite might grasp snippets, but drawing attention by speaking like a 16th-century courtier wasn’t ideal. So she did what she despised in oblivious tourists: stuck to attraction zones with American English and hesitant Turkish she distrusted. Not that she needed conversation anyway. Regina Mills had no close friends—only those you shared a costly bottle and cigar with, never ones you’d call to your hospital bedside.

She loved the language’s sonority, its poetic honesty so beautiful it ached. For three weeks, she listened exclusively to local music. A certain Orhan Gencebay played on every station. Spring had draped gardens in tulips—lâle—as across all Anatolia long before they became synonymous with the Netherlands. The imperial flower of Ottoman royalty, museums brimmed with jeweled lâle motifs.

Regina followed her pattern of chasing ancient cities, this time choosing one founded in 600 BCE. Like all such places, it layered epochs: Byzantine walls, Latin ramparts, Ottoman mosques. Four empires had claimed it as capital. A lifetime wouldn’t suffice to study its depths—even if she’d been granted old age.

She’d just received the final diagnosis. The curse of the pancreas was its silence until irreversible havoc erupted. She’d seek a second opinion in Switzerland after leaving, but held no hope for error. Luck had always scorned the would-be queen—from childhood, when Cora uncovered her mischief and meted cruel punishments, to Daniel’s death, the loveless marriage, and her agonizing metamorphosis into the Evil Queen.

Here, she was none of those things. Not Cora’s daughter, not Snow’s stepmother, not a tyrant fit for legend. Just Regina, the eccentric woman. She hoped to die as nothing more.

Street cats ruled Istanbul—trusting, plump, beloved emblems of Turkish affection. Perhaps that’s why she felt so at ease. The little girl who hid under desks to read would’ve adored this glorious, ancient place.

Alcohol and tobacco proved harder to find than in Mexico or the States, but it hardly mattered then; she hadn’t yet descended into later years’ excesses. Red tea sufficed. Wandering alleyways near the bazaar cost her the ferry back to Karaköy, where her hotel waited. As she hailed a cab to cross the bridge, a woman—whose English matched Regina’s Turkish—mentioned fishermen ferrying tourists for a few lira. Kidnapping insurance covers this, she reasoned. Stepping outside her comfort zone, trying reckless things—what did she have left to lose?

"Hanım, burada gel, hoş geldınız".
(Madam, come here, welcome.)

The fisherman greeted warmly. Regina nodded—acknowledging both him and her understanding.

Sunset bled into darkness. Mosque lights—minarets and all—flickered on, painting the Bosphorus with reflections as they drifted toward the Golden Horn. The Galata Tower ignited in the distance, making the soul-crushing view worth the peculiar journey.

As ever, Regina thought of Henry—but for the first time in years, without sorrow. She hoped her little prince would someday witness breath-stealing beauty, wherever he was. An almost foolish faith lived in her: that her boy (surely not so little now) might see Istanbul’s spring tulips and think of her, if only for an instant.

For a fleeting moment, everything felt... normal. For someone who’d lost everything, who mourned past sins and feared a countdown-clocked future, normal was revolutionary.

"İkbaharda İstanbul’da çok laleler vardır."
(In spring, Istanbul has many tulips.)

Her boatman offered conversation.

"Çok güzel."
(Very beautiful.)

Regina replied, adrift in Storybrooke’s melancholy yet alert against kidnapping or Bosphorus-dumping. The man nodded, pleased with their linguistic bridge. Silence fell as a folk song crackled from the radio:

El kızını ben kendime yar sandım yar yar
Yar sandım yar yar / Yar sandım
Another’s daughter, I believed her mine, love, love
Believed her mine, love, love / Believed her mine

Yüreğime hançer de soktu gül sandım yar yar
Gül sandım yar yar / Gül sandım
Dagger plunged into my heart, I took for rose, love, love
Took for rose, love, love / Took for rose

Regina lost herself in the lyrics as the boat glided toward the ancient Genoese quarter. Turks had written her life into every song. She could only hope for a narrow grave that felt like a garden.

Notes:

I keep chronicling Regina’s wild soirées. I figured that, for this interlude before the final act, one of her infamous journeys might serve you all well.

Chapter 29: Dove andaron i giuramenti/ Di quel labbro menzogner

Notes:

Well, the devil has tempted me, and I just added one more opera: Le nozze di Figaro by Mozart.
Have you ever been in a theater with good acoustic treatment and felt the vibration of that overture? It’s an experience I recommend to anyone who’s into Classical, Baroque, or Romantic music. Regina’s operatic crush is the best of the best, but when it comes to Mozart, I have my own operatic crush: Renée Fleming.
That’s all. Respectful comments are welcome—here and on Tumblr.

Act III: Parigi, o cara

Parigi, o cara, noi lasceremo

La vita uniti trascorreremo

De' corsi affanni compenso avrai

La tua salute rifiorirà

Sospiro e luce tu mi sarai

Tutto il futuro ne arriderà

 

27: Dove andaron i giuramenti/ Di quel labbro menzogner?

“I’m going to hand this over to Kathryn. She and the council will decide what to do.”

At the sudden appearance of the object, Emma and Henry shrank against each other, as if seeking comfort from a painful memory. From what Emma’s unreliable testimony had revealed—and the fragments Kathryn and Fred had managed to piece together—Pan’s henchmen hadn’t successfully activated the device, but they must have come dangerously close if its mere presence made them react like that.

“Regina, are you sure leaving something so dangerous in the council’s hands is a good idea?” Emma asked.

“This belongs to whoever cast the curse, Emma. I don’t know why it was sent to hide here, where there was supposed to be nothing but rubble, but it’s not mine to keep. It’s the town’s problem, not mine.”

The brunette dropped the device into the nearest flower vase, without the slightest care. That would keep it out of sight, but still easily accessible. Emma and Henry flinched at the sound of the diamond striking porcelain before splashing into water. Regina had to explain gently that the thing was made of hard diamond so it couldn’t be destroyed easily, and that only a precise amount of dark magic could activate it to fulfill its intended mission.

“I feel like someone trained in magic should be in charge of protecting it.”

But the homeowner dismissed the topic without room for debate. Storybrooke didn’t want her—why should she be responsible for its safety?

While they waited for Kathryn, mother and son sat at the dining table sipping the promised lemonade. Both stared at her with quiet, almost accusatory expectation, as if happiness were in the palm of her hand and she was the villain of the story (once again) for keeping them at a polite distance. Emma Swan was the inventor of longing glances, but Regina had no desire to fall for emotional blackmail. She was finally learning her lesson.

She wasn’t stupid or cruel. She could see the honesty and remorse in both their eyes. Incredibly, she could also see love and adoration—but that wasn’t enough. Love had never been the problem. Emma had unlocked Regina’s dormant magic when trying to activate the hat, at a time when they could barely tolerate each other. And in the very next moment they shared, they stopped imminent death with a kiss.

Even that same day, Regina had seen the colors of their magic blend in the spell on her chest, abandoning her usual signature and adopting the exact hues of that bottled true love potion in Rumple’s vault.

She shouldn’t be thinking about this anymore, she scolded herself. She always ended up in the same place. She should be thinking about how to stop Zelena now that Cora was whispering poison in her ear 24/7 and Néstor had joined her payroll with potentially dangerous secrets. Instead, she was sitting in her dining room, lemonade in hand instead of cider, thinking that the real problem between her, Emma, and Henry was trust.

She could see the desire so clearly—herself giving in, falling into their arms, revealing the deepest and most devastating of her secrets. But what would happen if, say, tomorrow another corpse appeared that couldn’t be explained, and all signs pointed to her? What would they do now that there was no way to exile her from town? Would they lock her in the hospital basement, alongside Charming and the other villains they didn’t know how to get rid of, without her pain medication, until the real killer was discovered by accident?

Distrust was that dagger disguised as a rose Turkish folklore spoke of—beautiful to the eye, but lethal when it cut flesh. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop expecting the stab at any moment. No matter how insistent they were, Regina didn’t trust that one day, once the emotion of reunion and nostalgia faded, they wouldn’t suddenly remember why they chose to betray her in the first place.

Dove sono i bei momenti
di dolcezza e di piacer,
dove andaro i giuramenti
di quel labbro menzogner?

Perché mai se in pianti e in pene
per me tutto si cangiò,
la memoria di quel bene
dal mio sen non trapassò?

Where are the beautiful moments
of sweetness and pleasure,
where are the promises gone
of that deceitful tongue?

Why has everything changed
into tears and pain for me,
why has the memory of that happiness
never left my breast?

Oh no. And now her mind was quoting Mozart. Nothing wrong with Mozart—the bastard was a genius who had his own version of Cora (what was that woman scheming now?) as a father—but she definitely needed to talk to Whale, because that damn oxycodone was destabilizing her more than was acceptable.

Anyway. The exile had been horrible and brought illness and pain, but at least she didn’t have to watch her own shadow in case it decided she wasn’t good enough. She’d done that during her childhood, with her mother’s contradictory lessons, and even against her husband’s whims.

And that’s why she had to leave. Not just because Storybrooke was hostile—people and magic included—but because, aside from Fred and Kath, there wasn’t a single person in town who hadn’t betrayed her. Even Archie had failed her, and the only reason she’d let him get close was because she knew he was a good enough person that guilt wouldn’t let him abandon a mission he considered honest. If Regina’s body—or someone else—betrayed her, the cricket had everything he needed to make the barrier permeable and release the people she cared about once the potion had matured.

She didn’t want to spend her final days like this, fearing that any day might be like Julius Caesar’s in the Senate on a certain Ides of March. Nor did she want someone to smother her with a pillow in the hospital when her body could no longer defend itself. She wanted the rain in Paris, the cats of Istanbul winding around her legs.

Maybe her heart had to stay here, but Regina had never had the option of being whole. And she had already decided what the most appropriate option was.

Kath and Fred finally arrived. Emma escorted them to city hall, and Henry went with them.

Regina poured herself a glass of warm milk—even though it was just past noon, she definitely needed a nap before dealing with the chaos around her. She had to ask whether the excessive fatigue was another side effect of the medication change, her wild magic clashing with the town’s, consequences of the fight with Zelena, or simply that her time was running out faster than she’d planned.

Or maybe it was all of the above and she was truly screwed.

Opera in the background always helped her sleep better—it calmed the strange dreams that sometimes came with the drugs and helped her relax. Maybe it was time for a change and to look for that recording of Figaro with Fleming. She liked Fleming—her face reminded her a bit of Mal's. She’d seen her live a few times and had never been disappointed. Still not Maria, but more than good enough.

The turntable in the study had barely begun playing the first chords of the overture when the doorbell rang again. She didn’t even have time to unfold the blanket over the couch.

Dragging her exhaustion behind her, Regina went to open the door. The person on her doormat wore an even uglier coat—pistachio green. Regina was about to slam the door in her face, but she stopped her with a firm hand.

“Get out of here, Snow. I was about to take a nap before you showed up.”

The elementary school teacher didn’t seem in the mood for sarcasm.

“Every time I’m near, you’re in the mood for a nap, Regina. And we need to talk,” she said firmly. “Seriously. Face to face. No transformations or stones between us.”

The queen had no desire to deal with anyone else that afternoon, but she knew she couldn’t get rid of Snow by sheer force of will, nor with a spell to keep her away (not without a second angry mob showing up at her house with torches, anyway). So she returned to the study couch, sat down, and covered her legs with the blanket just to do something. The unpleasant woman followed her like a hound sniffing its prey.

“I’m not offering you anything to drink. Say what you have to say and then leave.”

Snow frowned. Still the spoiled girl who couldn’t stand being treated harshly.

“When I was ten and you were seventeen, my horse bolted while my father and I were passing by your family’s estate. You saved my life that day.”

“Yes, I was there. You don’t need to remind me.”

“By mistake, I discovered one of your secrets and couldn’t keep it as I’d promised—and that cost you the love of your life.”

Regina’s hands trembled, but this had nothing to do with the nerve damage her magic had so meticulously repaired. It was rage—pure and overflowing—that roared through her body. How dare she?

When the princess saw the woman didn’t respond, she continued.

“For the next eight years, you looked me in the eye, smiling, every day. I thought you loved me as much as I came to love you. But you never forgave me, and the war that followed was… extremely horrendous. Eight thousand dead in the first year. Twenty thousand in the second. I’m not stupid—I know you could’ve killed me many times and didn’t. The part of me that grew up adoring you clung to the idea that there was still something small inside you that loved me. I couldn’t kill you either. Every time I was about to, I remembered the hopeful little face of the girl who loved children and had saved me from that horse. I believed you every time, and every time you broke your promises, regrouped, and more and more people died.”

The exhaustion in Regina’s eyes went beyond medication or pain. Years lost in that pointless conflict weighed heavily on her shoulders. But she wasn’t the only one stained with blood. Her men had died too. The towns that remained loyal were razed by Snow’s troops. War was war—brutal on both sides.

“The promises between us meant nothing. You were the first to break them.”

“And I accepted it, stoically, because I knew how miserable you were with my father, and every time I saw the love in David’s eyes, I imagined how horrible it must have been for you to lose Daniel. But you went after Emma—my little girl. She couldn’t even crawl, and I had to send her to another world because you were out of control. That’s when I finally understood that the girl I once knew was gone forever.”

Quite the interesting choice of words from Snow.

“For you it was easy,” Regina defended herself. “One moment you were in your castle, a blink, and suddenly you were here, with your beautiful family reunited. Including the son who was so heroically stolen from me.”

“Henry didn’t want to be with you,” Snow accused. “He realized who you really were.”

“Yes, a book told him who I was over thirty years ago. I was conscious that entire time. Is it so hard to imagine that I’m not the same person after three decades?”

“That’s exactly the problem,” she snapped, impatient. “You say you’ve changed, and it’s never true! And now you have the love of two of the most important people in my life, and I don’t doubt for a second that you just want to use them against me.”

That was enough to provoke Regina, who wasn’t about to tolerate this humiliation in her own home.

“If I were the monster you think I am,” she began, chewing each word, “if I didn’t love Emma and Henry, I would’ve torn everyone apart the moment I got my magic back. The urgency to come to this world happened because I couldn’t touch you or Charming in the Enchanted Forest. But here I could. Here I can,” she reminded her with a threatening tone as magic began to stir at her fingertips. “I could’ve killed David,” she recalled, referring to the moment Emma and Snow were trapped in the Enchanted Forest, “massacred the fairies, who barely had any dust left to mine, taken my son, sealed every possible portal. But I didn’t. For them. And it cost me everything. Again.”

“That’s not love,” Snow replied, exasperated. “That’s control. You don’t know how to love anyone.”

The accusation iced Regina’s veins. Maybe she’d never learned to love well—but she’d loved so fiercely it destroyed her.

“Oh, Snow, why do you think that?” she asked bitterly, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Could it be that mommy and daddy brainwashed you with their infinite blind affection, made you believe you were the easiest creature on earth to love? That when someone couldn’t love you the way you wanted—when I couldn’t love you—you concluded that the problem was with me, instead of considering that maybe you did something wrong?”

“I was ten,” she said, frustrated, as if tired of explaining the same reasoning over and over. “I didn’t want you to lose your mother.”

“Oh really? And now that you know her, do you still think she was worth keeping?”

A chill ran down her spine. Of course, now that she knew Cora, the idea of a little girl growing up beside her seemed like the most atrocious image she could conceive. But she had no way of knowing that back then.

“I never had to keep a secret before,” she justified. “I simply wasn’t raised to lie.”

“It wasn’t about lying,” Regina snapped, the blanket slipping from her feet with a dull thud. “It was about trust. I knew you for five minutes and I already loved you. I trusted you.” The pain and resentment in her voice were palpable. “Do you think your betrayal would’ve hurt so much if I hadn’t loved you?”

Snow couldn’t meet her eyes anymore.

“I forgave you. Many times. Because I loved you, Regina. But you were going to kill Emma. How was I supposed to believe you didn’t kill Archie?”

“I would never have killed Emma,” she said, deeply offended by the suggestion. “I would’ve placed her in a home far away from you. I would never hurt a child. All this pain started because I couldn’t let a little girl be thrown from her horse.”

Snow didn’t respond immediately. She wanted to cling to her anger. Intentions aside, Regina was still the reason Emma grew up alone, the reason she refused to speak to her now. No matter how much she believed it, what she did to so many people wasn’t right.

“Just because life wasn’t fair to you doesn’t mean you had the right to do everything you did, Regina. At some point, you had to pay.”

“I’m already paying. Every day.” The Queen could no longer mask the sudden, treacherous pain (like nearly everything in her life). She instinctively placed a hand on her abdomen, squeezed her eyes shut, and took a deep breath. “But what about you? Are you ever going to pay for what you did to me? I don’t think so,” she answered herself bitterly. “You have everything again. No matter what I do, you’ll always get it all back. If you’re not happy this time, it’s your own fault.”

Unable to continue the conversation any longer, she let her head fall against the back of the Chesterfield in her study, her hands immediately reaching for the orange bottle of oxycodone in her pocket.

Instinct struck before anything else, and Snow rushed toward Regina, suddenly alert at the change in her former stepmother’s condition. She thought the wounds from the witch battle should’ve healed by now.

“Regina…”

“Leave me alone!” she shouted, raising her hands in protest. “I just want you to leave me alone! Get out of my house now, Snow!”

Snow White looked at her from a safe distance, guilt and shame clouding her thoughts. Then, when the queen swallowed several pills dry and pulled the blanket over her shoulders in exhaustion, the leader of the seven dwarves left the study without a word, and then exited the mansion, closing the front door of 108 Mifflin Street behind her.

 

Chapter 30: Ah, quanto peni! Ma pur fa core/ Qui soffre ognuno del tuo dolore

The tension in the council chamber was thick enough to cut with a knife. For the first time in the town’s history since its founding, Snow wasn’t late—but it didn’t matter, because she wasn’t participating. Thumbelina’s empty chair loomed like an ominous ghost over the urgent topic being discussed:
Is Regina Mills a threat to Storybrooke again?

“Mayor Midas, do you seriously expect me to believe the Queen just happened to find the trigger buried among the junk in her mansion? How do we know she hasn’t had it all along?” Herman looked uncomfortable. The recent unrest had him on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Yes, the court had been given a chance, but everyone knew they could only be controlled by Regina. And if she suddenly decided to take back the town by force, she had the magic, the money, and the extra hands to do it.

“Sheriff Swan was present when the discovery was made. Are you questioning your Savior’s word?”

That was another dangerous political maneuver. The Charmings still controlled a significant faction of the electorate, and although they hadn’t been close to Emma lately, she could still rally a substantial movement. She also had strong ties to the werewolf women, and her deputy could mobilize the new Merry Men in whatever direction she chose. In the days following the breaking of the first curse, the Evil Queen had been alone and at the mercy of the so-called “heroes”—but that was no longer the case. Still, was it fair to let her do whatever she pleased?

“What about Cora Mills’ escape? It’s naïve to think she’s not involved. It can’t be a coincidence that she broke out now that her daughter’s in town.”

The town hall’s Chief of Staff, Pimpón, didn’t believe in coincidences.

“Her other daughter, Zelena, is also here. The prime suspect behind the current curse. Did you miss the part where the woman you are accusing was thrown against a building on Main Street—because that green woman threatened to systematically murder townsfolk until she showed up? There are plenty of witnesses from that night who say the same.”

“Chief Pimpón, if you have evidence for your accusation, you’d better present it now,” Spencer encouraged with a Machiavellian smile, “so we can remove a dangerous criminal as soon as possible.”

“Until six years ago, the people in charge didn’t care about evidence,” Lady Tremaine remarked maliciously, calculated. “They just chased people through the woods or lured them in with their children, then gave them black eyes and handed out express sentences. Even for crimes that concerned the whole town. Isn’t that right, Prosecutor Spencer? A person can’t be tried twice for the same crime, and Regina Mills was sentenced for the dark curse too that day at the town line.”

Spencer let out another malicious laugh. The whole affair seemed absurd to him. If he’d been in charge of the trial back then, the Evil Queen would be a bitter memory and this meeting wouldn’t be necessary. But that idiot David always had to prove how unworthy he was of sharing James’s blood. If that woman was willing to reduce everything to rubble—like the temple—he’d gladly sit back and watch from afar to see if it would finally bring down the Charmings for letting her go in the first place.

“Fine. Let’s say we believe her. What does it mean that she’s handing it over? Is she washing her hands of the town she created? Storybrooke is her creation. If the Charmings already gave her a ridiculously light sentence that they themselves forced her to break, she should be helping with all the chaos around here.”

“She says she didn’t create it this time. So she doesn’t see it as her responsibility,” Kathryn reminded them for the umpteenth time.

“And who cares? Are we going to ask her? She owes an unpayable debt to the citizens of this place.”

“Do you have the ability to force a witch to do your will?”

The silence that followed felt like witnessing a funeral. The town’s Sheriff didn’t even have the ability to make her angry without ending up turned into a toad.

“So what are we left with? Her word?”

“I believe her word,” the Mayor declared with the tone of an unappealable verdict.

“So do I,” Swan seconded. She had witnessed firsthand Regina’s deep indifference toward the town’s well-being—except perhaps for her close friends and her court.

Pimpón accepted defeat. Herman remained pensive, contemplating all the facts, waiting for the moment to strike. Spencer just toyed with his pen, amused. Tremaine reviewed her numbers alongside the president of the Chamber of Commerce. Snow seemed deeply immersed in her meditations, brow furrowed.

“What about citizen Mills’ demonstrated ability to reverse the flying monkey transformation?” the Treasurer asked without lifting her gaze from her accounts. Anastasia had fallen across the border three days ago. “That’s a very useful resource for us right now. Can we request that service? As a favor, of course—not as an obligation.”

“Regina agreed to reverse all the monkeys they can capture. But doing so is dangerous, since their scratches also transmit the curse that transformed them. As a magical consultant, she believes the monkeys will revert en masse once the barrier and the curse are dismantled.”

"Which brings us back to the endless matter of the curse. Sheriff Swan?”

“I’m reviewing birth records to identify the new Savior, but there’s no clear progress.”

People were growing increasingly desperate. Isolation would bring shortages in a few months. More and more friends and family were ending up with fur flying through the streets. Zelena’s secrecy made them more nervous than when she used to snatch children wholesale. She was waiting for something, and everyone held their breath in anticipation, waiting to find out what.

“We’re about to start the same endless circular discussion we have every day. The woman does what she can. The rest of us are doing nothing. Let’s end this thing already.”

“And what does that have to do with the threat of the Evil Queen?”

And the circle began again. Kathryn buried her face in her hands. The meeting dragged on and on.

***

It was nearly five when Fred Midas shook Regina by the shoulder. The woman had finally gotten her precious nap on the chesterfield. The tulips of Karaköy were still behind her eyelids when the man knelt beside her.

“Ikbaharda İstanbul'da laleler görmek istiyorum, Fred.”

With the right light, the former knight could pass for her Bosphorus boatman, who spoke animatedly for twenty minutes about all the tulip colors he’d seen while she sank into melancholy. But it wasn’t so easy to forget that Fred Midas was the knight in shining armor from Kathryn’s story—a man she never would’ve expected as a friend, especially not one so unconditional.

“I don’t know what you said, Regina. I only speak English, remember?”

Storybrooke and its strange magic crept back into her consciousness quietly. The vinyl had ended, Fleming and his sweet voice—along with his stormy eyes so reminiscent of an old love—had gone silent a couple of hours ago.

“It doesn’t matter what I said, Fred. There’s nothing you can do about it.” Regina was emerging from the fog, slowly. “Where’s your lady? You two rarely go anywhere without each other.”

“Well, I wanted to make sure you remembered you’re having dinner with us tonight. And she’s still at the emergency council meeting.”

“Is something wrong?” she asked out of protocol—something was always wrong in her life.

Fred hesitated, but decided to say it quickly anyway.

“Some people don’t believe you just found the trigger. They don’t understand why you’d hand it over at this point.”

“Ah.”

Understanding hit her all at once. She hadn’t expected to be believed anyway, but she didn’t want that responsibility blowing up in her face. Regina lived by her script of a hedonistic socialite—commitment and responsibility weren’t part of her new job description.

“But you shouldn’t worry,” he rushed to clarify. “You’ve got most people on your side. Kath, Emma, Spencer, Tremaine. Herman’s still unsure, Pimpón is definitely against you, but Snow has abstained for now. She seems very upset today.”

Well. Upset was better than loose-lipped. If Snow already suspected her poor health, things would explode soon enough. Sometimes Thursday felt too far away, as if reaching the release date were more a castle in the air than a work-in-progress with any real chance of success.

The knight looked thoughtful—much more than usual.

“Is there something else bothering you, Fred?”

“Victor’s worried about your call today,” he confessed, concern dripping from every word. “And I think Kath is too, but for different reasons. Neither of them liked the confusion the other day.”

Regina didn’t like what it foreshadowed either, but she understood where Whale’s doubts came from and why.

“Let me guess. Frankenstein thinks one day I’ll wake up believing I’m still the Evil Queen and I’ll annihilate everyone.”

“It scares me how accurate that is, but yes.”

At least her homicidal potential was now seen as an accidental possibility. Her public image was improving significantly.

“And what does he plan to do about it?” She didn’t really want to know the answer—she already expected it.

“He wants to give you something else. Something that keeps you asleep most of the time.”

That wasn’t feasible yet.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll get there eventually, but right now I don’t have time for luxuries. The fairies are crazier than ever, Cora escaped, and Zelena still wants to kill me. Tell him to give me back my Vicodin and we’ll start from there. That, mixed with magic, will be enough for now.”

Fred kept reflecting. It seemed he’d been wanting to say whatever he was about to ask for a while.

“Regina, don’t go to Paris,” he pleaded, his eyes soaked in devastatingly genuine honesty and anguish. “Stay here, close to your friends. I promise Kathryn and I will take you to Père-Lachaise when the time comes.”

Rarely had she been so moved by such an honest request.

“Fred, I can’t be a burden to you.”

“You couldn’t be, even if you tried.”

The sincerity and plea in his tone were overwhelming. What had Regina done to that poor couple? The damage was irreversible now. If Regina had her heart in her chest, she’d know exactly when to stop the disaster.

“I don’t want anyone to see how bad it’s going to get before it ends. Especially… especially Henry.” She confessed, because Fred Midas was truly her friend, and he deserved nothing less than the truth, no matter how brutal.

“It’s his right too, Regina,” he replied without flinching. “You gave it to him the day you adopted him.”

Now it was Regina’s turn to reflect. She’d never seen it that way. As if it were a symbiotic, reciprocal relationship. Henry hadn’t seen it that way since he was nine, but something felt different now. The boy had suffered, and no matter what happened between them, that was heartbreaking for her.

“What are we having for dinner?” She preferred to leave the topic for now. Emotional pain was becoming harder and harder to avoid. The sensations were slowly returning from her reinstated heart, but the emotions seemed eager for revenge too—as if they wanted to collect for all the time she hadn’t listened to them.

“Dolma,” the man caught on immediately and answered with a smile. “Kathryn wants to give you something traditional from our kingdom.”

Of course. Phrygia was in the Anatolian peninsula too, in the Enchanted Forest.

“That sounds nice.”

Chapter 31: Porto sventura a chi bene mi vuole!

Angel green and blue
I'm gonna leave my mind with you
It's coming at, it's coming at, it's coming at my heart
(I know, I see, I wanna be just free)
(I know, it craves, it's running through my veins)
To spoil my soul with fire

Agnes Obel -Golden Green- 2016

Her mother's plans were as grandiose as the Wizard of Oz's castle, that cunning charlatan who had subdued his city with smoke and mirrors. Cora had observed her daughter's blueprints first with an incredulous smile through her cell bars, then with a glint of greed. Of course she wanted another shot at that arrogant Princess Eva, to wipe that pretentious brat from the face of the earth, along with her insufferable Snow, her inconvenient, meddlesome Savior, and the annoying Henry who had turned Regina into such a weak woman.

Where Zelena fit into these tight, grandiose schemes, she didn't know, but Cora had promised jewels, lands, titles, gold… Everything Zelena had obtained in Oz through her own effort. Then there was that ambitious Nestor, who could see no further than his wounded ego and his desire to control the most interesting part of Regina: that group of rebellious nobles who seemed to love her with blind faith. How had she inspired such loyalty? She didn't know that either, but the man seemed to have chosen that juicy prize for himself.

Rumple grumbled from his corner of the farm, as he had ever since the children she'd invited for the project had displaced him from his basement cage. Baelfire's temporary death had clouded his long-term vision, all for foolish sentimentality. She could prevent his death. She would, once her spell was a success. Then maybe he'd be pleased with her again. Or not. It didn't matter. Rumpelstiltskin's love was no longer her priority.

Unfortunately, with her mother so intent on finding a place for Regina in this fantasy world she was building, Cora's love was also ceasing to be a priority. Her priority was ensuring her half-sister never even became a project, because if Regina was still there after all the effort Zelena was investing, what would be the point? Even if she successfully became Leopold's adored daughter, her mother would find a way for Regina to exist and hand her a kingdom far better than Zelena's. Even if Rumple entrusted her with the Dark Curse, Regina would just be another victim the fools would find a way to forgive and love.

And that wasn't the point. Her own plans were as simple as her adoptive parents' little hut. The point was to stop living in the shadow of everything the Evil Queen had done, to be Zelena, just Zelena, without annoying Dorothys stealing all of Glinda's attention, or hedonistic Reginas commandeering the attention of her mother or the man she loved. But to achieve that, she had to wait. Let her mother build her illusions, let Nestor find a way to neutralize that army of foolish nobles Regina shouldn't even have, let Snow give birth to the baby with the purest innocence this pathetic little town could offer, and pray to all the gods that the most resilient heart—Regina's, the one she'd hidden so zealously—didn't succumb to that stupid cancer before she could complete the time spell.

She had to find that heart. The one that had endured curses, assassination attempts, poisonings, lynchings, betrayal, exile, and that, inexplicably, still beat despite being condemned by disease. Only the most powerful ingredients could guarantee the success of an enchantment that had never been performed successfully, but which could accomplish great things.

Mother wouldn't like what she had planned for "her legacy," and it would surely break Rumple's brain when he lost that twisted magical bond with his "best apprentice," but it was a necessary move. If she had learned one thing in her entire life, it was that sacrifices were a horrendous but inevitable thing.

Zelena would not only be victorious; she would be free.

***

Grace's hands worked with meticulous care. Her slender fingers maneuvered the tuning lever with surgical precision, her perfect pitch telling her exactly when to stop tensioning the string of Regina's Steinway. Henry watched the operation nervously. If Grace messed up, if the piano was damaged, he couldn't pay for it even by selling both his kidneys. But the risk was worth it; his mother adored this instrument, and it was unusable in its current condition.

"It's a relief you know how to do this," he encouraged. "It's not a common skill."

The boy had asked high and low for a piano tuner, but pianos hadn't been invented in the Enchanted Forest, and the curse hadn't given that job to anyone. The Steinway didn't come with the original spell; his mother, able to come and go from Storybrooke at will—even to live elsewhere for a time—had bought it outside of town and brought it into her study with great effort. Therefore, it wasn't protected from time like the other objects.

"The old school piano keeps having problems," she replied, calm and confident in her work. "Someone had to learn to repair pianos if I wanted to keep rehearsing regularly. This piano is incredible, Hen. I never thought I'd see one up close. And her vinyl collection is astounding. Though I must admit the artwork is a bit... quirky."

The reproduction of Hans Holbein the Younger's The Empress watched them impassively as they spoke. It was one of many changes made to the study, alongside the Persian rugs, the Chesterfield sofa, the carved bookshelves, and the plush armchair. It was as if his mother had renounced the impersonal, monochromatic, minimalist cohesion that had ruled her house during the curse and had decided to display objects from her travels that she simply liked. It felt much more genuine this way, like a place she genuinely enjoyed spending time in, not just a representation of her own power.

"I'm sure Mom will let you play it whenever you want," Henry assured, because his mother seemed to have a soft spot for Grace, even before knowing of her operatic talents.

"I don't doubt it, but I don't want to upset my dad," she replied shyly.

Grace adjusted another string and moved to the next. Henry couldn't stop thinking about what had happened on Thursday night.

"Listen," he began reservedly, "about the theater foyer..."

"Your mother's offer is very generous, Henry," the girl interrupted, her eyes never leaving the string she was working on. "But not all of us hate Storybrooke as much as she does. I like it here. If I have to sing in the local theater for the rest of my career while having free time for other things I love just as much, I'll gladly accept it."

She seemed quite sure of her answer, but to Henry, it sounded like something Jefferson would say and Grace was just repeating. He let it go for now because she didn't seem open to questioning. Instead, he returned to the origin and end of his worries: his mother.

"Do you think she hates Storybrooke?" he inquired, eager for his friend's opinion but, more than anything, to understand what was going on in Regina's mind. "Is that why she's so angry with Emma? For trapping her here?"

Grace stopped tuning for a second, carefully considered her next words, and placed the tool back on the string.

"I think what she hates more is not having a choice," she explained patiently. "Many people here truly love her, but she's locked in this town. The rest of us even have the option to become winged monkeys if the confinement drives us crazy. She doesn't have that luxury."

The loss of autonomy doesn't sit well with anyone, but Henry sensed his mother was one of those people who handled that situation terribly. Something about the way Cora seemed to want to control everything by force gave him an idea why.

"Right."

Grace must have noticed something on Henry's face because she hurried to console him.

"Don't be sad. It was a mistake. You missed her terribly and you were scared for her. Now that you know she's okay, it'll be easier when she leaves."

But that was the real problem.

"I don't think she is that okay, you know?"

He admitted, almost like an involuntary confession of the fears that consumed him every night.

"But she will be," she assured him confidently, "if she's still recovering from the fight with Zelena. Witches don't get sick, Henry, everyone in the Enchanted Forest knows that. I sometimes forget you didn't grow up there, like us."

The girl's smile was full of optimism. But an intrusive thought prevented that optimism from infecting the boy:
Do witches remain witches when they have no magic? he wondered uncertainly.

The girl finished adjusting the last string. The prior cleaning hadn't been as thorough; Regina knew how to maintain it well. In the library, they found a stack of sheet music. The queen loved playing Chopin occasionally, but it was too much to expect her not to have scores of famous arias and duets lying around. Both rummaged through them with curiosity.

"Ah, I'm rehearsing this one for a recital," she commented enthusiastically, handing him a sheet of music whose title read Andrea Chénier.

"La mamma morta," the boy whispered, unable to contain the fear of a bad omen.

"Yes! How are your skills? You grew up playing this piano. Think you can accompany me? We need to test if it's in tune."

Henry's hands trembled, but he hid it carefully. The lyrics haunted him like a hound on its prey.

La mamma morta

m'hanno alla porta della stanza mia;

Moriva e mi salvava!

They killed my mother
at the door of my room;
She died and saved me!

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather practice Mon coeur s'ouvre à ta voix?" he suggested with a desperation he barely managed to conceal. The girl, absorbed in her enthusiasm, noticed nothing strange.

"Hmm. Saint-Saëns. I like Camille, but Samson and Delilah? I'd prefer to steer clear of religious dramas for the moment, if you don't mind."

And the ghost of Thursday came crawling back.

"I'm sorry if the fairy lunatics scared you."

"As much as my dad likes to disagree with your mother, he wanted to give them the treatment their kind received from her in the Enchanted Forest," she confessed bitterly. "Whatever that means."

"I gather it wasn't good."

A momentary chill ran down the boy's spine. Images from his storybook—his mother in one of her dramatic dresses, mounted on an irrational rage that devoured everything in its path—flashed through his mind. The fairies were very lucky she'd simply decided to remove them.

"Oh, look. Sempre libera, from La Traviata. Let's play this one, Hen."

The sound of keys rattling in the lock cut them off before they could answer. Regina, fresh from her dinner with Fred and Kath, went straight to the study to see why the lights were on.

"Mom," the boy greeted, caught in the act, "you're early."

"Mhh... No," she replied, not entirely convinced. "Dinner ran long. May I ask what you're doing here?"

"I wanted to surprise you."

"Well, you succeeded. I'm surprised," she responded with a calm smile. "To what do I owe this visit?"

Henry shifted nervously. Mifflin was no longer his home; any intrusion had to be announced and authorized. But he couldn't get used to it, and at the same time, he didn't want to anger Regina. He just wanted to do something nice for her while the town started distrusting her and being idiots again.

"The other day you said you couldn't play because your piano was out of tune," he recalled. "That's why I invited Grace. She tunes and fixes pianos all the time."

This seemed to please her, but Henry wasn't used to seeing the shadow of distrust in her gaze.

"That's very considerate," she said finally. "Are you going to play something?"

"We don't want to intrude any further," the girl assured, also unsure.

"It's no intrusion," she assured them calmly. "On the contrary. Live music from two such talented masters is always welcome."

"Thank you, Mrs. Mills," Grace was pleased with the compliment. "Your piano is wonderful. The one at school is..."

"Horrendous. I know." A mischievous smile lit up her face before she continued. "I wanted Mary Margaret to listen to that all the time. But now perhaps I'll take the time to send them another one. One like this."

"Mom, why would you give the school a piano more expensive than the school itself?"

"And why not?" The question was imbued with challenge, like when Henry had insisted it was impossible she'd won her fifth lottery in a row on Mexican Wednesday night.

"Aren't you depleting your retirement savings or something?" Henry marveled at how she could spend so much money without a care. Where was the great administrator of Storybrooke, the one who managed to stretch paltry budgets with prudent savings?

"Henry. I'm practically retired," she explained patiently. "I haven't worked in years." Between the initial clinical depression from exile, the suicide attempt, her terminal diagnosis, the horrible treatments, and the indulgent travels, she hadn't had time to pick up a single law book. What for? "It makes sense. My funds are as vast as the Count of Monte Cristo's after finding the treasure."

"And you don't want to torture Grandma anymore?" he asked in a tentative joking tone.

"No. I've let that matter rest," she replied solemnly. "Are you going to play something?"

"Yes, we found your score for Sempre libera."

She nodded, pleased.

"I'll go warm up the pozole. I don't want you leaving without dinner after you play."

"You still have pozole?"

"Henry, what is the law of pozole? Remember, I was a lawyer once and I know a thing or two about that."

It wasn't something taught in any law school, but she knew it anyway.

"If there's a pot of pozole, you eat pozole until it's gone," the boy declared, remembering the Christmas of 2008 when they ate pozole for a month until the last grain was gone.

"There you go. I don't make the rules, I just follow them."

Regina left the study with an ironic smile, as if she'd told a private joke. The woman who had been queen of a continent. She didn't make the rules. Sure.

Henry sat on the bench, the La Traviata libretto in front of him.

"Ready, Violetta?"

"Ready."

Notes:

Hi! I wanted to let you know that, since I’m aiming to follow an operatic-Aristotelian structure, my goal is to complete 41 parts: three acts of 13 chapters each, with two interludes. That might change, since the story could decide to tell something else without my consent—but I think it’s a pretty well-grounded prediction.

Chapter 32: E da quel dì tremante/ Vissi d'ignoto amor .

The impromptu concert from the youngsters didn't last long. Henry seemed to sense, with a perceptiveness he clearly hadn't inherited from Emma, just how tired Regina was after such a long day. Of course, while they were having dinner, she couldn't resist the temptation to dig through her yellowed sheet music for a Chopin nocturne. The things the original curse hadn't managed to touch, because Regina brought them later, were clearly distinguishable from the rest of the house's furnishings, with just a few years of wear. The piano was exquisite, as only Steinway & Sons knew how to make them, and despite the years, the destruction, and being out of tune, it stood firm, patient, waiting for agile fingers to once again fill the halls of 108 Mifflin Street with life. Grace and Henry applauded enthusiastically before saying their goodbyes.

It was like reuniting with an old friend after a long time apart.

The night passed without incident. The Court had organized a new date for the masquerade, for Wednesday. If everything went as Regina had planned, it would be the last time she saw them all together, and afterwards the Evil Queen would retire from public life forever. Unfortunately, that kind of life was already becoming unsustainable. The Orient Express tribute departed on Saturday, but she suspected that, even if she managed to be in Paris on time, spending six days on a train without a doctor was a very bad idea. Maybe later she could take another flight to Istanbul, but it would have to be in winter, because spring and its flowers seemed too far away.

After breakfast with the Midases, Kathryn had to leave for another emergency council meeting, as the supposedly Greek woman the Wicked Witch had sent in her pursuit was now ready to give a statement she's just a citizen of Oz who was kidnapped for Zelena's plans, knows nothing, and is pretending she does to waste our time. The Mayor said, anoyed before leaving. Fred stayed a while longer for tea. He was a calm guy and didn't feel the need to fill silences with more conversation, especially about topics Regina didn't want to discuss, but something had been bothering her ever since her heart continued its slow but steady mission of torturing her with the emotions she had ignored while it wasn't in her chest.

"There's one thing I still don't understand, Fred," she began, tentative, as she set her cup down. "I caused you and Kath a great deal of harm when I brought you here."

Despite his calm demeanor, the man wasn't without humor. Making the girl laugh had won him a princess, after all.

"Yes, I believe you are the inventor of mass kidnapping."

The parallel with Miss Swan's actions didn't go unnoticed. Back then, Regina acted out of a painful conviction that she deserved retribution. Emma did what she did because… Why did she do it? She couldn't understand the logic. No matter how desperate she was, she had to know that forcing her into something would only push her further away. But Fred and Kath were different, much more prone to forgiveness than she was.

"And yet you've never doubted me," she marveled. "Not with the Charming attack, nor with this trigger scandal."

Fred grew thoughtful for a moment, weighing his words. Clearly, Regina wasn't used to that kind of trust, and it disconcerted her. He had to explain everything carefully so she would trust him.

"I won't deny it was complicated," he admitted. "But I always end up seeing things the way my wife sees them. She's very empathetic, you know? And that empathy ends up being contagious. Kathryn was almost forced to marry David, and she believed I was lost forever."

The transformation into a gold statue was still a sensitive topic for Fred; Regina knew he still had nightmares about it, that the post-traumatic stress he carried as a consequence had been triggered by Zelena's petrifications, and that Kathryn hadn't slept much since she began stalking the town either.

"I remember it well. It was a difficult time for her."

He nodded, still affected by a sadness his wife had already overcome.

"The fairy tale worked out for us in the end," he reminded himself, calm once more, "but what would have happened if it hadn't? What if, instead of having magic as an aid, she had had it as a weapon?"

The realization hit Regina suddenly. A pang of affection for Kathryn emerged from her irritable heart.

"She believes she could have ended up doing what I did?" she asked just to confirm, carefully picking up her cup again, unable to hide the shock on her face.

"Yes," the professor confirmed. "That's why she chose to believe in you. No one else does, Regina," he proceeded to explain. "They always look for the first sign to persecute you again. And we're not going to pretend they lack reasons, because the past is there and it weighs heavily, but if no one trusts you, you'd have no other options but to do what they think you'll do."

An echo of her reflections from recent weeks resonated in Regina's mind. Now it was more complicated to separate logic from emotions.

"And you haven't failed us since you returned," he acknowledged. "Even if you don't want to admit it, you're looking for a way to do the right thing without anyone demanding it of you. And we had no way of knowing it would be like this, but we chose to do it because we love you. And that's also why we don't want you to go to Paris."

But his tone lacked the pleading of the previous day; it was just a statement. The first step was to start with empathy, he had said, and then take a leap of faith without knowing if they'll reciprocate. If the Midases could do it so easily, perhaps Regina could consider the idea that there were certain other people with whom she could try it too.

Fred left, leaving Regina in her most comfortable armchair, rereading her favorite book while the town council discussed the words of her tentative kidnapper for five minutes before spending another five hours debating whether the Queen was trustworthy or not. In the book on her lap, Mercedes arrived at night at the Champs-Élysées, pleading not with the Count, but with Edmund Dantès to spare her son's life. Maximilien and Emmanuel arrived, ready to prepare for the duel with Albert, and then, before his second went to speak with the young man's…

Regina slammed the book shut, searching for the Benz keys, driving through the city in an attempt to return control to her logical mind, stolen by a vengeful heart that wanted to make itself felt in retribution for the exile. The queen just barely managed not to drive near the complex where Mary Margaret's loft was. She wasn't ready to go there yet, didn't ever want to be. But that phrase in the book… She ended up waiting until nightfall and parked right outside the hospital. She hadn't consciously thought about it in decades, and now it was all she could think about.

The fairies no longer guarded Charming's room, and consequently, nor the psychiatric wing, in exchange for his wife's silence on the council. So the way was clear. For the first time in years, Sidney Glass's door opened to admit someone who wasn't hospital staff or Snow's jailer.

Regina had changed little in the time he hadn't seen her, except for the unusual thinness and pallor. The man forced a smile and bowed. It required extraordinary power or sharp wit to enslave an efrit. The woman before him had both.

—Hünkarım, hoş geldiniz — he greeted with solemnity, and then added, reciting: —Şüphesiz ki gözlerinin kölesi, kapında bekliyor; kuşkusuz en mütevazı kölen. Ama o, sahibini tanıyor. Sahibinin ne kadar cömert ve iyiliksever olduğunu biliyor. Ve hepsinden öte, bunlara karşılık vermek için ne yapması gerektiğini de biliyor.

At your door, awaits the slave of your eyes, undoubtedly your most humble slave. But he knows his owner. He knows how generous and kind she is. And, above all, he knows what he must do to repay it.

"Your modern Turkish is better than mine," Regina commented, arching an eyebrow. "I see you've been rereading Arabian Nights. I just wish you hadn't quoted precisely the fable with the orgy in front of me."

It was as if no time had passed at all, as if she had only come to conspire with him about the kingdom or the mayoralty. But there were no traces of a desire to plot on her face; rather, it seemed like something was deeply bothering her.

"To what do I owe the honor of your visit, majesty?"

She gave him a half-smile, then sat on the cot, her breathing slightly labored. Getting down to the basement required many steps. He, cautious, sat next to her.

"I'm here because I've been rereading too," she confessed. "The more I read, the more aware I am of how little I know. Of the little time I have left to know. But I can't stop returning to Dumas," she explained, and he listened, patient. "For years, his Count resonated with me: monumental revenge as an extension of providence. No one sees themselves as the villain of their own story, do you think?"

It was like returning to the endless nights between court parties and war preparations in the winter palace. The efrit and the queen would spend countless moments talking about fragments of works that unsettled them. Like two old friends connecting with their other friends, the books, rather than mistress and servant.

"And which fragment unsettles my lady?"

It was the woman's turn to recite from memory:

"Qu'est-ce que cela me fait, à moi, qui ai passé vingt ans entre la vie et la mort, de vivre ou de mourir ? [...]. Je sais que le monde est un salon dont il faut sortir poliment et honnêtement, c'est-à-dire en saluant et en payant ses dettes de jeu."

What does it matter to me, who have spent twenty years between life and death, whether I live or die? […] I know that the world is a drawing-room from which we must retire politely and honestly, that is to say, with a bow and having paid our gambling debts.

Regina let the quote hang in the air, heavy. As if before her eyes unfolded all the debts she still wanted to pay.

"And I have an outstanding account with you," she continued, serene. "You are here because you confessed to something I asked Gold to do."

The man cleared his throat.

"We both know that's not true," he said bitterly. "Snow has used her last remaining threads to detain me for the murder of her father."

Regina nodded, still lost in thought.

"I knew you loved me," she stated bluntly. "I made you believe that if you did it, you could be with me. Like Monte Cristo, I thought I had the right to use you, that revenge was just another word for justice."

"But you never loved me," the efrit remarked.

"Not in that way. No. You were a good reading companion, however, and a great Agrabian teacher."

The words hung between them, finally unveiled.

"You said he was abusive to you," Sidney recalled suddenly. "Was that true? It's not an easy thing to fake."

"It was."

"Then I don't regret it," he said with renewed conviction. "Pigs don't belong in any world."

Regina brought a hand to her face; she looked tired.

"But I shouldn't have enslaved you as payment," she acknowledged, something like shame crossing her features.

"I will live forever, my queen. That is my nature. The time I spent as your advisor means nothing to me. And yet, you are right, it was rude."

Regina lowered her gaze, but then something on the man's wrist caught her attention.

"What an interesting accessory you have there."

Sidney looked at his wrist with resentment.

"An invention of Pan and his magnificent Home Office. I feel the magic bubbling under my skin, but this prevents me from using it."

"Like my curse," the woman reflected. Suddenly an idea assaulted her mind. "Do you mind if I borrow it?"

"Not at all, majesty."

With a gesture, Regina freed her old mirror from the magical restraint, tucking it into her coat for later. And also, with another flick of her wrist, she severed the magical bond that bound him to serve her. Both could feel it, like a knife cutting the invisible thread that connected them, which they hadn't even noticed until it was lost forever. She prepared to send him away from the cell, but he raised his hand.

—Sen bir köle değil — the queen reminded him. —Artık değil. Sen özgürsün, ve bu sefer bu doğru.
You are not a slave. Not anymore. You are free, and this time it's true.

The efrit rummaged through the folds of her coat, searching for the travel mirror he knew she carried with her.

"Free, yes. But we will see each other again, Regina."

Regina. Not 'your majesty,' nor any other variant. He could finally speak to her as an equal. For the first time in years, Sidney used his own magic to enter the world of the mirrors. No longer bound by the curse to serve her, he could use it as a conduit instead of a prison.

"I don't think so, old friend," Regina whispered to the air. Then she vanished too, heading to her car in the parking lot, leaving the cell as empty as the echo of one less debt.

Chapter 33: Di fuggirti un giuramento/ Sacro io feci

When Cora arrived in Storybrooke, after so many years waiting for her daughter's curse to break but, above all, awaiting the vulnerable position it would leave her in, she did so with an escape plan. Killian Jones's Jolly Roger was a vessel capable of traveling between realms using a suitable portal, which could only be facilitated by a magic bean. They weren't easy to acquire. Only one species could provide them efficiently, which is why the Queen of Hearts kidnapped a giant. And not just any giant, one who detested the face of Snow's husband.

Unfortunately, the Savior had the opportunity not only to stop the giant but to turn him against her. Regina was no longer in Storybrooke, and Cora and Hook were detained and imprisoned. The exit plan remained unfinished.

Now Anton spent his days on a small farm outside town, harvesting his beans, remembering his family and his society that no longer existed, while his best friend—the niece of the man who massacred nearly the last giant soul—and her young son visited him occasionally. Magic beans were temperamental and disliked sudden weather changes or excessive rain. The first full production survived as if by miracle, and a greenhouse had to be built to obtain a healthier harvest.

Snow's dream was to get enough to send everyone back to their homes in the Enchanted Forest, but the shrunken giant understood that was perhaps too much to ask. Obtaining seeds was simple, but getting the plant to develop a bean with enough strength to open a portal in a magically poor environment like Storybrooke's was overly optimistic, considering it took years. Still, the man had a handful he kept under strict vigilance.

There were families who would give all their possessions for a single bean: the most modest hut built with sacrifice, all kinds of equines, even the life of a not-so-loved being, just for the chance to start over somewhere else. That's why they were a state secret that Snow had managed to guard with great difficulty at the council's request, because everyone knows keeping secrets isn't her forte.

In fact, the dwarves offered to mount an expedition to the Enchanted Forest when they realized a second curse was underway, but the bean only sputtered and died on the spot. Anton didn't want to sacrifice another, and anyway, the fairies said the problem wasn't the bean. The problem was the magical barrier surrounding Storybrooke, which prevented magical exits from the town, even by non-traditional means.

So the man, widely accepted among the dwarven brotherhood, waited patiently for the fruit of his labor, and that of all his ancestors, to become useful again in time.

***

Hook's sailboat had become town property upon his arrest. No one wanted to use it because it represented a too-painful period for the town, one which created a significant power vacuum with Regina's exile and nearly saw everyone eliminated by Cora's attempts to become the new Dark One. Viscounts Alfredo and Carmen from the southern realms didn't have those problems when they rented it from Kathryn for a nighttime sail. It was impossible for them to go more than three kilometers from the dock where the Welcome Rave had been held, but that didn't stop them from using the little leeway they had to escape the strange looks of the townsfolk. The arrest of Blue and Thumbelina had only made the fairies cautious. Hostility and prejudice hadn't gone away; they just hid under layers of false friendliness that were scarier than drawn knives. Someone else had taken charge while the ringleaders awaited trial.

Lucio and Julio were also there, the former with his injured arm still in a sling. They didn't want a wild party, just a quiet night before the masquerade planned for Wednesday. Regina's courtiers weren't fools. They remembered the exuberance and energy with which their queen carried herself in the Enchanted Forest. This version was weakened for an unknown reason, and from the comments she dropped here and there, it was clear it was more serious than she wanted to let on. She had no plans to reunite with them. She didn't even seem sure she could attend the boys' wedding, scheduled in a year, when spring gave way to summer again.

The rest of the court seemed to see them as leaders, but it wasn't quite like that. They were in charge of bringing some order so things turned out as they should, but the only one with the right to claim that place was their queen.

The night was starry; between the swaying of the boat and the distant lights, the taste of good champagne, the four were having a pleasant time. Regina had implied she would take them to Milan someday, as a friend, not as a queen. Monarchs were an anachronism in this world, she had told them; here there were no subjects, but citizens. Leadership was something one could exercise for a set time and then leave without consequences for someone else to take their turn, always by the choice of the constituents. It sounded like too much work, honestly, when they would choose her every time if they had to vote. She replied that she had no interest in appearing on any other ballot; that would tie her to one place for too long, and she just wanted to keep traveling. Sometimes, Julio got the impression his queen was going somewhere no one could follow.

The music on that Spotify Lucio had found varied greatly. There were songs in the languages of almost all the kingdoms that existed in the Enchanted Forest, and many more. The Californian wine Carmen had brought was running out quickly, and the food was disappearing at the same rate. The boys made plans for their wedding; the already married couple planned a vow renewal. They all included Regina in their hopes one way or another.

But there was something strange in the air suddenly. Like when the pressure around you feels different and you know, you don't understand exactly how, that a bit of magic is about to happen. In the kingdom of Misthaven it occurred all the time, and it was nothing to worry about, but in Storybrooke it was easy to distinguish what kind of magic was about to surprise them, and what they felt weren't good news.

A group of 6 people appeared around them, all hooded, conveniently transported by fairy dust. The music stopped; the four friends congregated in the center of the deck, back to back, awaiting the attack that would undoubtedly come. 5 of the hooded figures were clearly fairies, the lesser kind assigned a secondary color like lilac or pink. At their head was, somehow, Nestor.

"Well, well, well. Look what the tide brought in. Aren't they the Evil Queen's trusted little counts?"

They held no knives, but somehow the uncertainty was worse.

"Curious," Carmen retorted with her irreverent smile, "isn't this the advisor our queen discarded for treason?"

Julio found nothing amusing about the new association. Anyone who supported those who had spilled his fiancé's blood didn't deserve to breathe the same air as him. Nestor smiled like a snake.

"I don't know. When the rest of your lazy friends find out what I discovered here… that you were conspiring against our queen. What do you think they'll do?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Nestor?"

"The court shouldn't be led by four layabouts like you. Nor should it be in the hands of a woman who has become as indulgent as those she claims to lead. You deserve a better leader, one who can reclaim what Snow White and her shepherd prince stole from us in the Enchanted Forest."

"The Enchanted Forest, the Charmings, and you can all rot for all I care," Julio spat with disdain.

"Your father would be so disappointed. You were destined to marry the richest marchioness in the realm, to unite your lands and produce lords who would put the insurgent peasants of the White kingdom in their place. Instead, you devote yourself to fornicating with another man and drinking a year's worth of wine in two days."

The young man couldn't contain himself any longer. The firm punch he threw connected directly with the old advisor's jaw and knocked out a few teeth; unfortunately, his own knuckles ended up shattered after a few more hits. Nestor just laughed.

"Your friends will be delighted to hear how you assaulted an old man when he discovered your treachery."

"Queen Regina will kill you…"

The fairy escorts set about restraining him with their weak dust, then tied all four tightly with a rope. Another hooded figure began spilling fuel all over the deck.

"Queen Regina will be devastated by your betrayal. Pity all four of you will burn with this lousy boat and rot at the bottom of this bay."

Alfredo trembled with rage but said nothing. Before being tied up, he had managed to send a text message. It was like throwing a bottle into the water, if the receiver didn't read it in time. The old man took each of their seals, the ones they used to sign important letters in the old-world style; he would undoubtedly forge their conspiracy with them. Then the flames began to consume the table they had brought out, slowly advancing to the wood of the deck floor. The captors seemed to be waiting for something, as if they wanted to ensure the victims were suffocated by smoke before leaving with magic.

Finally, Nestor was sufficiently convinced the courtiers wouldn't be saved, because he gave the signal for the magical exit. However, the smiles froze on their faces, because when they executed the spell, nothing happened. A crystal ball smashed on the floor—undoubtedly a magical object that neutralized fairy dust—and another person appeared on deck. With agile hands, the person drew a revolver and aimed it steadily at the old advisor.

"Sheriff Swan!" the man greeted, unable to hide his surprise. "You won't believe what these worms were plotting against your true love."

"Save it, idiot. You think the mayor's office wouldn't install cameras on its tourist boat?"

That was enough for Nestor's lackeys to attack Swan. She managed to shoot two of them, but the other three pinned her to the deck.

"Well, I'll have to take care of those recordings later. Regina will be very disappointed when she finds out what you were planning with the leaders of her court. But I suppose she'll love to know you're neutralized and nothing can stop her from taking the prince back."

The man took the revolver the woman had intended to use to control the situation and pointed it at her head, but he had forgotten something fundamental: it was the fairies who were prevented from using magic, not her. Emma didn't even have to think twice; her instinctive magic pulled her out of there and put her behind him. With a blow from the butt of her backup weapon to the back of his neck, the guy fell face-first. The fairy henchwomen were a bit disoriented at losing their leader but quickly recovered and charged again. Emma didn't have time for more struggles. The boat was burning too fast. The blonde ran to the hostages, grabbed the rope—the only thing in contact with all four—tightly, and then disappeared with them in a cloud of white magic.

The five appeared on the dock. In the distance, she could see the flames consuming everything and the fairies jumping overboard. She had all five identified and would go after them later. Teleporting required a huge amount of energy for her. Regina made it look so easy, going here and there all the time, but for Emma it was still quite complicated. She couldn't make a round trip to rescue Nestor and put him in custody, and there was no evidence his lackeys had gotten him out.

The flames licked the wood and the canvas of the sails; a green smoke, a product of the magic imbued in the vessel, rose with a ghostly echo, as if the soul of the Jolly Roger were detaching from it.

"Alfredo," called a panting Emma, who couldn't tear her eyes from the flames, "what inspired you to call me?"

The queen seemed unwell; he didn't want to bother her unnecessarily. He didn't think things would escalate so much.

"Her Majesty said if we got into trouble in this world, we should call the police," he lied.

Emma nodded. With the last magical energy she had left, she sent them to Mifflin Street, where they all had their houses, after untying them. Now she had to call her deputies and begin the official rescue and arrest work, but her phone had suddenly lost service.

“I must confess that I was expecting my sister tonight, but you’ll be useful anyway.” A voice said behind her.

Zelena was wearing an elegant dark green velvet dress, as if she were about to attend a play and not the sinking of a ship and the possible death of one of her allies. Emma searched for her backup weapon in its holster, but it was no longer there. It was on the bench where the redhead had been sitting, contemplating the fire.

“It doesn't matter what you want from Regina. You're not going to touch her.” Swan warned, alert. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

The woman smiled confidently.

“True love is such a heavy curse, Swan. That woman shattered your life 5 minutes after you were born, and yet you're compelled, by a magical impulse you don't understand, to defend her tooth and nail.”

The sheriff felt the statement like a stab wound. There was nothing magical about loving Regina; it had been a pure choice that became a bond.

“Magic didn't force me to do anything, I chose her before all this crap.”

“And yet you let her down.”

It wasn't that she didn't know. It still felt like a slap. Emma had no way to defend herself. She had exhausted almost all her magic saving the hostages and her weapon was out of reach. The petrification spell only affected her from the neck down. Zelena wanted the rest of her villainous soliloquy to be heard. The Wicked Witch of the West rose gracefully to her feet. Not with Regina's natural elegance, but enough to outclass Emma's. The woman produced a small vial and drank it.

“You’re not something I intend to steal from Regina,” she murmured, approaching dangerously, “after all, mother is right. Love is a weakness. You, and only you, are responsible for my sister’s downfall. Think about that when all this is over, Swan, will you?”

Then she cynically patted her cheek and planted a tremendous Judas kiss on her lips. Emma felt the effects of a potion coursing through her entire body, numbing every nerve ending. Zelena drank from another vial, an antidote, surely. Then she vanished in her cloud of green magic. The petrification spell faded. Emma tried to reach for her magic to attempt one of those healing spells from Rumple's books to get rid of whatever Zelena had done to her, but when she tried, she simply couldn't grasp it.

That witch had blocked her magic somehow.

***

It was a morning like any other when the secret began to unravel in the most unexpected way.

It was just a momentary carelessness on Fred's part, while he was checking his work emails, that allowed Henry to sneak into the Mifflin mansion, despite being explicitly told not to. When he entered, Regina's voice was full of panic as she called out for him. She was now at the foot of the stairs, still in her pajamas even though it was nearly noon. Her gaze was plagued with confusion and distrust.

“Mom, it's me. It's Henry.” —he tried to reassure her, but that only made Regina more distrustful.

She didn't know who he was, he realized with sadness and a deep fear.

“That's absurd. Boy, I don't know who you are. My son is only 5 years old. He should be around here…”

Her gaze drifted toward the front door, where the Midases had just hurriedly entered. Kathryn also paled a little, as if she recognized the situation rather than finding it unusual. Since the previous Thursday, the day Regina woke up so lost in confusion and barely managed to go out for her precious performance of Tosca, the mayor had come every morning to make sure her friend had woken up in the present. That day, she hadn't; she was trapped in a moment when the curse was strong, Kathryn Nolan played no role in her life, and Henry was a toddler. She left Fred on watch while she went to consult Whale, because she couldn't make her remember like last time. Unfortunately, Regina had scheduled the boy for another driving lesson, and the sudden cancellation written in words that didn't seem like her own only added more weight to the suspicions he had been harboring for days and feeding for weeks.

“Regina, dear,” called the mayor, her voice trembling, “Why don't you go back to bed? You look very tired. Victor sent your prescription just as you wanted it, what do you say?”

Which was a cruel irony, because the damn Oxycodone had already done the worst it could do: not bring out the Evil Queen, as Whale feared, but shatter the fragile alibi she had intended to use to protect her son. Kathryn held no hope that Regina would know what she was talking about. Fred approached, calm, and gently offered her his arm. He was the only one who didn't have a close relationship with her until she was brought back to town.

“Perhaps you don't want your bed again so soon,” he began kindly, “How about the Chesterfield? There's a vinyl in your collection I want you to show me. But first, Regina, tell me, how is the pain this morning? Do you want something for it?”

Both members of the couple had thoroughly researched what they could do in case the confusion repeated itself, and had also discussed it with Archie. The most urgent thing was always to ask about the pain, since skipping a dose was not going to be good for her. Brain fog and confusion were expected in patients with a condition as advanced as Regina's; the fact that magic stubbornly kept her on her feet couldn't change that the cancer was killing her.

“I… yes, I think so,” she replied, still undecided about whether to question why two more strangers were in her house, then remembered why she was upset in the first place “Have you seen Henry?”

“He's safe. Well cared for,” he assured with composure. “Let's go to your study, I'll tell you everything after you take your medicine.”

Fred took the pharmacy bag from his wife's hands and disappeared into the study, carefully guiding Regina with him. Henry looked furious.

“Mrs. Midas, I demand you tell me what is going on here. What's wrong with my mom? Why doesn't she recognize me? Why did your husband ask her if she's in pain?”

Kathryn hung her coat on the rack, trying to buy time. Regina would be so upset with her when she came out of the confusion episode.

“It's not my place to tell you, Hen. It's your mother's private life.”

That only made it worse.

“What do you mean my mother's private life is not my business? Is that what you're saying?”

The boy went into the study, furious. Regina was already on the chesterfield, covered with a blanket, sleeping a restless drug-induced sleep. Fred had left the bottles of opioids on the coffee table while he looked for a record among the vinyl collection.

“Perhaps Tosca will refresh her memory again, dear,” Kathryn advised in her tired tone.

“Yes, love, I was looking for it.”

Neither of them was looking directly at him.

“Is no one going to answer me?” Asked the boy, getting closer to his limit. The thought of strangling Fred Midas to get the truth crossed his mind, but he was an Enchanted Forest knight and could subdue him in half a second without any problem.

“Henry, don't wake your mother,” admonished Kathryn's husband, with his usual calm that only served to annoy the boy further. He didn't like his friend being disturbed while she scraped together some much-needed rest either “sit down and listen to Tosca with us. When she wakes up, she'll tell you everything. If she still doesn't remember you, then I will.”

“Fred!” Kathryn was horrified.

“Regina knew the secret was going to blow, love. Henry is her only son, he has to know. He can't remain a child any longer,” he said with sadness, “not in the town we live in.”

Kathryn sighed deeply and sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, while Henry collapsed into his mother's favorite reading chair. His eyes showed a mixture of worry and resignation.

“Your mother didn't want you to worry, Henry. We've only done what she thought was best for you.” The excuse didn't sound valid to him.

The silence that followed was so thick it seemed to make breathing difficult. Henry looked at his sleeping mother. The thinness, the paleness. There was very little difference between what he saw and what was in Pan's dreams. So the bastard was telling the truth; this was the real version of what was happening to her.

"How long...?” —he began, but couldn't finish the question.

“No one knows for sure,” —Kathryn replied softly, sad that he had guessed it anyway—. “But Regina is strong, she always has been.”

When Regina woke up, about five hours later, it took her a long moment to remember what was happening, but the Oxycodone was already leaving her system and her present was slowly returning. She looked so miserable, as if she would prefer to be anywhere else but on the sofa in her study with that entire audience.

Fred and Kath left to give them privacy, and Regina, sitting on her ugly Chesterfield sofa, with the blanket still wrapped around her waist, had no choice but to explain to her teenage son that she had been dying almost since day 1 of the exile, and that she had known for three years.

Henry then confessed what he had omitted at the town line: Pan's psychological torture, that every night he saw her die in his dreams from the illness she had just confirmed she had.

Neither of them knew where to look. Something within the woman's resolve broke definitively because she opened her arms to receive him, and Henry, reflecting the little boy who needed his mother that he still was, clung to her waist. Both cried silently for a moment. Even so, the boy, showing his Charming genes, wanted to avoid fate. As if Oedipus and Regina herself didn't know how absurd and painful that always ends up being.

“But... But... There must be something you can do,” —he murmured from where he was, clinging to her with his head in his mother's lap.

“Oh, my little prince,” the term of endearment coming from her mouth for the first time since Emma kidnapped her sounded like a dagger rather than a comfort, “stage 4 pancreatic cancer only leaves you the option of very strong painkillers and finding a place with attentive nurses.”

“No, Mom,” he said stubbornly, sitting up to look her in the eyes. “You have to fight...”

“I already did,” she said with a knot in her throat, “for three years. I lost.”

It had never felt like a burden to her. It was something that simply made sense in her life full of misfortunes. But now she saw his little boy's broken heart and it was starting to resemble the cruel curse it was for most of her companions in the chemo room.

“But, magic...”

“...Was what put me in this situation in the first place,” She interrupted. She didn't want to be the one to tell him that the fairy tale his family seemed to live in was an exception and not the norm for everyone in the Enchanted Forest, but she could no longer hide that truth from him either. She could no longer protect him from anything. “If I hadn't abused it only to lose it later, my immune system might have put up more of a fight. But 'what ifs' will only hurt us more.”

The implications crashed down on the boy like a dam breaking.

“Losing it later... Was it my fault?”

Regina took him by both cheeks, quite hurt.

“It was my fault.” she assured him firmly “I asked Rumple to teach me magic to get rid of my mother.”

Henry was like her, stubborn; he couldn't let go of an idea once it got into his head. But she didn't want him to go down that path. The situation was horrible enough as it was.

“But if you had stayed here...”

He insisted.

“I hate it here. The only thing that makes it special is you.”

Among others.

“Can I go with you?” he begged desperately “When the town line falls and you leave Storybrooke, can you take me?”

Regina considered it. There was nothing she wanted more, but things had to be seen from the harsh truth and not from illusion. Regina was a woman who belonged to the real world; the best option was to explain to him that what was coming would not be pleasant.

“Henry... In the coming months there will be no trips on luxurious trains. Soon I will start to be so tired that I won't be able to leave my house, and it will only go downhill from there. I won't be able to leave the bed; if you think I'm thin now, it will be nothing compared to when my skin is stuck to my bones from the opium. And it will hurt so much that they will drug me all day. I'll be lucky if I wake up for a few minutes each day, and I won't even realize or remember that you're there.”

“But I will know,” he replied with resolve. “And after everything you did for me when I was little, it's not fair to leave you alone. I can't do it.”

The desire to protect him and refuse was predominant, but something occurred to Regina for the first time since Fred planted the doubt: The moment she signed the adoption papers, she wasn't just acquiring rights over Henry; she was handing over rights to herself to that little baby... And now that baby, almost a man, was claiming his rights. She couldn't make the decision for him. Her life was a hell because others—her mother, the man she was forced to marry, her magic teacher—insisted on taking her power to decide what she wanted for herself. She didn't want to be Cora; she couldn't.

“Do you really think you can handle it?”

“I've done it a million different times in Pan's torture without being able to intervene. This time I can. I need to do it.”

“Is that your final decision? Is that really what you want?”

“Yes.”

Regina nodded, a mixture of devastation and resignation in her gaze. She extended her trembling hand toward Henry, who took it without hesitation.

“Then you will come with me,” she whispered, gently squeezing his fingers. “But do you understand that you are still a child and that soon I won't be able to take care of you?”

“I don't need you to take care of me,” Henry replied with determination “I will take care of you.”

“That's not how things work, dear,” she explained tenderly.

“We will take care of him, Regina,” Kathryn responded, determined, from the study door. Her eyes were full of shame for not being able to stop Henry and sadness for what had just happened in that house “and of you.”

“I can't ask you that.”

“You're not asking, we're offering,” Fred added firmly. “We'll resolve the crisis here and then we'll catch up with you, since you don't want to stay. Even if it's not resolved soon, I will go, and Kath will join us as soon as it's safe to resign.”

Henry held back tears as he nodded. There were no words to express what he felt. Instead of speaking, he simply lay back down on his mother's lap, the tears returning to their previous flow. Regina ran her fingers through her son's hair, as she used to do when he was little. Then she nodded, defeated, to her friends. It was what Henry wanted.

The vinyl had ended hours ago, but Fred put the first record, side A, on again. The notes of Tosca began to fill the room once more as mother and son remained silent, sharing the weight of the inevitable and the promise of being together until the end.

Chapter 34: E lucevan le stelle

"I already told all three of you that I'm fine. The confusion is a side effect of a medication I'm no longer taking."

Dinner at the Mifflin mansion was quite tense. Now that a new watcher had been added to Regina's capricious health, they had to explain to him the way her magic acted in mysterious ways. Kathryn began with the cognitive tests Whale had taught her in case she suspected her friend wasn't fully connected to reality. She passed them easily after a good dinner. That was one of the advantages; she had a more or less healthy appetite since arriving in town and never had nausea. Now she was trying to reassure everyone so they could go rest without worries. She hated drawing attention when that wasn't her purpose. She hated the look of panic and deep pity in her only son's eyes but, above all, she hated the pain she was inflicting on the other three guests at her table.

"My memories are fine now," she insisted while cutting a good portion of green enchilada. "I bet I can even recite Sor Juana from memory right now: Yo no puedo tenerte ni dejarte…"

But she stopped right there when she realized her phone was ringing, and so was Kathryn's, though she was purposely ignoring it. That was the worst thing about Storybrooke. She could never have a quiet day at home, sleep all day while listening to opera, and then go to sleep all night in silence. Normal things for a dying person. There was always a spell to find, a potion to watch over, or a mess to clean up.

The young courtiers, the four closest to her heart. Attacked by Nestor and his fairy lackeys. How incredible! Perhaps she was taking the non-provocative approach too seriously. Maybe she should have hunted down the idiots who invaded the theater, one by one, and torn their wings off. That was the monster they believed her to be, why not give it to them? Why not find that manual of punishments Leopold had left in her old castle and use it on that imbecile Nestor?

Regina finished her last enchilada, placed the napkin on the table with an impatient gesture, and got dressed to go out with a snap of her fingers.

"You must be joking, Mom. You need to rest."

She adjusted the scarf between the collar of her blazer and her tweed coat with an air of nonchalance, while the boy prepared to go after her if necessary.

"But I slept all night and was asleep almost all day," she joked with a tense smile. "A bit of air from the docks won't hurt me before I'm ready to go back to my bed."

Then she made a meaningful glance to answer Fred's silent question: yes, she remembered much of what had happened that morning. She was grateful for the practical tenderness with which Fred had handled the situation, but now she just felt embarrassed that someone had seen her in such a pitiful state.

"I'll go with you," Henry hurried. "I want to go to the Loft for my things. Can I move in here?"

Regina felt her pockets to check if the Benz keys were there too or if she had to look for them on the keyring by the front door. The question caught her off guard. Henry's affection and care could be as intense as what she had always tried to give him, but it had been many years since she was on the receiving end of it from him, and everything felt new.

"What about Emma?" she asked, feigning lightness, but fearing he might change his mind upon remembering some things he perhaps hadn't considered.

"Emma will understand." Regina was going to protest, but the boy interrupted her. "I won't tell her anything you don't want her to know. But she knows I've wanted to live here again since the wishing well incident."

The Midases looked at each other, not convinced that letting Regina go out was a good idea, but they knew she was lucid enough to escape if she wanted to. They didn't want her to see it as a prison. However, the look they gave the boy was significant: We have to be careful with her. Now all three of us are in this.

Kathryn went with them. As mayor, it was her place to be wherever Storybrooke had a crisis. On the way, Regina turned the radio tuner looking for something to calm the very tense mood. She also didn't let anyone but her drive her precious Benz; it too had a countdown and wouldn't let the date be moved up. She pressed the cigarette lighter and while it heated up, she rummaged through the glove compartment for her cigar reserve, but then remembered Henry was in the car and changed her mind. Both passengers studied her every move for anything out of place to convince her to go back if necessary.

At the dock, there was nothing left to resolve. Ruby and Mulan were returning to the port in the patrol boat with the two injured fairies, pale from blood loss, almost hypothermic from the icy waters of Maine. Of the Jolly Roger, only burning debris remained in the water. It was quite a hypnotic spectacle to watch.

"Did they get the insurance or do I have to write another check?" Regina asked, half-joking, half-serious.

"Yes, they did," Kathryn replied seriously.

Finding Nestor would require waiting for daylight. The hospital was already alerted to notify the sheriff if anyone with burns showed up. The other three fairies would be arrested as soon as the work at the scene was finished.

Emma was sitting on a bench, she looked exhausted and pale. The truth was, Regina was quite worried about what Mulan had said on the phone about Zelena and the theft of her magic. The blonde had demonstrated a mastery she didn't have when they were a couple. That was a sign of instinctive practice, even if she didn't remember it due to the curse. The loss of her power had the potential to be as catastrophic as it had been for Regina.

That's why, as soon as she approached, the brunette took the blonde's hand with a clinical, professional movement. Her expression was inscrutable. Then she let out a small gesture that could pass for relief.

"Your magic is still there, Emma," she informed. "I can feel it's regenerated a bit after the fight. It's just blocked."

Emma nodded. She probably thought there wasn't much difference between that and losing it completely if she couldn't use it to stop that green maniac. But there was a world of difference, and Regina was grateful for it.

Why? Well, she was quite moved that she had rescued her courtiers without a second thought. Regina wouldn't have had the energy or the presence of mind to do it herself. But the answer was in that Hello Seahorse! song the boys were listening to days ago, or in the Sor Juana sonnet the phone call didn't let her finish:

 

Yo no puedo tenerte ni dejarte,

ni sé por qué, al dejarte o al tenerte,

se encuentra un no sé qué para quererte

y muchos sí sé qué para olvidarte.

 

Pues ni quieres dejarme ni enmendarte,

yo templaré mi corazón de suerte

que la mitad se incline a aborrecerte

aunque la otra mitad se incline a amarte.

 

I cannot have you nor leave you

nor do I know why, when leaving or having you,

one finds an I-know-not-what to love you

and many I-know-whats to forget you.

 

Since you neither want to leave me nor mend your ways,

I will temper my heart so

that half inclines to abhor you

even though the other half inclines to love you.

 

The chaos on the dock quieted down. But Emma was still in shock. Regina offered to drive her to the building where the loft was, after Henry communicated his decision to move back to Mifflin.

She was glad she had accepted him back. They both desperately needed each other.

On the way, Emma gave details of the rescue, and also about the encounter with Zelena. Henry and Kathryn were reasonably impressed with the adventure, but the sheriff couldn't help but notice that her son kept looking at his mother with terror, as if he feared she would evaporate at any moment.

With a calm smile, she encouraged him to get enough for a few days. They would come back for more later, more calmly. Regina still kept everything he had left behind at Mifflin, but nothing from the 10-year-old Henry fit the 16-year-old. Not even the Incredible Hulk pajamas.

When Hen disappeared up the stairs, Emma dared to talk to her. While Kathryn discreetly made use of the cigar reserve on the other side of the sidewalk.

"Still haven't found your savior?"

The curse issue was already a draining matter for everyone. Isolation was causing shortages, residents were becoming increasingly violent, hostile magic would soon become unstable.

"You know, I think I have a good idea of who it could be," Emma looked moderately hopeful. "I was stuck for a long time, thinking it had to be another child of a true love couple, but looking into Gold's schematics, where he was manufacturing his precious curse by hand, it says it doesn't necessarily have to be that way. I mean, that's the easiest way to get it, but it can actually be any being with enough capacity for magic... And to love, of course..."

Regina remembered the schematics clearly. She had only received the scroll with the finished curse, but she had seen them once or twice. Users of such powerful light magic were practically a myth back then. That's why the curse seemed so perfect. Now that she was on the other side, she understood how annoying all that was.

"That's great."

"The problem is Henry. I don't think he still has the heart of a true believer after all he's been through."

It wasn't easy to hear, but it was true.

"Doesn't surprise me. He's lost his innocence, Miss Swan. Innocence is what helps us believe in things bigger than ourselves."

"I hope one of these days you'll make some space in your busy schedule to help us with this problem."

"Maybe I will. If the current curse is interfering with the town line, perhaps it will be necessary to break it too."

The Savior thanked her for the consult. It was the most civilized conversation she'd had with her in years. It was easy to remember why she had loved her so much in the first place; when she wasn't brutally hostile, conversations with her flowed like a clear stream, and no one could understand the world like she did. Emma said goodnight, then went to talk to Henry. He already had a backpack ready and was looking for his most recent notebook. The watchmaking equipment would have to wait.

Under the dock's streetlights, Swan hadn't noticed, but now it was evident the boy had been crying all afternoon. Oh, Emma thought, she told him.

She looked at him with deep sadness, and that, added to the fact that she wasn't protesting or questioning his sudden decision, suddenly clicked. The realization felt like a dagger in the back.

"You knew, didn't you?" he asked, feeling betrayed.

"Knew what?" she played innocent. But she was bad at pretending and her son noticed immediately.

"About the cancer." He spat out angrily. "You knew about the damn cancer and you never told me!"

"I found out because I committed a federal crime, kid," she defended herself, defeated. "Did you want me to make you an accomplice?"

His face twisted in rage.

"That's the most pathetic excuse I've ever heard in my life."

"It wasn't my place to tell you," she rationalized. If she had told him without her permission, Regina would definitely have turned her into something much worse than a frog with no way back. "Do you think I have the right to violate her privacy like that? You found out the moment she wanted you to."

No, if it were up to her, Henry would never have known; he found out by accident. She saw him as a little child who needed to be protected from the ugly things in life. As if at his age he hadn't known more of those than many adults ever would. But Emma didn't have the right to stay silent, not when she knew about the prophecies and had made him feel he was exaggerating.

"I'm furious with you right now, Emma," he warned with a cold tone.

It was always Emma, never some variant of Mom, but that night it felt like the edge of a knife.

"I understand, Henry," she replied, sad. She'd had enough time to think about all the implications of what she had done. If it had been done to her, she'd be furious. "I stole your last years with her, and I'm so sorry."

"They wouldn't even have been her last years if we hadn't thrown her out! She's dying because of this family."

The rage and helplessness in the boy, but above all, the guilt, were heartbreaking. Emma felt as if an anvil had dropped in her stomach.

"What are you talking about?"

"Everyone around me tells me not to worry about Mom, that witches don't get sick. And it's true. What they don't tell you is what happens when they stop being witches. Mom got sick because she had no magic."

It felt like a physical blow, like a punch to the stomach that left her breathless. That's what Zelena meant at the dock when she said Emma was solely responsible for Regina's downfall. And she was right. The Savior felt her knees buckle. Unable to hide the rage, helplessness, and shame, she covered her face with both hands.

"So they got her, huh?" she ironized, her voice broken. "David and Snow managed to kill Regina after all. And I fell for it like an idiot. I helped kill her and I dragged you with me."

Henry clenched a pair of socks with trembling hands and shoved them violently into the backpack, but said nothing. 15 minutes later, his footsteps echoed furiously on the Loft stairs. Snow woke up to the sound. For a moment she forgot she wasn't on good terms with Emma and asked what was happening.

"Henry is moving in with Regina. He doesn't want to live with us anymore and she took him back."

Wasn't that the argument they had used to take him away? That he didn't want to be with her anymore. Well, now karma was coming around. Emma's son couldn't look her in the eye and wanted to go with his real mother. It was justice. Snow's face was priceless.

"It's almost midnight, Emma."

"She's waiting for him downstairs, in her car."

The boy slammed the main door shut when he left, without saying another word.

"How can you allow this?"

"I can't stop anything, he never stopped being hers legally."

"I knew this would happen," she began with that tone that sometimes reminded Emma of a spoiled child. "That if you let him get close, she would poison him against us."

Poison.

The word detonated an irrational fury inside Emma. The endless list of drugs in Regina's file flashed through her mind, many of them awful chemos that had literally poisoned her body, all because Snow never told her everything magic did for her system before they threw her out. If she could throw it in her face... If she hadn't sworn to protect Regina's secret, the one she herself didn't even have the right to...

"I wish I could go with them too, Snow."

Oh, how she missed the mornings at the mansion, waking up in the arms of the woman she loved. The woman she had condemned to die with her idiocy. She took the Bug keys and left too. Another night she would sleep on the station cot.

Notes:

Hello everyone. I’ve been waiting a while for the upcoming chapters, so they might come out earlier than usual. I’m grateful to those who are still keeping up. Remember to trust the tags. Things are going to get worse before they get better, and I’d recommend keeping your tissue box well stocked — but rest assured there is no, and will be no, Major Character Death in this fic. I know how frustrating it can be when that happens and it wasn’t tagged, but here I'm aware that’s just not something you do.

Chapter 35: morto... tu.. così...

The shadow of a beard on Henry's cheeks was becoming harder to ignore. So was the fact that he'd had a blow-up with Emma before getting back in the car the previous night, but Regina chose to tackle what was within her reach. She presented herself in his bathroom that morning with a new shaving kit.

There was a safety razor, a pack of blades, a bowl, a brush, and a new tube of shaving cream. The boy obviously had no idea what to do with any of it, and his mother explained that this was a lesson she didn't plan to charge him for.

"I don't like razors," he excused himself, seeming nervous. "I always end up with irritation. Besides, it feels like how my grandfather shaved. No offense."

"No," the woman clarified while mounting the blade in the head of the safety razor, put the top cap on, and screwed the handle in place. "Your grandfather was a prince. He had a valet who shaved him every morning with a straight razor that he sharpened right there."

There were very few things Henry knew about the real past of the woman who raised him, but each fragment felt like a gift. And that was his great remorse. They should have done this as soon as the curse broke. They had lost so much time; now everything felt like it was being done in a rush.

Regina showed him how to make lather in a ceramic bowl with a barber's brush and Proraso sandalwood cream, then gave him very precise instructions as they went: Find the right angle, no pressure (the weight of the metal razor is enough), just drag gently, short, repetitive strokes, don't start against the grain or you'll get bumps, never pass the razor without cream, the second pass should go perpendicular to the hair, and if you want it even closer, the third pass against the grain, rinse well when you're done, and use aftershave balm when you finish.

"Wow! Where did you learn all this?" the boy marveled; he had never had such a smooth result after shaving.

"I had a lot of free time," she said casually. "Besides, I'm a woman; far less body hair is demanded of me than of you. This razor is fine to start with; it's very hard to cut yourself with it. But be careful, or you'll end up like me, collecting different brands of blades, safety razors, and creams."

"Are there many brands for that?"

"Of course there are."

"And is this your favorite combination?"

"This is my favorite beginner's combination. A DE89, Feather blades, Proraso sandalwood cream, and balm from the same line."

"I had no idea you were an enthusiast of traditional shaving. Thank you for sharing this with me."

"Well. It all started a year or two after you got here," she confessed, her tone full of longing. "I was the mother of a boy; I knew this day would come. I'm glad neither David nor Neal stole it from me."

Henry's stomach felt heavy. He couldn't help but think of Regina, younger and hopeful, buying things specifically for him, excited for the moment he would need them. How long had she been saving this? Did she know they would see each other again someday? Did she have hopes of reconnecting someday? How many more things did she have stored for him that she hadn't been able to give him because they were separated? How many things might she never be able to give him because she was sick?

"David tried," he confessed shyly. "But he wanted to do it with his straight razor and I almost ended up with my throat slit. This is easier. And this cream is way cooler than the stuff he buys in a can."

She smiled; it seemed she was also lost, thinking about something else, but David's attempt amused and offended her at the same time.

"I can't believe the shepherd approached you with a straight razor and canned cream. What kind of monster shaves like that?"

After the experience he had just had, after months of suffering and dreading shaving time, he agreed: anyone who did it any other way was a savage.

***

It was evident that the Queen was having an excellent day that morning, because she seemed energetic. Regina made eggs with bacon and refried beans for breakfast, and the Midases appeared as was customary. Apparently, Nestor's body had been found near the beach earlier that day.

There were no travel stories on that occasion.

The court people knew Regina would try to break the barrier on Thursday, and many were preparing to start their own adventures around the world in a few weeks. The planning of the masquerade ball was important because they probably wouldn't be together again until Lucio and Julio's wedding. Carmen and Alfredo would stop by the Mills house to finalize the details in the afternoon. Henry began packing his room. There were comics and toys he didn't remember were there, but he wanted to put everything in order before preparing for his trip with Regina. Meanwhile, the woman decided to take a short nap in the study, as was now routine. She wasn't awakened by the fine rain against the window, nor by the inevitable end of the current vinyl record, but by a couple of deep voices coming from the dining room.

It was an image she had seen hundreds of times, when Sidney Glass was still the editor-in-chief of the Storybrooke Mirror and Henry was just a little boy coming home from school before Regina could get away from work at the mayor's office. Both were at the table, chatting, as if they were still babysitter and child. But it wasn't the journalist who was there in his gray suit; everything in his posture was the efreet of Agrabah, and the stories of that genie could easily captivate any boy, especially one who dreamed of being a watchmaker author someday.

"Did you really do that?" asked Henry, amazed. He almost seemed like the innocent child Regina remembered, long before Emma Swan came into their lives.

"That's right," Sidney confirmed, full of self-importance. Then, noticing the woman approaching, the man welcomed her as was usual between them. "Regina, Hoş geldiniz."

Regina blinked a couple of times, shaking off the residual sleep, trying to understand if what was in front of her was a memory or if her mind was truly screwed beyond repair.

"Sidney," she recognized cautiously. "I thought you'd be tricking fishermen in the lakes of Agrabah."

"Well, that was my initial purpose," he acknowledged with that elegance so characteristic of him, "but first I went in search of a story in a rather peculiar kingdom. Henry and I were just recreating our old Enchanted Forest game."

"A story for a story."

Stories were a dangerous thing to share with a genie. They were his weakness, but according to legends, they could be very dangerous if the creature didn't feel sufficiently fascinated by them. Regina played that game with Sidney for years, in her times of madness and revenge. Back then, she had nothing to lose, but now it was a bit risky for the boy she had raised who was standing before them. Especially now that all master/servant bonds were dissolved.

"Sidney and I were telling which moment we thought was our brightest," Henry said lightly, completely unaware of how complicated the situation really was. "I told him about a rather small clock that took weeks to find the right pulse for its repair."

Regina nodded. The man showed no hostility, but he had come for an exchange.

"Is yours still the one about the three merchants?"

"It is."

"Then I guess that's not the story you came to tell me."

"No. The story I came to tell takes place in the kingdom of Oz, in a city of Emerald."

Regina nodded gravely, smiling to herself. The people around her never ceased to amaze her. Despite being free to do anything, the man had decided to bring answers. But first, she had to pay the price.

"A story for a story?" she wanted to confirm.

"As always," he nodded with a reverent, ancient gesture, out of place in a place like the Mifflin Street living room on an ordinary day.

"Do you want a specific one?"

She had accumulated many anecdotes, but she suspected he wouldn't yield to the game without Regina giving up a piece of herself.

"Your moment of greatest brilliance."

The Queen tenderly stroked Henry's cheek. She didn't know if she should mention it in front of him.

"Dear, why don't you go put the kettle on the stove? Sidney must be thirsty."

The boy shook his head, immediately noticing her desire to protect him. The woman sighed, defeated.

"It was last year," she recalled. "I was in Stockholm to see the ABBA museum when I had to visit the hospital."

"The hospital?" the boy asked urgently.

"Yes, I know at least one hospital in every country I've been to," she acknowledged with a mixture of impatience and defeatism. "Don't interrupt, it's a rule of the game."

"Go on, Regina," encouraged the efreet, who had noticed the physical signs enough not to be surprised by the information he had just received.

"I was at a very delicate point for my health," she continued. "A nun passing by had the impression that I was about to die, because she started praying at the foot of my bed while I was unconscious. She wanted to evangelize me, or maybe get a last-minute confession. Whatever," she made a dismissive gesture with her hand, "I feel that's very rude to do at the bedside of an agnostic, so I managed to wake up enough. My mouth felt like I'd eaten half the Sahara, but I started reciting Goethe's Prometheus from memory anyway."

Sidney's laughter was monumental and echoed throughout the room, as Regina knew it would. Henry, on the other hand, was pale.

"In German?" asked the efreet.

"Who do you take me for? Of course in German. In what language do you read Goethe?"

"Ich dich ehren? Wofür?/ Hast du die Schmerzen gelindert/ Je des Beladenen?" he recited as if in a dream. It was said that efreets only answered to Allah, but who could know? There was an abyss between reality and the written word. "Do you think the Swedish nun understood you?"

There was a damned curiosity in that efreet's eyes.

"Judging by the face she made, I guess so. Or maybe not, maybe it was just the language I used. Luther's theses, Gutenberg's press, Goethe himself. German did no favors to Catholicism. Anyway, she let me finish the nap I was taking without further interruptions."

The efreet nodded, pleased.

"Sit down, Regina," he requested with a smile, pointing to the chair next to Henry, "let's talk about Oz. It is said, oh mighty queen! That on the outskirts of the Emerald City there was a small hut, where a mysterious little red-haired girl lived, brought there by a tornado…"

The efreet then proceeded to tell the rumors circulating throughout Oz about that mysterious girl born with the ability to control magic. It took Regina years of training to manipulate the energy that floated in the Enchanted Forest, and still a few more to make it flourish within her. Zelena was born with the innate ability, and her fame as a healer of small animals spread like wildfire among the neighbors. Unfortunately, her adoptive father didn't like the attention the girl attracted, nor much about her in general.

For many years, nothing was heard of the young Zelena, who had gone in search of answers with the wizard who controlled the city like a dictatorship, but when she reappeared, she was no longer the innocent girl who healed little forest animals; she was a competent sorceress who easily disposed of the charlatan.

Sidney, Regina, and Henry were professional story collectors; all three knew perfectly well that when a prophecy is taken seriously, it only awaits chaos and destruction. But the powerful coven of witches that controlled Oz seemed unaware when they sought out Zelena, the prophesied fourth sorceress brought by a tornado who would complete their main table. The red-haired girl from the hut was given the West of Oz along with the emerald pendant that amplified her powers, as well as a group of pupils to train for the defense of her realm.

The reports were clear; there was no more prosperous, peaceful, and happy period in the kingdom than when the coven was headed by the four witches. Special emphasis was placed on how close the head of the West, Zelena, was with the head of the South, a certain Glinda. Rumors even spoke of a complicated spell resolved with a true love's kiss.

But all good things come to an end. War came. The generals under Zelena's command—a scarecrow, a tin man, and a lion, her friends—lost forever under the invasion of a sorcerer who controlled hydras. The leader of the West found a transformation spell that turned enemy troops into flying monkeys at her service. With that, she completely turned the war around, but not before the South fell, according to rumors due to a miscalculation by Dorothy, one of Glinda's apprentices.

"When your sister's true love died, all my sources assured that she went completely insane," continued the efreet, with all the seriousness he was capable of.

Regina paced thoughtfully on the Persian rug in the living room, which was never sufficiently lit since the chandelier that was actually the trigger had left. This was one of those moments where she would have given anything to light a cigar, if Henry's perfectly good lungs weren't in the same room.

"Victor Frankenstein tried to combine magic and science to recover his brother. I devoured every volume on necromancy to bring Daniel back. This time spell is that, isn't it? All talented minds believe, at some point, that they can possess everything. Even death itself."

Sidney made a sorrowful gesture of assent, probably thinking of his own attempt, which he had never been able to speak about.

"Does she want to revive Glinda?" Henry asked once the tale was finished, trying to rationalize that woman's actions.

Regina thought of You were born, you have everything, and how she planned to take her place. After all the horrible things that had happened to Regina, Emma and Henry were still alive. This was more than bringing her back; it was about not knowing that irreparable loss.

"No," she clarified. "She wants to have never known her at all. Because if she comes back, she might lose her again. Or maybe she believes that if their paths had never crossed, she would be fine. The same thought crossed my mind many times about Daniel."

"If you could go back, would you bring him back?" The boy asked carefully. He was no longer there; he was back in the night when David and he himself heard the story of the stable boy.

"I don't think he would have liked the woman I became after he died," she said bitterly. "But if I could do it, with no negative consequences for anyone, just bring him back even if he didn't want to be with me, I would do it."

But it wasn't the loss of Daniel that Regina was thinking about. After all, there were never colored lights shooting from their lips when they kissed. She was thinking of the nights alone in her Central Park apartment, wrapped in Emma Swan's ugly coat, her heart battered by betrayal, but knowing anyway that at least she was off doing stupid things somewhere. She couldn't imagine a world where she was gone. It was one of the few good parts of knowing she would die first.

"Why not just kill Dorothy?" the boy questioned.

"It wouldn't fix what happened to Glinda. Nothing can, only, perhaps, this time travel."

"What about the emerald pendant? If we take it from her, would she lose her magic?" the boy asked the efreet, with a cold practicality that Regina couldn't recognize in him.

"According to the ancient texts of Oz, yes. There is a symbiotic relationship between the pendant and the user that combines their powers, but strips them both if they are separated."

"I don't want to take any witch's magic away," Regina said through clenched teeth. It was a principle she didn't plan to violate under any circumstances.

"You're seeing yourself in her, Regina," rationalized the former mirror. "You must not let empathy distract you from what's important. Zelena must be stopped before she destroys everything you love most. What happened to her is tragic, but that doesn't give her the right to destroy you."

Regina brought a hand to her chest, unable to control the emotions overwhelming her at that moment. No, she didn't have the right. But how was she supposed to stop her? She hadn't even tickled her in the clock tower duel, when Regina felt stronger. Now she was tired, weakened, and sick. She didn't stand a chance.

"Why are you helping me?" she inquired suddenly. Distrust was an instinct that had saved her life more than once, and today was not the day she would leave it behind. "Your story would be much improved if I'm not in it."

"I'm a genie; I know perfectly well how badly mis-executed wishes can turn out. Rewriting the last 70 years is not a good idea for anyone."

The doorbell rang. Regina's guests had arrived. Henry went to receive them while the former mirror prepared to leave.

"Well, Regina. It was an excellent chat. I would stay longer, but I understand I'm a fugitive and Snow has put a price on my head."

"Snow can't get to you without going through me."

"I have to go anyway. Last time I told you we'd see each other again, but I don't know if I can say it again. You look tired."

"Not as tired as I feel."

The efreet man approached the nearest mirror but stopped before entering his realm.

"I'm also rereading The Count of Monte Cristo," he said with some sadness. "Regina, Attendre et espérer."

And then he disappeared into the foyer mirror before the courtiers reached the living room.

Chapter 36: Oh! Dolci baci, o languide carezze

Notes:

As I had anticipaded, this chapter was tormenting me, and i had to get it out in order to focus in A. J. Greimas -because that thesis absolutely needs to be written.

Entiendo que no puedo suplicarle una vez más

Pero nada se detiene

Solo vivo para ti

Dame solo un beso que me alcance hasta morir

Como un vicio que me duele

Quiero mirarte a los ojos

I understand I cannot beg you once more
But nothing ceases
I only live for you
Give me just one kiss that lasts me until death
Like an addition that pains me
I want to look into your eyes

Zoe —Luna— 2011

It was a bit complicated to find musicians willing to play on such short notice, especially because, like everything else, they were beginning to grow scarce in Storybrooke. Still, they managed to get a quartet, and convinced several local fishermen to supply enough for a moderate banquet for a fair price. Parties were starting to become counterproductive for local resources for the same reason, which is why it had been agreed with the town council that this would be the last one until the barrier could be brought down and foreign trade resumed.

That's why, when Wednesday finally arrived, the court decided to bring out their best brocade dresses, silk ties with silver clasps, family jewels from the oldest houses, lace ruffs, and some even dared to wear their Elizabethan ruffs. The string quartet played the finest Baroque pieces from this world and the liveliest sarabandes from the other. And yet, an air of melancholy hung in the room, one that none of those present could explain.

At the head of the table sat Regina, surrounded by her permanent sentinels—Henry, the Midases, and even Archie Hopper. She was expected to give another of her much-acclaimed speeches, but she didn't feel particularly ready for that goodbye.

Lucio, with his sling and singed eyelashes, would be the one to open the dance floor that night with his fiancé. The anticipation for the wedding was a small spark of hope amidst the uncertainty represented by the curse and the blockade, as well as the imminent departure of their queen. So the quartet did its best to bring out those Strauss waltzes.

Henry was dancing in a corner of the floor with Grace when Emma appeared, invited by Alfredo in gratitude for her heroism on Hook's ship. She wore a red semi-formal dress that clashed a bit with the court's pomp. Still, it was all Regina could notice.

From the moment Regina set foot in the privacy of her newly rebuilt house, she had decided to rip out her heart and store it somewhere safe. She couldn't let her treacherous emotions, once the anger faded, decide to forgive Emma easily. Hell, she didn't want to forgive her even the hard way. As the days passed, the emotions faded, sinking into the background, until numbness was all she could feel. The echoes of the affection growing between her, Kath, and Fred were like a blurry image, and the love for Henry, an anesthetized scar she could still see bleeding.

The hardest thing to silence was the weakness she felt for Emma. Logic kept telling her nothing had changed, that her traitorous love wasn't trustworthy, and without a heart to deny it, it seemed acceptable. But now the safest place for her magical organ was back in her chest, and the emotions were slowly returning. First came the guilt for letting the Midases grow so fond of her with one foot in the grave, and the overwhelming gratitude for their trust and love followed. The love she felt for Swan, the one that had pushed her to choose certain death for the chance to see her again even for a second, was coming back little by little in a painful crescendo. When would it stop? How much more would it keep growing?

Johan, one of the most elegant courtiers, was the first to ask his queen to dance. For a moment, it was like returning to the old halls of the winter castle, surrounded by opulence, with all those synchronized waltzes, those richly textured and colored costumes, and that teenage rush to live each day to the fullest. Regina allowed herself to feel it, one last time, to laugh with them, to await the future with the wonder of youths who had their whole lives ahead of them, rather than waiting for it as someone who had reached the end of hers. And although alcohol was off the table while she remained in town, she toasted with them with what she could.

They were like her children, most of them. Her enemies kept saying she only saw them as tools, but that stopped being true as soon as she got to know them up close, when she spoke with each one, when she took an interest in their dreams and hopes and did everything possible to fulfill them, not to keep them, but because she cared about them. Because she loved them.

The queen danced one piece with Henry, another with Fred, but Emma stayed at her corner table, her restless gaze also never straying far from her. Remember the betrayal, she told herself, remember you can't trust. Your heart is a tyrant and obeying it will be your destruction. Love is your greatest weakness. Stay away from the flame or you will burn.

Finally, the time came for the speech and toast she so dreaded giving. The guests opened a large circle in the center of the dance floor so she could enter and be seen by all. Her glass contained non-alcoholic apple juice; she would have to face this soberly. The crowd fell silent, and all eyes settled on her.

"Queridos míos" she began "he estado pensando mucho en ustedes durante los últimos años. Creí que no los vería nunca más. Parece que el destino tenía planeado para nosotros unos momentos más. O quizás no, Quizás no fue así y nosotros le robamos la ocasión. En todo caso, me alegro mucho, porque nunca le diría que no a la oportunidad de estar con ustedes. No cambiaría nada de lo que vivimos juntos si pudiera volver en el tiempo". Here her voice cracked a little, but she recovered quickly. "Solo quiero agregar que ser su reina ha sido el gran honor de mi vida. Espero haber cuidado de ustedes como se merecían. Me disculpo si no fue así, y les agradezco por dignificarme con su lealtad de todas formas. Por la corte oscura."

"¡Por la corte oscura!"

The only one who understood Spanish as well as the court was Henry, who had discreetly wiped away a tear or two. He didn't know them very well, but those who were closer never hesitated to call him "my prince" whenever they saw him near Regina. It was evident they adored her, and this farewell must be terribly painful for his mother.

The usual fairy attack happened at that moment. The group, led by the last two ringleaders and a few followers, burst in armed with sticks, believing it was a surprise attack. Regina and her entire court stood still as statues. The protections around the venue were against unwanted magical beings; these shouldn't have brought even half a gram of fairy dust.

The leader seemed better prepared this time, with a long machete. All the others carried at least a blunt object or a blade. Regina began to mentally prepare herself for another display of magic. She wanted to save as much as she could before leaving town, but they weren't going to leave her any choice.

She was about to cast the first defensive spell when Emma pulled her revolver and badge from her handbag. They almost spat in her face when a second, silent incursion erupted in the hall. Mulan and Ruby, dressed in the Sheriff's department uniform, accompanied by two dozen Merry Men, fluidly arrested the last 15 troublesome fairy followers.

Emma had decided she couldn't solve all problems at once; she would have to start one at a time if she ever wanted to finish the inhuman workload she had. She had no idea how to break the curse, although she had her suspicions, but it wasn't like she had actively worked to break the last one. That was an accident.

What she could do was find a creative way to get the followers of the fairy sect out. Regina would be leaving town soon; from the way she looked at her courtiers, how she had been enraged when one was hurt, it was evident she truly cared for them. If she could give her the peace of mind that she would protect them when she was no longer here, she would do it gladly. And the simplest way to do that was by locking up the craziest ones and warning the rest. When Regina broke the barrier, trade would resume and supplies would flow. She was no longer the Savior of Storybrooke; she had to start letting others do their part and stop blaming herself because she couldn't bear the weight of the world. And resolve what could be resolved.

When the last lunatic was handcuffed and locked in a patrol car headed for the station, Regina took Emma by the shoulder and teleported them both to Mifflin Street while the ball tried to resume. They were in the dark foyer, just like when the blonde had tried to convince the brunette not to go to the duel with the witch.

She started by saying something in Spanish that the sheriff couldn't understand.

"Y ellos me dijeron: 'Encuentras tú en ella, ¡Oh ingenuo!, algo que no sean lágrimas, lamentos, penas y placeres escasos?’/[...]Y les respondí: 'No creáis que bebiendo se apoderó de mi la embriaguez; me bastó mirarla. Solo esto ha hecho huir para siempre el sueño de mis ojos'./ Y no son las cosas pasadas las que me consumen, sino el pasado de ella. No son las cosas amadas, de las que me aparté, las que así me han afligido, sino la ausencia de ella."

Emma hadn't just done her job that night; she had fulfilled the role she hadn't been able to delegate to anyone yet—protecting the people she loved from the other idiots in town. Fred was right; people can't prove they've changed if you don't give them the chance, but what if it wasn't like that and she got hurt again? What if it was true, and the one who ended up burned was Emma with Regina's imminent death?

The queen's mind and heart felt like they were tied to two different horses pulling in opposite directions. But Emma was there, her blue-green eyes always pleading for the love Regina had painstakingly accumulated over 6 years and which had nowhere to go. Her eyes were as beautiful as the day she had put the coat on her in her office. For years, that woman's fundamental logic had been to deny herself no pleasure, and now, under that doctrine, it seemed an atrocious crime to have to die without being able to kiss Emma one more time, even if it was a theft.

"Regina, are you okay?" the blonde asked, confused.

The air in the dark foyer felt cold, like all rainy nights in Maine. The hostess went to the foyer coat closet and took out two coats.

"No, I'm high," she admitted, handing a gray one to the woman in front of her. "That's what you accused me of the day I turned you into a frog, remember?"

Emma blushed. She had replayed the argument in her head over and over, trying to understand why she had gotten so angry. Now she knew; the last comment had hit the very core of Regina's silent struggle.

"It was a stupid prejudice, I'm so sorry."

"No, you were right," she conceded. Then, she found a cigar in the pocket of the coat she had just put on and proceeded to light it with trembling hands. "I'm addicted to opioids, but I don't have much choice."

"I know."

"No, you don't. But that doesn't matter. I didn't bring you here for that."

"What do you need?"

The smoke from the fine tobacco floated between them for a second or two. Regina didn't seem entirely convinced of what she was going to say next.

"Why did you save my children the other day? Why did you arrest those lunatics today, even though you know your mother will disown you?" she asked, eyes still closed, navigating the slight dizziness from the cigar.

And Emma, tired of so many wounds and lies, answered as honestly as she could:

"Because you love them."

"I want you to tell me what happened," she requested, opening her eyes slowly. "Why did you decide to support the exile? No jealousy, no hurtful accusations. Just your point of view. I want to know. I want to understand."

"Why?"

"I don't like it when people only get one side of the story. Everyone does it to me all the time. But if those who love me can do that for me, I think I can try too."

"It's just that everything was so confusing. We were happy, weren't we? You didn't like my roommate, but that wasn't a problem since we spent most of our time at your house, or at our jobs anyway. Even Henry started to forget the curse. Then you started acting strange. You were hell-bent on destroying Mary Margaret."

"The life we were having was too good," she explained, without outbursts, as promised, "but David woke up, time started passing again. I started aging again. The curse was breaking. I didn't know who the True Believer was; I thought if you got closer to Snow, the curse would finally break completely. We were living in an illusion, Emma, but I didn't want to lose it."

"I wish I could explain how much it hurt, how confused I felt. My parents abandoned me on the side of the road 'for a greater good,' my adoptive family returned me when I was no longer useful to them. Neal abandoned me in prison while I was waiting for Henry. And when you turned out not to be the woman you said you were, I felt it was the same story, repeating itself. Did you really love me, Regina, or was it part of your plan to get revenge on Snow?"

"I don't care about Snow. I haven't for about 20 years. I didn't want to lose you." The honesty in her voice felt like a punch to Emma's stomach. "But then you started to resent me. You wanted to hurt me."

"Of course I wanted to hurt you," she admitted with shame, "I wanted you to feel the same pain I did. But then I almost lost you by the wishing well. You promised you would never leave me."

"I didn't want to leave you, I wanted you to be okay."

"It didn't feel that way."

"Is that why you let them take me away?"

"Henry's book, everyone talked about this great, vengeful witch who devastated a continent because she hated Snow. And I felt so afraid. Not of you, but for you. I was afraid of what you might do. I was afraid you'd feel cornered and do something worse. Then they would kill you, Regina, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I wanted to please Snow, yes, but I also wanted to save you from yourself, and from them."

Which was useless, because it ended up killing me anyway, Regina thought bitterly.

"It's just that everything was perfect," Emma continued, devastated, "and then suddenly it wasn't. No, it's not just the curse, you had a whole past you never talked about."

There was no accusation, Regina realized with wonder. There was insecurity, there was abandonment. Old wounds from a whole miserable life (which she herself had given her) opened at the worst possible time. The person who decided to approve and carry out her exile wasn't the woman who waited for the dawn naked, under her sheets, beside her; it was the little girl who had been abandoned for a greater good, over and over again throughout her entire life, and who just wanted her mother.

A need she could understand better than anyone.

And the old guilt, the one buried under layers of betrayal and grief, surfaced again. Among so many trips, she had made time for self-flagellation, to understand the system Emma had grown up in, the horror she had had to endure because Regina believed she was entitled to retribution. Her downfall was a consequence of her own careless actions. She had no right to do that to Emma, but she had to make her understand that she wasn't a pawn. What they built in those months had surely been the happiest period of her long life; she didn't want it to be mistaken for manipulation.

"I, the great Queen Regina of Misthaven, the Evil Queen," she began, putting the cigar aside and approaching slowly, each word pronounced with precision and conviction. "The one who conquered all there was to conquer, who had lovers, jewels, lands, diamonds... Subjugated by a stranger who intended to steal her son. I never wanted anyone or anything the way I love you. I was never again capable of lifting a finger against anything that would harm you. Even now, that you've dragged me into a town full of people who hate me, I am tied hand and foot."

Emma moved a little closer, making the space between them disappear bit by bit.

"And yes, living under the curse was living in a lie," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, "but what was so wrong with yearning for the lie when the truth had never been anything but cruel to me?" Emma had seen Cora, had seen the pain in her glassy eyes with every rejection from Henry "It was a peaceful dream I didn't want to let go of; I didn't want to wake up to the dreadful reality that has always haunted me. But what I felt for you was never a lie," she swore. "The fire you ignited in me when you looked at me with those beautiful green eyes, the adoration I professed to you every day after I left my foolishness behind, the unconditional love you planted so deeply within me, the immortal desire to protect you at any cost. All of that was real. Do you believe me? Tell me you believe me when I tell you I always loved you."

The foyer was in half-light. Like their entire love story, it didn't seem destined to shine under the blinding rays of the sun. But, in those days, it was enough. And Emma was sure she had never heard truer words than those, and she didn't need a superpower to confirm it.

"Yes, Regina," she responded with conviction. "I swear I believe you."

And there they were, two shattered women who didn't believe they deserved each other, and yet, still, for a moment they decided to forget the present, decided to ignore everything and pretend they hadn't shattered each other.

The kiss that followed was imbued with all the pain and longing they had been suppressing for those six years. Their hands, thirsty for contact, sought to pull the other's body closer, melt it into their own, and never let go.

Neither of them paid attention to the rainbow light that burst from them the moment their lips touched. And neither wanted to pull away when both their phones began to ring frenetically.

Just like the last time, by accident. The new curse of Storybrooke had just been broken.

Notes:

This is Regina's speeach translation:
"My dears, I have been thinking a lot about you these past few years. I thought I would never see you again. It seems fate had a few more moments planned for us. Or perhaps not. Perhaps it wasn't like that, and we stole the occasion. In any case, I am very glad, because I would never say no to the opportunity to be with you. I wouldn't change anything we lived through together if I could go back in time. "I just want to add that being your queen has been the greatest honor of my life. I hope I have cared for you as you deserved. I apologize if I did not, and I thank you for dignifying me with your loyalty nonetheless. To the Dark Court."

And this is the fragment of The Arabian Nights that Regina said in the foyer:
"And they said to me: 'Do you find in her, oh naive one, anything but tears, laments, sorrows, and scarce pleasures?'/[...]And I answered them: 'Do not believe that drunkenness seized me from drinking; it sufficed me to look upon her. This alone has forever banished sleep from my eyes.'/ And it is not the past things that consume me, but her past. It is not the beloved things, from which I turned away, that have afflicted me so, but her absence."

Chapter 37: Si adempia il voler vostro

And the people went into their hide, ay-oh
From the start they didn't know exactly why, why
Winter came and made it so all look alike, look alike
Underneath the grass would grow, aiming at the sky

It was swift, it was just another wave of a miracle
But no one, nothing at all would go for the kill
If they called on every soul in the land, on the moon
Only then would they know a blessing in disguise

The curse ruled from the underground, down by the shore
And their hope grew with a hunger to live unlike before
And the curse ruled from the underground, down by the shore
And their hope grew with a hunger to live unlike before

—Agnes Obel, "The Curse," 2013

And I said to them: "It is not I, but she, who can answer you. I will answer you only that my blood belongs to her; that I prefer to spill it for her rather than keep it within me."
"I chose a woman in whom to place my thoughts; my thoughts which are but reflections of her image. This image is the fire in my entrails, the devouring fire."

—Anonymous, The Arabian Nights, Night 10

The people of Storybrooke, like those of the Enchanted Forest, were unaware of many things, but everyone knew one fundamental fact: The gods had given the Charmings a staggering amount of dumb luck that made everything turn out right for them in the end. This wasn't entirely accurate. Replace "the gods" with Rumpelstiltskin and "right for them" with "convenient for the imp so his plans would lead him to Baelfire"; that was the correct explanation. David and Snow believed Rumple was helping them in exchange for absurd things, like a cloak or a lock of hair, out of goodwill, but in reality, he was paving the way for the true price to arrive: total control over the destiny of their firstborn.

The main problem they encountered upon arriving in the Enchanted Forest was that Rumple was dead, or at least he had been for some time. That's when they began to face the difficulties the rest of mortals deal with day to day.

King Leopold II left a state on the verge of bankruptcy, and although Regina amassed a huge fortune with her conquest campaigns during her time as monarch, the treasury was nowhere to be found. Emma remembered her cigar boxes that cost more than her car, her perfectly tailored clothes, and her mansion in Storybrooke, and felt certain the funds had remained in the previous queen's bank account.

Most peasants, who had enjoyed the quality of life of a middle-class worker in the United States of America, refused to return to the monarchical caste system Snow was so eager to reinstate, and the noble houses who still didn't know where their heirs were refused to cooperate with the queen who had ruled them with an iron fist. Therefore, they had no money, no food, and no armies.

The first thing they tried to mitigate the situation was to return the lost nobles. Regina hadn't wanted to take anyone she remotely liked to Storybrooke, so she kept them all in a temporal limbo because she knew perfectly well the devastation the curse would leave behind would make the kingdom uninhabitable. After the fairies reluctantly brought them back, Lucio was the one who searched for and found everyone to reform the Dark Court, and in less than six months they had risen in rebellion. No matter how much the emissaries assured them Regina was safe in the land without magic, or even those who tried to make them believe she had abandoned them to their fate, they were sure Snow had killed her and wanted her head.

The four Charmings tried to remain optimistic. "Everything will work out," Snow kept saying. She didn't seem aware that she was the one responsible for fixing it, or else it was never going to happen. Neal tried to form a bond with Henry, but over time he got the idea in his head that he had to find a way to bring his father back, suspecting who was really the one who had made the White Kingdom work in the first place. So he and Belle set off for the Dark One's castle at the first opportunity, barely a year after arriving.

Governing such a large empire was demanding for Regina, who was a natural strategist and had a firm grip on the army and the aristocrats, but the political pressures were too much for the Charmings, and the kingdom ended up divided again. The borders returned to where Regina, whom her followers insisted on calling the Conqueror, had found them. The southern kingdoms had belonged to the royal family of the Valley of the Mills for over 50 generations and they weren't going to hand them over to those from the White Kingdom. Somehow, Nestor found out about Henry, the last living relative of their monarch, and demanded he be crowned and handed over.

At first, the former Sheriff was furious that her parents would even consider using her son as a bargaining chip in a ridiculous treaty, but the boy was desperate to help; he wanted to be a hero like David or a savior like his biological mother, so he ended up convincing Emma to accept the peace agreement's terms. It still felt like they had handed him over in exchange for their crumbling kingdom anyway, just like when they had put her in that magical wardrobe. There was no way she was letting him go alone; she might not know much about motherhood, but Regina would never have done it.

Mother and son had to go live at the estate where Regina grew up with her parents while Nestor made his power moves and positioned himself as regent.

Outwardly, they behaved as if it were a tragedy to have to separate from their family, but in reality, it was a relief to be able to leave the side of someone willing to sacrifice them for the greater good at any moment. There was no more guilt about dedicating themselves to what had been their true objective since minute one: finding a way to return to the land without magic and find Regina. The little trust they had placed in Snow completely shattered when the plan with the Blue Fairy trapped them in town and ended in the mud when they yielded to the treaty.

Now they intuited that, with no Storybrooke, there would be no barrier, and without it, there was nothing to stop them from crawling to the former queen's door and staying out in the rain until she took pity on them. But first, they had to get to the same world as her.

Anton's bean field remained in Storybrooke, along with the fruits that were just beginning to ripen. He had to climb the stalk, search for another seed among the shattered remains of his civilization, and start over in the hidden lands of Prince Henry. It would take years to get a usable one, so Emma decided to discreetly inquire here and there for another way to travel. Jefferson, Grace, and his hats couldn't be found anywhere; it was as if they had sensed too many people would want to return and vanished before they could be bothered. Neither Geppetto nor Pinocchio knew where they could find another magical tree to carve a wardrobe from, and the fairies were an absolute no.

During the first months after returning from Neverland, it was evident how little Emma knew her son, but the feeling intensified exponentially while they remained in the childhood home of the person they had betrayed. At first, the boy endured as much as he could, but what the mayor had told him that night while smoking her cigar was becoming harder and harder to ignore. Henry wasn't used to hardship, and Emma had no way to give him the life Regina gave him until the court took them away. Even in their life as Nestor's luxurious prisoners, they both missed hot showers, drainage pipes, and Wi-Fi. But above all, they missed Regina.

The old nanny who raised Regina told them stories of the clever girl who hid to read her father's history volumes, the one who galloped across the fields like an Amazon, and the one who stole apples from the kitchen when her mother wasn't around. She also told them of the sad, tormented girl who fought against daily reprimands and impossible lessons to please a mother who had no heart. She told them of the empty, dead-in-life look that had left the estate never to return the day Cora sold her to the king.

It seemed the political instability would settle soon. King Henry of the South, aged 14, would be crowned in a few months and would go to be part of the court for his training as a monarch, a role he would fully take at 18, when Nestor could no longer cling to power. Then a talking candelabra named Lumiere found a way to trick Neal into opening the Dark One's vault. Rumple was resurrected and had to absorb his son to not lose him completely. It was all part of the plan of a mysterious witch from Oz, a certain Zelena who sought to destroy her sister. With no sister to destroy, she began sowing chaos and destruction wherever she went, but the kingdoms weren't united to face her, and soon there were hundreds upon hundreds of flying monkeys everywhere.

Emma didn't know how he did it, but Neal appeared one day on the grounds, near Daniel's symbolic grave, to give her very precise instructions. He lost his train of thought quite often, and Rumple interrupted every 5 minutes, but they both felt it was their last hope.

"Nothing we've tried could stop that lunatic. Perhaps light magic can do something to her, but you have no training and the Blue Fairy won't give it to you. Find this place, the Dark Fortress," he said, handing her a map he had just made appear with trembling hands. "It's very likely Maleficent's ashes ended up there. Use the ritual I wrote on the other side; if you do it correctly, she will be resurrected. She will want revenge on you, so you have to tell her you are Regina's true love and that you want the chance to make things right with her."

"Didn't Regina lock her under the library for 28 years? If I tell her that, won't she want revenge even more?"

"Maybe, but it's the only thing that might work. Don't mention your parents. If it comes up, tell her you don't get along with them."

"Why?"

"You'll find out sooner or later."

And Emma found out, along with Henry. Maleficent indeed awoke full of hatred and vengeance, but not against Regina or Emma herself, but against David and Snow. That pair of hypocrites had stolen the egg of a defenseless dragon to ensure their perfect future savior would be the key to their salvation. And that's how she was going to try to save their kingdom? Emma felt more like a means to an end than a daughter. And the confrontation that followed left her with much more anger than peace.

Mal had many mixed feelings towards Regina. She resented, above all, that she hadn't fought her own demons enough to leave with her. The young, innocent, hopeful woman she had known had completely vanished into a woman consumed by hatred and vengeance. It was like watching her die. But the theft of the egg gave her perspective. And now she understood her obsession with destroying them. She wished she could have gotten out of the cave under the library and crushed them both into the pavement.

The more she heard about the Evil Queen, the more convinced Emma became that Regina was no longer that person.

The dragon woman listened to the full story, about how Rumple made them both believe the stabbing was a necessary step to save Henry. She gave them a look of deep disappointment when they got to the part about the exile, but she agreed to help once the initial fury had subsided a bit. She settled for an exchange, a symbolic daughter for a daughter, and took Emma on as her apprentice.

"Teaching you the magic they so fear and finding a way to get you back to Regina will be the most effective way to spit in their faces, but you have to promise me you'll help me find out what happened to my baby."

"I will."

It wouldn't be easy. Especially since the egg had been sent to the land without magic and Mal also had no safe way to go. But she was sure her new apprentice would find a way.

"Good. But first, we have to find a way to stop that green worm."

Emma and Maleficent spent much of their magical training in strange places and performing dangerous enchantments. Henry couldn't stay with them and eventually had to return to the care of Regina's nanny, or war would break out again if Nestor realized his queen's heir had disappeared. Neither of them stopped searching separately for a way back to the person they loved most, but in the process, they grew apart from each other. Part of it was that fundamental resentment Emma felt towards her own parents, born from the Abrahamic sacrifice. Henry felt abandoned too, relegated to responsibilities that weren't his, and that feeling was something he'd only known because of Emma. He understood why she had to go and why he couldn't accompany her, but he couldn't help thinking that Regina would never have left him like that.

Meanwhile, the war against Zelena intensified. Kingdoms fell, like Aurora and Philip's, and others had to retreat and ally with others, like Fred and Kathryn's, who resided as guests in Henry's court, still ruled by Nestor. Meanwhile, Mal taught Emma everything she knew, not just magic, but ancient knowledge she feared would be lost, and the art of patience. She showed her how obtuse her impulsivity was with cruel examples of all the problems and pain it had caused. Ancient magic, languages, spells, curses, potions. Everything her own daughter would have learned by her side if not for the Charmings.

The two idiots weren't having a good time either. Their attempts to reconnect with their daughter and grandson yielded counterproductive results, and more and more people who had trusted in them turned into monkeys, starved to death, or joined a rebellion against them. The fairies, their greatest allies of old, planned to declare another war against the Dark Court, now loyal to their own grandson, instead of facing Zelena. Amid all these political disasters were their personal hardships. They were still true lovers, and it's not like there were contraceptives as effective as those in the land without magic, so it was inevitable that a prince or two would be born. But Leopold, the first of all, died at two years old in a polio epidemic, and Eva, a sweet princess with eyes as blue as Emma and David's, passed away two weeks after birth due to respiratory problems from being premature. Both were aware that neither would have died had they remained in the world Regina had taken them to, and the Evil Queen was no longer there to be blamed for everything that went wrong in their lives.

Then the day came when the second curse was launched. Snow was pregnant with her fourth baby, but she awaited it with panic instead of excitement, given the uncertainty of what could happen to it, or if it would even be born healthy. Maleficent had to attend to a massive monkey invasion in the north, and Emma was alone in the dark fortress when the surprise attack by the Wicked Witch of the West happened. Henry was abducted from his castle by the work of the traitor Nestor. When all her magic was exhausted in the attack, Emma was captured and immobilized. For the first time in years, the Charmings were in the same room.

Rumple was there too, in his scaly skin, waiting beside a giant cauldron. He looked miserable. Zelena was also there, in an elegant dress that looked quite familiar. Emma had seen it in a painting of Regina in the southern castle, where the queen's grandparents' kingdom resided.

"What a magnificent family reunion!" she began, with calculated enthusiasm. "But I feel we're missing someone. Where did you leave my dear sister? Where is Regina?"

Everyone looked at each other, not knowing how to respond. It was public knowledge that Regina wasn't in the realm. If this deranged woman had kidnapped them to get to her, she was in for a complete disappointment.

"She's not here, and you know it well."

The woman's gait was carefree; she almost seemed amused. Then she had a couple of monkey guards enter, bringing with them a mysterious prisoner whose head was covered. It was a strange sight. In the field, they were disorderly and chaotic, terribly dangerous, but near their mistress, the winged simians seemed disciplined and meticulous. Zelena uncovered the prisoner's head, and Henry struggled against his ropes, desperate to free her. It was his nanny, the one who had also been his mother's.

"Come on, King Henry IV, I'm sure I don't need to persuade you. Tell me the truth, where is my sister? Do you want me to believe you voluntarily left her in another world?"

It wasn't Zelena, but Rumple who began torturing the poor old woman with dark magic. Emma also struggled against the magical bindings, but it was impossible to make them yield when her own magic was drained. The boy's screams of impotence followed the woman's cries of pain.

"She's not here! She's not here!"

The Witch of Oz drew a wide smile on her face, contrasting with her metallic green skin.

"Yes, I know that. There's no trace of her magic. Even if your dull grandparents had executed her upon arriving here, the trace would lead me to a corpse."

The witch's footsteps echoed on the stone floor of the throne room. She approached David with lion-like steps calculated to the millimeter.

"Tell me, dear, was Regina still alive when you got rid of her in that rotten kingdom?"

The shepherd-turned-king had accumulated an impressive number of gray hairs in the years since his daughter and grandson stopped seeing him. He fixed his blue eyes on her, sensing it would be disastrous for Regina if this madwoman reached her. And that would ultimately destroy Emma and Henry.

"No," he lied. "We ordered her execution and scattered her ashes at sea."

"Rumple said something else," she contradicted with a playful tone that made his hair stand on end.

"Rumple wasn't there," David hurried to respond. "Regina is dead. Anything you wanted with her is useless now."

"Is that true, Dark One?" she asked while holding the dagger without taking her eyes off David, hoping to find weakness.

"It's true we weren't there."

"But you're not sure about the execution."

"We never heard about it, no."

Zelena approached the center of the room again, where the hostage waited.

"Did you hear that, dear? Those dullards say they killed your girl. Do we believe them?"

The woman was crying in pain, but Emma could see the false news pained her.

"Relax, sweetheart. I don't think that's true. They think they can hide her from me. What idiots!"

It was Snow who finally dared to ask.

"Why are you so desperate for her? It's obvious you don't want to braid her hair and share childhood experiences."

"I love that someone finally cares about my projects, precious Snow. I've been working on a very special spell. Unfortunately, no one has been able to cast it; it requires vision. A bit of lateral thinking, if you will. I need very hard-to-find ingredients, but I also need to die while casting it. Blood magic, you idiot, it took me a while to bypass that obstacle, but it's enough if I kill a blood relative instead."

"Well, that's a shame. We already told you Regina is dead. Have you thought about Cora? The fairies have had her prisoner for a while."

"I have very special plans for Mommy, too. She chose Regina as her legacy, didn't she? It will be grand when her legacy dies in front of her. But first, I need you to help me get to her."

"You're insane. Even if Regina were alive, we would never take you to her."

"No, you can't even get to her yourselves. You lack... creativity."

Zelena turned to Rumple and snapped her fingers. A scroll of blackened parchment appeared in the air, with the same seal that had marked Regina's destiny decades ago.

"The Dark Curse," she announced with delight, unrolling it as if presenting a treasure.

The original was destroyed by Rumple to reverse Regina's Dark Curse and counter Pan's, and it had only worked because the executor wasn't near what she loved most. The imp was forced to rewrite it from memory for this lunatic... but he had hidden some traps.

Emma felt her stomach drop. She knew perfectly well what it meant. It was the only option for return she didn't dare touch with a ten-foot pole.

"What's the point?" she spat. "You can't cast it."

"Oh, dear, of course I can't," Zelena tilted her head, amused. "Love was never my forte. But you... you live and breathe those bonds. The magic of mommy, daddy, and the little savior was always the perfect fuel. What an irony, isn't it? That your own love is what delivers my sister to me."

Silence hung like lead. Snow tightened the magical ropes binding her, her eyes fixed on the curse.

"What do you say, savior? Cast this curse for me, and you'll see your Regina one last time. Refuse, and I'll kill your parents."

It was no longer about not seeing one or the others, perhaps permanently; it was a matter of who lived or died. Emma was not capable of sacrificing Regina; she simply couldn't. Zelena was delighted. She knew the silence was a hundred times more significant.

"She's not even here. She hasn't seen her in years; she doesn't know if she's alive or dead. But she's not going to choose you over her, Charmings. She must have been quite a lover, or you must be rather questionable parents."

Emma cried with impotence.

"You can't force me to do this."

"It should be an easy choice," she said in that condescending tone. "You already sacrificed her once; what does it matter if you do it again for mom, dad, and that little brother coming soon?"

"Why can't you just kill me?" she pleaded, tears streaming down her face in torrents. Snow and David were selfish idiots, but she didn't want them dead, and that baby was innocent.

"Your death is of no use to me, for the moment. Perhaps once we're in the new world, if you still matter to my sister. But not now. Your heart isn't resilient; you're completely broken by the choice you made, and you can't bear to wake up every day without your true love. Neither Emma nor the boy can do it," Zelena continued, letting her gaze wander between them. She knew it perfectly well, but she wanted to see them destroy each other. The myth of the perfect, happy storybook family, destroyed piece by exquisite piece. "They love Regina. And Regina is not here. So the dirty work falls to you, charming kings."

Snow and David looked at each other. A single glance of complicity, born from years and years of being together, said everything that needed to be said.

"What about you, my dear Snow? Your baby will be born without issue into a world where it can survive. Your daughter and your grandson will be safe."

"I can't do that. The Enchanted Forest was already ravaged by the first curse. No one will survive here if another is cast."

The green witch broke the nanny’s neck with a flick of dismissive magic, just to prove that she could. Henry went very still and pale; Emma recognized he was in shock.

"Try again, dearie. Just know the next neck I snap will be your daughter's."

But before she could answer, Emma interrupted, desperate.

"Don't do it. I don't care if she kills me."

"That's quite a bit of desperation, isn't it? Too much to sway me from a place where Regina isn't."

David's fragile lie was crumbling to pieces. Emma could see the conflict breaking Snow's will. Storybrooke was the place Regina had promised to steal happy endings, but it had only been that way since she was expelled. And now their home, the place that watched her grow up, was falling apart, and the cursed town seemed to hold the last spark of light.

"Don't you dare, Snow," Emma warned, her demoralized impotence replaced by a fury she had never seen before. "I swear to God, if you kill my father, if you cast that curse so that lunatic can murder the woman I love, you won't just no longer have a daughter, I will make you pay. Do you think I have Regina's compassion? The same compassion that could have killed you so many times but didn't out of pity? The same compassion you're about to sacrifice without a second thought?"

"It's the only option where both my children will have their best chance," she rationalized, tears of anticipatory grief streaming down her cheeks. "For all we know, Regina won't even be able to cross the town line. You'll understand someday. And if you don't, it won't matter because you'll be there, alive to resent me, or to torment me, for the rest of your life. Even if you leave to find her and never come back."

The blonde shook her head stubbornly.

"Then I swear to you, if she finds her and kills her, I will die right after her, cursing your name."

Zelena laughed cruelly, quite pleased with the outcome of the meeting she had facilitated.

"What beautiful vows this family makes. Pity none of you are going to remember them."

Emma tried to break free once more. She had never had Zelena this close to test the theory about light magic, but even if her reserves weren't depleted, she had no good emotions to use to fuel it. The bindings just sent a painful shock of magic through her body, and she fell on her side, unable to do anything else.

One of the monkeys entered the throne room again, handed a note to its mistress, and flew out the window.

"Your old mentor is giving me trouble again. Best to leave her here. Rumple, be a dear and help your beautiful in-laws prepare the curse. If Snow refuses, kill Swan and then the boy, will you?"

Zelena disappeared in a cloud of green magic, eager to join the front against Mal's efforts. Rumple approached the cauldron with mechanical movements, as if he were doing it all against his will.

"You must clear your mind when you do it. The slightest thought can alter the result in unpredictable ways. You don't need to create a new town; just ask it to be exactly like Regina's."

"Don't do this, Rumple," Emma murmured weakly.

"The curse will choose a new savior," he continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Not even I can see who it is. This plan is too rushed. But you must concentrate on a clue, some particular object that will lead you to that person. Perhaps your father's crown, or the trigger the mad Regina invented last time."

"Grandpa," Henry called, coming out of his stupor for the first time, "you have to fight this. I don't want Zelena to kill Mom."

Rumple's hands were shaking; inside, Neal was fighting with all his might to resist the dagger's magic, forcing them both to act.

"I can't stop," he replied with something akin to sadness. "But you can find her when we get there. Hide her."

With a final gesture of magic, Rumple left the cauldron and approached David. With a clean, quick movement, he pulled the heart from his chest. Then he loosened Snow's magical bindings and ordered her to stand beside him.

"Don't forget you're doing this for your daughter," he whispered in a resigned tone one would never associate with Rumplestiltskin.

Snow's hands trembled. As she followed the Dark One's careful instructions, a silent thought crept into her mind: Please, don't let Regina be there. Regina must not be there.

Then Charming's heart was crushed and its dust dissolved into the cauldron. The man in question opened his eyes, flooded with surprise and pain, then collapsed to the side. A cloud of purple magic began to emanate from the magical vessel.

"It is done," the Crocodile man announced, releasing everyone's bindings and disappearing in his own magic moments later.

Emma was furious. With trembling hands, she grabbed Snow by the lace of the dress she wore and tore the heart from her chest. It had two points of darkness growing in it—one perhaps for Mal's Kid, and the other for what she had just done. Then, instead of crushing it, she split it in two. Without looking at what she was doing, she placed one half back into Snow's chest, who was crying oceans without making a sound. She rushed to where her father's body lay and pushed the other half of the heart against his chest.

After a few seconds that felt like years, David woke up in the middle of a coughing fit.

"How did you know it would work?" Henry asked, too shocked to process everything that was happening.

Emma sat next to her father, defeated.

"I saw it once in Mal's books. I had to try to save Dad. He's the only parent I have left."

The last sentence hung in the air between them, the beginning of the curses against Snow's name that Emma had promised. David half-sat up, his breathing still labored.

"You will find her and keep her safe," he assured her with a trembling voice. "And if all else fails, we will take her court. They will protect her."

"What can a bunch of rebellious nobles, even with their armies, do that me and Mal couldn't do in three years?" she questioned, full of bitterness and rage.

"She won't be there," he tried to calm her. "But even if she is, it won't defeat her. Her danger was never her magic; it was the Machiavellian cunning with which she almost destroyed us."

For the first time in years, Henry voluntarily sat next to Emma. What they had searched for separately for so long—to return to the land without magic to search for Regina—had just been granted to them in a poisoned way. Not even the worst efreets of Agrabah, like Sidney, would have granted it in such a cruel manner.

"What do you say, King Henry of the South? Do we fight fate together? For her?"

"For her."

Just as Zelena had promised, none of them remembered their vows until the night in Regina's foyer—the new savior—when she and Emma finally broke the memory spell that came with the curse.

Chapter 38: e muoio disperato!/ E non ho amato mai tanto la vita

“I feel so stupid. And so ashamed. The person who kidnapped you isn’t who I am anymore,” the blonde announced from the doorway.

Emma found Regina in the darkness of her study, the streetlights barely illuminating her pale face. The second cigar of the night burned furiously between her fingers, its glowing embers the only light in the shadows, as she gazed sadly at an engraving on the wall.

Remembering what had happened in the Enchanted Forest didn’t feel like a victory—it only added weight to the disastrous failure of the apprentice sorceress. Regina wasn’t just in Storybrooke; Emma had brought her here against her will. God only knew why Zelena had waited so long to carry out her deranged plan.

“Sounds like someone taught you manners, Miss Swan,” the queen replied with her usual sarcasm, though it lacked its usual bite.

She looked exhausted. Not just from a long night or a chronic illness, but from a life filled with disappointment after disappointment.

“Something like that,” Emma replied, in a vain attempt to lighten the tension in the air. “Mal taught me a lot.”

That caught Regina’s attention immediately.

“Mal is alive?”

Despite the darkness, the sheriff saw the glimmer of hope in the socialite’s tired eyes. The sting of jealousy that might have hit her an hour ago never came. Mal was always joking about her past with Regina—forked tongue spells and other nonsense. Emma had grown immune. That, and in a world where so little of her remained, she had learned to love everything that Regina loved.

“She was, in the Enchanted Forest. Now I don’t know.”

There would be time to think about the questions that had no answers, the words of resentment she still needed to say to Snow for her selfishness, the look of disappointment from the son she was supposed to protect. But right now, only Regina mattered—with her smoldering cigars and her slowly crumbling stoicism.

“Sounds like I should meet this new Emma. But that would require time I don’t have.”

As Regina brought the cigar to her lips and took a deep drag, Emma thought of all the things she had planned to say during their time in the Enchanted Forest. Now, she couldn’t articulate a single one. During the curse’s preparation, the blonde had thought her most desperate wishes were being cruelly granted. Now it was worse—she hadn’t just condemned Regina to years of terrible loneliness, she’d given her a damn cancer and then forced her to save a town that despised her. Except for a few, none of whom included Emma, no one in Storybrooke deserved to be saved by Regina.

“I know,” she replied, her throat tight. “You have no idea how sorry I am. I’d spill every drop of my blood if it meant you’d never shed another tear.”

“My, Mal also taught you poets from Agrabah,” Regina quipped.

But then the queen looked directly at Swan, and that’s when Regina knew she knew more than she should. Henry hadn’t broken his promise, the woman wanted to believe that with all her heart.

“How do you know, Emma?”

Regina had a way of saying her name—like a caress, or a dagger when she wanted.

“I stole your medical records when Henry told me you didn’t look well.”

Regina took another drag, her gaze drifting back to the engraving. She didn’t look angry, but she wasn’t pleased either.

“That’s what I told Sidney, so many years ago, in my office. Once a juvenile delinquent, always a delinquent.” Then she gave Emma another of her sad smiles, relieved not to wear the mask anymore, not to pretend she was fine. “Vaya true lovers que somos, ¿No crees?” The pain in her voice was palpable. “We’ve both been each other’s great executioner, and yet we can still break a curse or two.”

Emma shrugged, defeated. What Regina had done to earn the title of “her great executioner” had been forgiven and forgotten years ago, in Prince Henry’s estate kitchen, under Lucía the nanny’s stories. But Emma could never forgive herself for what she had done to the woman before her. And suddenly, she found herself longing—more than ever—for the possibilities she had killed along with the great love of her life.

“I would’ve settled for a normal love,” she confessed. “No spells, no responsibilities. Just you, me, our son and a hidden cabin like Tosca and Cavaradossi’s. No Scarpias chasing us, just the orchard and the stars.”

Emma carried a very different air now that she had all her memories. Sad, yes, still full of longing, but with a certain aura of maturity and tragic resignation that hadn’t been there before.

“Sounds beautiful, Emma,” Regina conceded, because those were her dreams too—now shattered before her. “But are you finally going to tell me the purpose of the new curse?”

“Zelena doesn’t just need your heart. She wants to kill you in her ritual for the time spell.”

Regina nodded, thoughtful, the tears she fought to hold back glistening in her eyes.

“Wow. Blood magic and necromancy. That’s an unusual combination. My sister is either a visionary or a lunatic.”

“You have to leave Storybrooke,” Emma pleaded desperately. “I should never have brought you here.”

The brunette's laughter, shrill, was almost a lament that echoed through the hall. She knew destiny's dirty games better than anyone. If it hadn't been Emma in her moment of greatest idiocy, it would have been another one of Zelena's disguised monkeys. When the grubby hands of fate weave you into their cruel looms, it's very hard to escape.

“I’m the Savior, remember? The curse would’ve found a way to bring me back regardless.”

But Emma shook her head, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“Regina, you’re an extraordinary sorceress—Rumple and Mal both said so. You could’ve broken the barrier and been safe. Why didn’t you?”

The hostess ignored the question and motioned for her to stand beside her, to look at the engraving.

“Miss Swan, have you noticed how many medieval engravings—like this one—feature skeletons?” When Emma didn’t answer, sensing the evasion immediately, Regina continued, her voice steeped in the wisdom she’d gathered from books and long travels. “During the Black Plague, most of the population died. Rich and poor, noble and peasant. No one was spared. They called them ‘danse macabre.’ Skeletons were used to show that in death, we are all equal. There’s also a poem by Manrique, Coplas por la muerte de su padre: Nuestras vidas son los ríos que van a dar a la mar que es el morir… "

‘Our lives are rivers flowing to the sea, which is death…’

The sheriff looked away. Standing shoulder to shoulder, she could feel the warmth of Regina’s body. The subtext of her explanation was painfully clear. I’m mortal, Emma. I’m already dying. What I was doing mattered more. I don’t deserve to be saved any more than anyone else.

“Will I see you in the afterlife?” she asked, with the voice of a frightened child. “When my river and yours meet in the great sea?”

“I don’t believe in life after death, Miss Swan. But if there is something else, I’ll see you there. Then I’ll get to meet the new Emma, princess of the Enchanted Forest.”

“No. No queens, no princesses. Just Emma and Regina. Will you promise?”

Her sad smile held no hope.

“I promise to try,” she murmured anyway.

***

Main Street in Storybrooke was completely overwhelmed. King Henry had rushed to embrace his general, Lucio, the moment the rainbow light of the counter-curse struck them at the masquerade ball. But the sudden joy of becoming themselves again faded quickly once they realized how dire the situation truly was. Regina and Emma were nowhere to be found, and Zelena would act desperately now that she’d been exposed. Neither of them was answering their phones.

Regina’s predictions about the flying monkeys had proven true—at least partially. There were hundreds of them on Main Street, leaping and flying, erratic as headless chickens. Some transformed mid-flight and plummeted from impossible heights, breaking limbs on impact. Crossing the avenue required extreme caution to avoid being crushed by a falling citizen of Storybrooke. Emergency services would be overwhelmed before dawn.

Henry witnessed the confusion of those who transformed—some had never left the Enchanted Forest, others simply didn’t know why they were here. On the sidewalk, in front of Marco’s shop, Lady Tremaine cradled her daughter Anastasia, who clutched a broken arm to her chest, while her sister Drizella held her good hand, sobbing uncontrollably. Even Ashley—Cinderella—ran toward them through the chaos, having grown close again after Sean never returned from Snow’s wars.

Still, there were too many erratic monkeys.

“That one transformed yesterday,” Julio whispered into Henry’s ear, pointing to one of the Merry Men, a blond named Robin.
“and that scarf the monkey near the clock tower has looks like one worn by that idiot Prince Phillip.”

Fred and Kathryn followed closely behind, cautious. The mayor would be summoned soon for an emergency assembly, but she wasn’t going anywhere until she knew Regina was safe. Her husband kept a close eye on her, worried not only for her but for the scenarios that might unfold. They didn’t know who had cast the curse. All they remembered was being in Henry’s court, waiting for news, when the boy was kidnapped. Hours later, everything was swallowed by the purple smoke of the curse, and they woke up in their beds in Storybrooke. They didn’t know who had broken it—but it couldn’t mean good news for their friend.

Getting to Mifflin amid the chaos was an odyssey. When the boy arrived at 108, the lights were off. Still, he entered shouting, calling for his mother and sovereign. She answered from the study, where she sat in darkness with Emma, facing the ugly engraving.

“Mom!” he cried in desperation, running to embrace her. “We have to leave Storybrooke! Someone broke the curse!”

“Yes,” Emma replied flatly. She’d been crying, but the boy had no time to ask why. “It was us. Your mother is the new Savior.”

Henry looked at Emma over Regina’s shoulder, still unwilling to let go.

“Did you know before you kissed her?”

“It made sense. The last Savior wasn’t under the curse when it fell, and Regina is the only one who came from outside with magic.”

“What a day to choose, Emma! Couldn't you pick another moment to get your brain squirrel spinning?”

“Hey!” Regina scolded. “What the hell is going on between you two? Why are you suddenly talking like mortal enemies? Weren’t you supposed to be thrilled to be mother and son?”

Regina’s disgust, anger, and sorrow were unmistakable. The past six years had brought nothing but pain to everyone involved—but it might have been worth it, if only Henry had managed to be happy despite it all. And Emma had no way to fix it, no way to make it right for the boy or his mother.

“It doesn’t matter, Regina. Henry’s right. We need to get you out of Storybrooke now.”

“Impossible. The potion to break the barrier won’t be ready until tomorrow. Besides, my work isn’t finished. I have to stop my sister.”

It took most of the night to argue the matter, but Regina finally allowed herself to be convinced that leaving the next day—once the barrier fell with the potion she’d been patiently preparing—was the best course. If it didn’t, she’d have to do it the violent way, risking the lives of other magical creatures. Henry and Emma were free from Snow’s false puritan morality. Saving Regina at the expense of others wouldn’t keep them up at night—but it would haunt her.

Henry arranged for all the house’s entrances to be guarded that night. Kathryn finally made it to the emergency council session, where everyone was stunned. It felt like the world had turned upside down—the Evil Queen had just broken Snow’s curse, and they were already planning to put Snow on trial once the chaos was under control.

The court also planned an emergency session in Regina’s garden to debate whether to resume the war against the fairies once the queen was safe, or simply continue with their plans to abandon Storybrooke. The decision was still split.

The next morning, Regina slipped away from all her caretakers—including her son—to attempt the spell on the barrier in peace. She wasn’t afraid of her sister, nor of being killed by her. What she feared was for the people she had come to love with a fierceness she thought long dead. If she ever saw Parker again, he’d be shocked to hear she’d spent years in solitude, entered a town that didn’t exist, and emerged with a vast support network in mere weeks.

Everything felt so futile now.

The potion glowed brightly for a few minutes. The faint green shimmer of the magical border shifted to a soft purple hue. Archie, her accomplice in this crusade against her greatest enemy, insisted on being the first to test it.

“If I transform, you’re the only one who can bring me back. If you do, we’re lost.”

Maybe it was because the curse had already been broken, or maybe the potion had truly worked—but the psychiatrist walked several meters without turning into a monkey or losing his Enchanted Forest identity. Regina reached out a hand first. The air felt different, no longer charged with the electrifying magic of the atmosphere. Then she stepped forward herself, without major changes. It was like lifting one veil and putting on another—because Regina felt the weight of her illness return with full force: the dizziness, the weakness, the shadow of pain, just as it had been in New York. She definitely wouldn’t be able to drive herself out.

Archie looked anxious, fiddling with the frame of his glasses as Regina paced the pavement. She approached a fallen log, pulled out a bottle of cognac she’d been carrying under her arm, and poured herself a glass, offering one to her friend.

For someone who had just defeated the greatest enemy of her life and was celebrating with a drink she hadn’t tasted in days, the defeat on her face was unmistakable.

“Regina, is something wrong?”

“My stupid true love and I broke the curse yesterday,” she said with fatality.

“And that’s… bad?” the cricket-man asked cautiously.

“It’s terrible,” she replied with a gesture. “Before being dragged to Storybrooke, I was Violetta Valéry: Addio del passato… I was perfectly reconciled with the fact that I was dying and that no one would bring flowers to my grave. But now Kathryn and Fred have breakfast with me every day, and both are willing to give up their lives for me. My son loves me again, and I have my sister as an enemy to destroy—just like in my old Evil Queen days. I even think that, given enough time, I might’ve found a way to be happy with Swan again. I’m no longer Violetta. I’m Cavaradossi: E muoio disperato! E non ho amato mai tanto la vita! I have never loved life as much as I do now that I die in desperation.”

Regina brought the glass to her lips, with no magic to dictate what she should or shouldn’t do. She didn’t look furious—just devastated.

For the first time in all his years as a therapist, Archie Hopper didn’t know what to say.

***

That same afternoon, Fred and Kathryn said their goodbyes at their doorstep. The mayor was convinced the separation wouldn’t last long. Henry and Regina were already waiting in the Benz. They had decided to spend a few days in New York while the socialite wrapped up some matters interrupted by the kidnapping. And so they set off toward the town’s only exit.

There was traffic. A dwarf had been sent to check the barrier after Regina and Archie left, and now everyone knew it was safe to leave that crazy town.

As the car crawled forward, Regina fiddled with the radio. There was a dedicated station that used to announce daily who had turned into a monkey—but now it had become the official bulletin channel.

Mayor Midas reminds citizens to remain calm. The individual responsible for casting the curse has been identified and poses no further threat...

More weather updates followed, and then suddenly:

Breaking news: The Wicked Witch of the West has resumed her infant abductions. Latest reports confirm that Snow White’s newborn, delivered just after midnight, was taken from the nursery earlier this morning.

Regina shook her head and sighed. It had seemed too good to be true. That green witch knew she didn’t need to chase her sister—she could lure her in with the right bait. No innocent child would suffer while Regina could still do something about it.

“Fred, turn the car around.”