Regina was sure to run into her every morning.
Sometimes she spilled coffee on herself, other times she'd lose her balance and fall to the sidewalk, or other times still she'd end up with the contents of her purse scattered in the street.
Today it was fourth grade math worksheets.
"Watch where you're going." Regina snapped with an almost rehearsed level of vehemence.
But before Mary Margaret could respond, Regina already knew what she would say.
"Oh, Madame Mayor! I'm so sorry!"
She sighed to herself at the repetitive nature of their encounter.
At first their morning collisions had been a way to ensure that her day went well, and Mary Margaret's went terribly. It was a small victory, a daily reminder that she had won…and there was little comparable to starting the morning with some cruel words thrown casually at Snow White.
Using a careful remark about her mohair sweater, lack of coordination, or overall incompetence, Regina reveled in how completely she had made a mockery of her former stepdaughter.
But as months wore on, years wore on, decades wore on, her routines became ruts, her antagonism too practiced too be enjoyable, and her life more mundane than she thought a happy ending would be.
Her curse had manifested as something monotonous and wholly unremarkable.
And it was starting to drain her.
Shifting her attention back to the woman before her, Mary Margaret was still uttering clumsy apologies as she bent down to collect the scattered papers. Without thinking, Regina knelt to help her.
It was only when their hands met reaching for the same sheet that Regina recognized who exactly she was helping. The schoolteacher smiled at her shyly as Regina stood abruptly and took a step back.
"I should have you fined for littering, Miss Blanchard."
Her shy smile fell into a look of genuine concern as her efforts to gather the fallen papers became more frantic.
"Oh I'm so sorry, Mayor Mills. I'm doing my best."
Regina rolled her eyes.
"Once again, your best fails in its attempts at adequacy."
Mary Margaret's lower lip trembled at the words, but she said nothing.
This woman, like everyone else in Storybrooke, was pathetic. Though Regina had designed it that way, she couldn't fully thrill in the ways she humiliated Snow White and her collection of misfit companions as none of them were aware of it. Almost two decades had passed and Regina hated herself for being dissatisfied with the world she created and its spineless, irritating inhabitants, who folded under her provocations without a second thought.
There were even brief moments of insanity that she missed the Enchanted Forest, if only because it lacked the predictability that was written into every person, place, and moment in this godforsaken town.
Recognizing that her mind had wandered, she watched as Mary Margaret grabbed the last of the papers and stood hastily.
Her eyebrows were furrowed in a look of cautious anxiety that Snow White would never have worn.
Regarding each other for moment, Regina realized Mary Margaret was waiting for her to speak. Probably awaiting some veiled threat or much more blatant insult.
"Do you need something else Miss Blanchard, or should I add a loitering charge on top of littering?"
The words felt scripted and stiff, but Mary Margaret nodded tensely.
"Of course, Madame Mayor. I'll be off."
As she sidestepped Regina, she kept her eyes averted and shoulders slumped in a show of submission.
Watching the schoolteacher nervously continue on her way, Regina sighed deeply.
She hated Mary Margaret, but there was no denying that the thrill that had once come from frightening and embarrassing her lacked the potency - the near palpability - it once had. It was infuriating. Nothing should have brought her more joy than treating this woman cruelly without consequences.
Yet, Regina was bored. The torment she had thought would occupy her days and give her both peace and happiness felt shallow and unsatisfying. Mary Margaret was evidence of that. If Regina could not even work up a sense of excitement at terrorizing this shadow of Snow White…Well, it pointed to a need to change things, to find something new that could offer her the life Storybrooke had failed to.
