The air is cold as Regina walks home from Gold's shop, hands buried deep in her pockets. Head bowed, she bites her tongue and forces herself to stare at her toes as she walks by Granny's Diner, resisting the painful urge to peek inside. There is no sense in hurting herself more, watching her son embrace Storybrooke's Sheriff – her, at one time, lover, she has to remind herself - with such overwhelming passion that has never been directed her way. So despite the sounds of celebration, the heavy thumping of the music, and the comforting warmth that emanates from the walls and windows of the diner, Regina continues on toward Mifflin Street.
Her hands are clammy but her skin grows hot in anger. This isn't how it was supposed to be, walking alone in the veil of darkness. All had been done to heal, to allow a lover and child to envelop her in the warmth of compassion and true love. Yet here she ventures, goosebumps on her arms while beads of sweat drip down her brow and neck without the companionship to heal her heart's flu.
Lungs tight, sucking in shallow breaths that leave her dizzy, Regina recalls the last time there was this much pain, an all over, debilitating ache. Her heart is breaking.
Following the twists and turns of the street, she finally approaches her driveway and stumbles forward. She's shaking now. Sweat trickles down her back, staining the silk of her shirt. Fumbling, she digs for the key in her pocket and steadies herself enough to open the front door. The large mansion is freezing – she'd turned the heat off when she'd decided to stay with Charming to tend to Henry – but despite this, her skin burns hot. Slightly disoriented, she tears her jacket off and throws it to the floor while attempting to kick the door closed with her heel. She stumbles but catches herself on the back of the nearby sofa.
Grasping nearby objects, she makes her way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Her eyelids grow heavy and her head swims as she grasps the wooden chairs around the matching dining table. Legs shaking, she pulls the seat out and collapses into it, burying her face in her hands.
This wasn't how it was supposed to be. She was supposed to save them and be saved in return. They were supposed to love her and come home with her.
The townspeople had supported her redemption, urged her on, but now, with a laugh, she realizes redemption was merely torture in disguise.
Her laughter grows hysteric.
They'd done it. They'd successfully broken their queen.
Glancing up, she runs her fingers through her hair and looks around the table. Memories swarm her, of birthday dinners, of long nights building last minute science projects, of lovers' quarrels. She can almost hear their laughter. Blinking through tears, she swears she sees them sitting beside her, can feel Emma stroking the back of her hand with her thumb as she apologizes for a snarky remark. She closes her eyes and focuses on the sensation. The warmth of fingers tickles and she smiles hazily, tears streaking her cheeks.
But when she opens her eyes once more, no one is there. She sits in darkness, slumped in her seat with her arm outstretched toward an imaginary figure.
Nothing there but empty chairs at an empty table.