It never worked. Not with Snow, not with Charming, not with Henry, not with Hook. Not even with the Apprentice or Rumplestiltskin, or even with Blue. It never worked. And they were always met with silence.
Today, it's Regina's turn to guard the dagger. They thought that if they'd let it roam, then maybe the dagger would be safer; it won't ever be in the same place for too long. And they don't really have a schedule, so they just give it to people they trust.
But Regina honestly didn't want to hold it, or even keep it, or be near it. It's a constant reminder of someone who gave everything up for her, saved her countless times even before they even met. It's like the Savior was meant to be her knight, as if everyone else's happy ending was just a side job besides from her's.
And she didn't want to remember that. She could never smile if she knows her happy ending is built on Emma's sacrifice.
Much more if the reminder of how Emma's soul is now tethered to a dagger of all things and at constant risk of being lost to the darkness forever is right in front of her.
Still, she accepts the dagger. Still, she promises to protect it, to guard it with her life, even just for a day.
Idiot.
And on that day, on the unique day that she had to be the one to hold onto the dagger, to Emma's dagger, a storm engulfs the town and wreaks havoc with its hell-brought rains and harsh winds.
She couldn't help but go back to the spot where Emma was taken away, even in the pouring rain.
It's been a week now, exactly a week. Exactly one hundred and sixty-eight hours since Emma was taken away.
She couldn't help it. Even under the pouring rain.
"You can try calling out to her, Regina. It's okay if you do."
The hilt is cold under her skin, and everything seems to fade away once the word comes out of her mouth.
"Emma."
And everything, even the bitter cold of the pouring rain or the deafening howl of the screaming wind, vanishes.
Emma. It's been exactly a week since she said that name. Exactly one hundred and sixty-eight hours, exactly ten thousand eighty minutes ever since the last time she said the Savior's name.
Then the flames flicker in her sight, licking at the rain and casting eerie glows around the buildings.
It's as if she's in a burning building with the fire threatening to lick her too, but in the distance beyond the flames, she swears she sees a head of blonde hair.
And suddenly the whole of Storybrooke is around her, but between them is a wall of fire.
"Regina, get out of there!"
"Regina, what do you think you're doing!"
"Mom!"
"Regina!"
"Regina!"
"Regina!"
She could hear them so clearly, as if the rain isn't pounding at the concrete beside her feet. It's as if there are no flames threatening to burn her alive, and they are right there, just beside her.
But even their voices sound distant the moment she sees Emma's eyes.
And maybe it's the rain, or maybe it's the fire, or maybe it's just her, but Emma's eyes are cold, are steely, are dark. Emotionless. Stoic. Unfeeling.
Not Emma.
Like the last moment she saw Emma's eyes through the tendrils of darkness.
"Emma."
She's gone. Emma had bright green eyes that were always alive with an emotion. She's been gone for the past week. Emma had a face blooming with life, bursting with hope. She's not Emma. Emma wore her heart on her sleeve, at least in Regina's point of view, and with Emma, she always knew when she was lying. Emma's gone.
But even in the Emma standing before her now - her eyes dark and dull and steely and gray, with no life or light or hope alight in them, her skin pale and ghastly and not at all Emma, her clothes dark and evil, like Regina's knights in her days as the Evil Queen, her eyes highlighted with a thick layer of black, stark contrast with the pale white of her face, her demeanor just not Emma, completely not Emma - Regina can see something pleading, something that won't let the blonde move and kill.
She can see, behind those eyes, a sliver of light flickering on and off, asking her, begging her, telling her something she knows, something she just hopes would never happen.
'Kill me, Regina.'
It's just a lie, right? All a lie?
But that light is nearing it's end, and it's flickering is getting weaker, dimmer, and soon enough, she won't see Emma. Not her Emma. Her Emma will be gone.
So, slowly, she starts to walk toward the Savior, her Savior, her Sheriff, her Knight, her Emma. Heavy step by heavy step on the wet concrete ground, the rain still pouring above their heads.
The flames lick at their sides, but now, Regina couldn't feel a thing.
All she feels is Emma.
Emma Swan, the birth mother of her adopted son. Emma Swan, the Sheriff of Storybrooke. Emma Swan, the one who had promised her a happy ending. Emma Swan, the reason why she will never have her happy ending. Emma Swan, the Savior that had fought for her till the very end, no matter where they were, no matter when, no matter what. Emma Swan, the Savior who would bring back the happy endings. Emma Swan, her Savior, her happy ending, but her undoing. Till the very end.
Before she knew it, she's in front of her, Emma, the Savior, the Dark One.
"If a Dark One is to be killed with his or her dagger, the power and the darkness will be transferred to the killer."
The dagger still clutched in her vice-like grip at her left hand, she inserts her right hand in Emma's chest, and soon her fingers are wrapped around Emma's heart. It's warm, constantly beating like a comforting rhythm.
A rhythm she'll have to stop, no matter how hard she won't want to.
In those eyes that she stares into, she could still see the bright green that were and are Emma Swan's, and maybe it's still there, and she just had to know it is.
And if it is, it wouldn't matter if she'd do it.
Her lips and Emma's fit perfectly. They mold into each other like they were made for each other, as if they were each other's fate. And maybe they were, because that's all in the past. Regina knows she had to let go of that past, but she didn't want to see Emma's eyes blank, done for, gone.
So with her eyes closed, a tear slips down her left cheek as she squeezes Emma's heart, crushing it to dust within the blonde's body.
"With the right spell and the right magic, the darkness can be bound to a heart and a soul, so with the death of that mortal soul, it, too, will be gone. At least for a while."
Her eyes open slowly, ever so slowly, but fast enough to see the life leave Emma's eyes.
The fire dies down and the storm leaves, and she pulls her hand out of Emma's chest. She knows there'd be a thud, but to her it sounds so much louder, so much heavier, so much more painful. And the pain grows even worse at the sight of Emma Swan on the cold, hard ground.
Lifeless. Limp. Gone.
But she could still feel the warm lips that engulfed her, that hypnotized her, that did everything for her till the very end.
She could still feel the comforting rhythmic beat of that heart, alive and warm beneath her skin.
But that's all gone now.
Emma's gone. Forever.
"Mom."
She couldn't take her eyes off Emma. Another love lost, her last happy ending gone.
"Regina."
No one could ever give her a happy ending now. Not with Emma's blood on her hands, not with her life from this moment being built on the death of her True Love.
"They say you can change your fate. You, Regina, have changed yours. Therefore, even your True Love can change, just as easily as you changed your fate."
It's done. She's gone. And she's all alone.
With no hope of a happy ending.
(She turns back and leaves, and she doesn't care who looks at her, who stares at her, who runs after her, because Emma's gone, and the dagger has no name, and she can't stand for it to still be intact after all this time. She leaves because she can't look at Emma, not now, not anymore, and she'd rather be left alone to grieve and weep and cry than to see Emma lying lifelessly there because of her. She turns around and leaves, because it's done, it's over, and she wishes she'd be over too. She can't have a happy ending without Emma; Emma was her happy ending, and that's all it'll ever be now. Was, not is. Because Emma is gone now, and she brought Regina Mills' happiness along with her.)
