I am finally feeling like i can get back into the groove of writing another story. I hope a Swanqueen try will be alright with you guys.
The brunette left the mansion, restless. The size of the home with no one to share it with was daunting in its loneliness. Everyone knew of the witch at 108 Mifflin but no one knew of the woman. She ached in her chest when she felt her walls closing in on her. The dull itch in her fingers to do… something, something horrible, something she kept from Henry for all these years. It was in those moments of isolation she throws on a coat and a scarf and she walks the sidewalks of her sleepy little town. Something about walking down those empty streets at some ungodly hour make her feel less… alone.
She turned down one of the streets and heard it in the distance. She cocked her head to the side and walked toward the sound. It was sad, and eerie as if reflecting the tone of her own heart. She didn't even realize where her feet led her. She simply followed the music. She looked up and her breath caught in her throat. Up on the fire escape she found the musician playing. Regina stuffed her hands in her pockets and watched the player sway back and forth, tilt into the longer pull of the bow string pulling out the sound as if by magic.
Her eyes closed as the moon shone on her face. Deep never seen emotion reflected on that angelic face she pretends to hate. The violin solo came to a haunting end and then Regina held her breath as she realized she was caught watching, like a voyeur on a private moment. She looked down on Regina and then the brunette took a breath, hoping that under her heavy coat and scarf Emma would not see the movement. The witch, with her hands in her pockets, simply turned and followed her feet back to the empty house that screams at her in its silence echoing off hollow walls.
Regina knew she could not hide her feelings for much longer about the savior, but she also knew she would not come out and declare her feelings for the blonde either, especially with that damn pirate in the picture. She opened the door, took off her coat and scarf as she closed the door and walked to her study. She eyed the cider decanter and felt her throat work as she swallowed. Oh, she wanted to drink, to become lost in a land of grey areas and possibilities. She wanted to relish in the slight burn on her throat, but her fingers twitched, wanting to…
She shook her head and walked up stairs after locking the door. Bed and a book, that would do nicely, anything to take her thoughts from the flash of metal in her hand and split bleeding skin. Once in bed though she could not concentrate on her book. That melody invaded her thoughts and kept her from focusing. She tossed the book on her nightstand and turned the light off. She stood from her bed in the dark and went to the window. Was that? She opened the window, and yes, as if carried on the wind was that soft, sad melody. She pulled her chair over the window and took her down comforter from the bed and curled up listening to the music Emma made in the might.