Her mother never paid much attention to her tattoos. Regina didn't even know what they meant, what they symbolized, until she was eight years old. Most children were told by the time they could read. Any time Regina brought it up, Cora would brush it off and tell her it wasn't important. That it wasn't something she should focus on. She'd had to ask her nanny about it.
"They're the first words you'll hear from your soul mate," the woman – Kara - had told her. "Your true love."
She'd held her arms out for Regina to see. Regina had traced her tiny fingers over the scripted words, cataloging a stream of simple words like "ball", "dress", and several variations of the words mom and dad. "Children's first words." Kara pressed a hand to Regina's cheek before pointing to a light blue text at the inside of her elbow.
Give it here!
"This one was you. You were a little older. And demanding!" She'd said, poking at Regina's leg and prompting her to roll her ankle and expose the neat print reading Mama across her calf. "Look at that, Regina. It looks like one day you'll have a baby of your own, and you'll love them very very much."
Three days later Kara was given a job in the kitchen, and Regina was assigned a new nanny, one whose face went pale with fear any time the tattoos were mentioned. She was fifteen when she learned her mother had been behind it – though really, she should have known – and she made it a point of rebellion to sneak down to the kitchen and visit.
She was seventeen when somebody finally spoke the words on her forearm, and after such a long time waiting, it felt like falling and flying all at once.
"I know exactly which horse to put you on."
Boyishly handsome and entirely right for her, but to others so wrong. He'd smiled at her and that was all it took for her stomach to drop. It was a miracle her voice had been so steady as she smoothed out that front of her coat and replied, "That brown one there, I hope."
He smiled at her, a sweet, understanding smile, before holding out a hand. "Daniel," He said.
She took it, shaking his hand like her mother had said was only for men – curtseys were for ladies – and replied, "Regina." She let her fingers relax and her hand stayed entwined with his, just for a moment.
"Well alright, Regina," He started, backing away from her and towards the large brown horse. "This here is Rocinante."
Two years.
She'd had two years of a wonderful romance with Daniel. He hadn't pushed her into anything; hadn't assumed that just because her tattoo matched his that she wanted to jump into something deep. It started out as innocent flirting during riding lessons. Eventually it progressed to little picnics in the sun, with food Regina had snuck from the kitchens with Kara's help, and then it was lying on the hills surrounding the estate and kissing and trying to remove the grass stains from Regina's clothing. They never came out, of course, and so Regina told Cora she often fell from her horse.
And then it was sneaking out at night to parties in the town, and then after to the stables to – well.
And then it was all over.
Two years.
She held him in her arms as the light faded from his eyes. She almost didn't catch it, but as he died, the letters on her arm faded from her skin.
Regina Mills was nineteen years old when she lost her first tattoo. When she was twenty-eight, she lost the second.
She always liked to blame her mother for that one – it was Cora who had pushed her, who had manipulated her, torn her down until she was desperate to escape the woman's control. And when she heard her mother wanted her to have a baby, well. Of course she thought her mother only wanted her power. She'd downed the bitter potion in one swallow and with the nausea, the cramps, the headache behind her eyes, came a searing pain through her leg.
The moment her mother was out of sight Regina pulled up her dress to examine the skin, nearly ripping the fabric in her haste. She felt her stomach turn when she saw the blankness of her calf, and she turned to retch into a potted plant in the corner. She fell asleep that night with acid in her throat and tears dried on her cheeks.
Unlike Daniel's tattoo, Mama left a scar.
As soon as Rumplestiltskin offered her the Dark Curse, she felt an itching beneath her skin. It was the kind she felt she couldn't scratch – centered in one place but all over at once. Her arms were the focus of the sensation, and for the several weeks she contemplated casting the thing, she wore sleeveless gowns. Though she'd been tempted, she eventually decided not to enact the curse. Instead she traded the spell away to Maleficent and the discomfort stopped, and slipped her mind.
It had been a year since Mama had disappeared from her calf. She'd gained a reputation not only as the ruthless Evil Queen but as the woman with skin as blank as her icy expressions. Rumors circled as to why – she'd killed her own child, that was a popular one. For most it wasn't a stretch – she'd killed the king, after all. Others said she'd chained up her soulmate somewhere and erased the tattoo by magic. Most just said she didn't have a soul. That she couldn't feel love in the first place, let alone true love. Let alone have a soul mate.
They were wrong. She could feel love. She knew it, because she had – but now it all just felt like pain. Pain and rage.
Still, the image served her well.
The itching didn't return until after the sleeping curse failed. When she heard that Snow's precious Prince Charming had saved her with True Love's Kiss, well, she was livid. Regina ignored the pin pricks beneath her wrists, digging her nails in absentmindedly to chase the feeling away. Her thoughts turned to Maleficent, with the dark curse hidden away in her staff.
And so she took it back.
As she unrolled the parchment, a single word appeared on her left forearm, blooming beneath her skin as she watched. There was no pain this time – instead it felt as if chilled water was flowing through her veins beneath the new script.
Hi.
It was written in apple red, curling letters, and Regina traced them with her fingers, curse momentarily forgotten. She caught a glimpse of blue as she did so. Breath caught in her throat, she turned her other arm over.
Mom.
The gasp she let out was audible, half way to a sob, and she felt tears welling in her eyes. Mom. She rolled the scroll back into itself and curled her fingers protectively around it.
She was going to be a mother after all.