The sky above was barren. She didn't even have the stars to comfort her. To distract her from the coarse rope cutting into and making her wrists grow raw and crusty with scab. Her frantic eyes—doing everything in their power to avoid The Cyrcle—fixed themselves on the naked canopy. Pale white branches twisted into the night sky like gnarled skeletal fingers. They were no less spooky and haunting than everything else.

A raven cawed somewhere distant. A wolf gave answer. Only once, as if not to attract themselves any more attention. Now all that remained was a harsh rustling and crack of branches slapping against one another.

Regina held herself as still as possible, not that she had a choice in the matter.

It seemed to be growing darker still. Perhaps the moon was too afraid to shine at this hour. The mist that had been swirling around the musky forest floor was slowly creeping around her, bringing with it a foul odor. Decay. Something in the mist was dead.

Regina was breathing heavily now. Rapidly. She was growing vividly aware of each and every pebble that dug into her skin. Every splash of mud that dirtied her body. Every spider, mite, roach—whatever insect—that sculled over her bare legs. She closed her frenzied eyes and focused on her erratic breathing. But this hyper-awareness did not absolve. If anything, it grew more intense.

She opened her eyes and gave a start. Filling her field of vision completely, was a face. A wrinkled and deformed face. A face that just barely retained semblance of humanity. The left half of it had a grotesque growth. And the right seemed to have been torn off and replaced; stitched up to it was what appeared to be the face of a boar.

The face moved so that it was no logger fully occupying her vison. The Cyrcle was surrounding her now. A petrifying kaleidoscope of marred, demonic faces—each ghastly in their own special way. She could see a man with a horn in the middle of his forehead. But it wasn't majestic nor alluring like that of a unicorn. It was putrid, as if someone had gouged a hole in his head and stabbed a cracked and pointed stone in there. Next to him was a woman with tusks and long, dirty, straw-like, grey hair. She didn't seem to have any eyes and if she did, they were so deeply set that she may as well not have them at all. In those crevices lay a film of cobweb. An accessory that adorned a mouth that hitched in a never-ceasing gape. The webs were, in fact, spun all over the woman's face and in her hair. Regina blinked just in time to be spared the sight of a spider crawling out from a hole in the woman's tooth. But somehow, she knew it had happened. Regina squeezed her eyes shut again, this time with more desperation.

The Cyrcle moved in even closer, chanting something indistinguishable and in a tongue so foreign and scathing to the ears that it had to have been crafted in the underworld—the only place it had a right to be spoken. The pig man came back into view. This time Regina noticed that he may not be a he at all, but another woman. He or she was shoved aside by a being in a beaten and rusting plague mask. It lifted an arm. The moon glimmered off of something shiny. Regina had only an instant to discern that it was an athame.

The weapon fell upon her.

Regina woke with a start, her hand to her chest, she hadn't had that dream in ages. It was still night—the moon high in the sky, and the room was still awashed in black. But she was no longer in that hauntingly familiar forest. She took a deep breath and looked up from where her gaze had been resting, on her knees. In the vivid darkness she could see the curtains fluttering like the specters in her nightmares. She'd forgotten to close the window before bed. She shivered, the room had grown all too chilly as she slept. Pushing down her unease, she stood up and shut the window. She stood at the sill for a moment staring out at the other rooftops. Perhaps she should go check on Henry? She pushed away from the window sill. But she didn't want to disturb him; just because she couldn't sleep, didn't mean she should take the slumber away from him.

She wondered briefly if she should try to get back to sleep. Her bedside clock—reading 2:26—answered yes. But she likely wouldn't be able to catch any more of it even if she tried. Instead she grazed her fingers over the spines of multiple books until she found one to her satisfaction and plucked it off of the shelf.

As quietly as she could, so not to disturb Henry, she made her way downstairs and flipped the lights on. She could only thumb through the book in a haze—reading it but not actually retaining any of the story. She picked out a few words, like 'forest', 'tower', and the name 'Lilian'. Other than that, her mind was elsewhere, still captured by the faint visages of her nightmare. She placed her book on the coffee table and sat in near silence, listening to the faint and rhythmic ticking of her grandfather clock. Restless, she stood up again. She considered getting something to eat, if for no other reason than to give her something to do. Something that required no thought. She decided against it. She instead made her way towards the staircase again. She would quickly check up on Henry.

The stairwell before Regina was encompassed in the same kind of dark that had her pacing around her living room in the first place. She immediately regretted not turning the lights on before going downstairs. But Henry meant more to her than her own fears. She looked deeply into the shadows before forcing her reluctance down. She moved through the darkness with a nagging sense that she was being followed. Every creak of the house, every smack of a branch on the widows sent her heart racing more than it ought to have. She almost called out to Henry. But the very notion was ridiculous. He was supposed to call out to her when he was having nightmares so she could protect him, not the other way around. She was thinking like a little girl. From near the end of the hall she heard a thud. She swallowed down a breath and held it there. Blending into the night just enough to make her squint, was a figure. Her eyes grew wide. The figure approached slowly. Clumsily. A hand reached out and took hold of her own. Regina let out a sharp cry.

"Woah! Sorry mom!"

Regina's hand fell on her chest, over her erratically beating heart. She let out a sigh of relief and took a few moments to regain her composure. "Henry, what are you doing up? I didn't wake you did I?"

"No, I was already awake, couldn't sleep. I heard you go downstairs and I thought I'd join you." She couldn't see it, but she knew he was smiling. "Why are all of the lights off? It's kinda hard to walk when you can't see where you're going?"

"I forgot to turn them on as I was heading downstairs." Regina put an arm over his shoulder.

"Hey, maybe we can watch a movie together. Since we're both up?"

"Or we can try to get to sleep." Regina suggested. "I think that's a better idea, wouldn't you say?"

Henry rolled his eyes. "You know where to find me when you realize that, that's not going to happen." He opened his bedroom door and re-entered. "Night mom."

"Good night." Regina kissed him on the forehead. "Turn the light off?"

"Nah mom, I got it."

"Alright, I'll see you in the morning." Regina pulled his door shut, and with it took the last bit of light that flowed into the hallway. But she didn't feel like she needed it anymore. It wasn't until she was back in bed, with her head on the pillow that she remembered.

It was Emma's turn with Henry.