A/N: So this is a new story I had an idea for. Please let me know your thoughts and I will continue to write it. -L

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in OUAT, if I did would I be writing fanfiction?

Queen Regina took much pleasure in the torturing of her young prisoner. It was not her fault that the wicked wench laid witness to her parents convulsing atop the floor, foam spilling from their open mouths like rabid animals. How was she to know that the little brat was hiding in the wardrobe?

Stupid parents and their ridiculous games all for her amusement, Regina thought as she raised the braided whip in her hand to land yet another devastating blow against the young girl's back.

Regina exhaled, a smile playing across her shadowed face, how she did love her time spent with the precious princess. "What is your name child?" She demanded, her face scrunched in pleasure.

Tears covered Emma's face, her sobs loud enough to drown out the cracking of the whip, "My name is Princess Emma of Conte," she responded through her whimpers, trying her best to remain diligent in her belief.

"Your name dear one is Emilia," the queen scolded, one lanky finger lifting the poor girl's face into the light. "You are not the the Princess of Conte and the sooner you tell the truth the sooner your punishment shall end," She bellowed, "Now, I ask of you again, what is your name?" she sneered, raising her palm to smack the truth from the girl should she lie to her again.

Defeated, her back raw and bleeding from a great many strikes, she answered again on a whisper, much too exhausted to assert volume behind the declaration, "I am Emilia."

A chuckle made its way past Regina's lips and birthed itself into the damp cellar, "Very good. Now go and shackle yourself to the wall like a good little wretch," she dismissed, waving her hand in the air as she turned to leave her torture chamber.

Emma did as she was told, crawling on the dirt floor, using her broken and scarred fingers to drag herself across the room to where here leg irons laid. Her fingers shook from pain as she struggled to place her restraints back on her ankles.

This torture persisted, every day for 3 years until finally she had been broken into a million little pieces, whipped and hit into believing that she was mad for ever thinking that she was born a princess, that she was someone of importance. For one-thousand-ninety-five days she was fed but once a day, confined to a space no more than three meters in area, and beaten until her back split and oozed, the wounds never given the proper time to heal.

Then alas on day one-thousand-ninety-six, in the middle of the night she was thrown into the streets. Her clothes much too small and soaked in blood, her body frail from years of being undernourished and mistreated. She slept in the hay outside of the tavern that night and when she awoke at first light a crowd had already formed. Villagers gathered to gawk at the beaten girl in tattered clothing, that was until Ms. White came to her assistance, shooing them away with her broom.

With cautious trepidation Ms. White approached Emilia, her voice strong and gentle, "Please everyone step back and give the lass some air, have ye scoundrels never seen a lass in need before?"

Emilia cowered in fear, clutching her knees to her chest she made herself as small as possible hoping to disappear into the corner she had backed herself into.

"Tis okay my child, I shall not harm ye, I only wish to aid you," Ms. White reassured her.

Emilia was untrusting, and rightfully so. Ms. White made her promises of bread and wine should she enter the tavern, even said that she could have a bath if she were to so chose, the offerings sounded like music to her ears. Emilia's eyes softened at the prospect of food and a bath, a luxury she had not had in recent memory. With great reluctance, she took Ms. White's hand and allowed her to be led inside the tavern.

Once inside Ms. White fed, bathed, and tended to her wounds. She gave Emilia a room for which she could sleep in and left her to be. The nightmares had begun that night. She dreamt of a woman in the shadows with a whip for a hand, the woman's voice was inaudible as she screamed and struck her, her pleas of stop going unnoticed until finally she was restrained again, her back against the moist dungeon wall to discourage further beatings.

When Emilia awoke from the nightmare she was drenched in tears and sweat, Ms. White was holding her in her arms, rocking her to comfort. This nightmare would haunt Emilia for years to come, and every night, as sure as the wind blows strong, Ms. White would console her fears and deaden her cries, taking the task upon herself to be Emilia's sole savior.

Ms. White was quickly becoming a mother to Emilia, giving her food and lodging in turn for work which Emilia happily performed. After a measure of time had passed Emilia stopped having the nightmares, the memories of her madness became a story of fiction to her, she was for all intents and purposes, Emilia, bar maiden at The Rabbit Hole and ward to Ms. White.