A sharp wail cuts through the damp silence – a cry of life, but for Cora, it only brings despair.
"Here, miss," a beaming handmaid swaddles the shrieking child, cradling the tiny form against her bosom. "It's a girl – a beautiful, healthy girl." She sits down on the edge of the bed, rocking the babe until she quiets.
Cora props her sore body up against the mound of pillows, quivering from the exhaustion of childbirth as she reaches weakly for her child. The handmaid obliges, her cheeks still rosy from excitement as she smiles at the pair. "She's beautiful," she purrs again, though Cora's face only twists into anguish as she kisses the dark mess of hair that splays against her daughter's head.
"She is beautiful indeed, dearie," a familiar voice slices through the room, followed by a manically high giggle.
"You," Cora speaks, her voice low, with no hint of surprise. She's been expecting him. She automatically clings tighter to her daughter. The handmaid gasps, stumbling backward as she notices the impish man who has suddenly appeared in one of the chairs across the room.
"Moira," Cora addresses the handmaid. "A moment please?"
"But, miss—" Moira begins in protest.
"Moira, a moment," Cora firmly repeats, nodding toward the door.
The handmaid bows her head obediently, a look of worry knotting across her brow as she slips out the door. The door shuts, and Cora's dead stare remains on the small man. Involuntary tears sting at the corners of her eyes. The baby has begun to fuss again, and Cora holds her tighter.
Rumplestiltskin only cackles, flitting over to the bed to obtain a closer look. Cora bars his view, turning the baby's face toward her bosom. "I'm glad to see we're on the same page then." He laughs again, and with a flick of his fingers, loosens Cora's grasp and levitates the baby toward his own arms.
"Isn't there something else I could give you?" Cora's voice is weak as she forces the words out, watching as the baby settles into Rumplestitskin's grasp. Her body is spent, aching from the intensity of her labor. A futile labor. A futile nine months of protecting this child in her womb, only to have her torn away within mere minutes of her birth. Cora is familiar with consequences, well-informed of the impish man's warning: All magic comes with a price. But she is only human, and the dull ache that settles in her gut as gazes longingly at her raven-haired child.
"But you see, I don't want anything else, my dear. When I saved you and your father from your poverty, when I found you an esteemed husband and offered you wealth and power, I expected something precious in return. And, as you've learned now, there is nothing more precious than a child." He touches the baby's nose gently, grinning toothily down at her tiny face. "I shall call her Regina," Rumplestiltskin muses, cradling the child gently as he paces the room. "A regal name, don't you think? I foresee much greatness in her future."
Cora chokes out a whimper, her eyes glassy and defeated as she watches Rumplestiltskin cling to her child. She knows she's lost, and she realizes her own greatness has come with a price.
Cradling the baby in one arm, Rumplestiltskin shifts, reaching into the satchel secured to his side to produce an antiquated book bordered in gold. "As promised, my dear."
Cora eyes widen, and after only a brief moment of hesitance, she takes the book. She fingers the binding, clinging to it almost as hungrily as she held onto her daughter only moments ago. Her eyes flash greedily, the anguish in her eyes quickly dissipating.
Rumplestiltskin lets out another giggle, his eyes flashing curiously. "Of course, if the loss of your daughter means so much to you," he delicately speaks, waiting a moment for Cora to tear her eyes away from the spell book. "My deals, while binding, can be altered…and if you wanted your precious child, perhaps with the return my book, shall we say, and another little something we can come to agreement on, I'll allow you to keep the babe."
He watches Cora's eyes flash, landing on the child before settling in her lap as her eyes hungrily eye the book. "I am still young, and my child-bearing years are far from over," she states simply.
Rumplestiltskin lets out a delighted cackle. "I have taught you well. Yes, I have taught you well, which is why I expect you to take exceptional care of her, dearie," Rumplestiltskin's eyes flash as he approaches the bed, nudging the child in Cora's direction.
She stares at him, dumbfound, her lips pursed as she tries to battle her maternal instincts and her hunger for power. "Don't you dare play games with me."
He tuts disapprovingly, as if the mere suggestion is absurd. "Oh, I assure you, that is hardly my intention. You see, while the child may be mine, I hardly have the time and assets to raise her on my own. As you know, I have quite the transient lifestyle, hardly ideal for towing around such a fragile child and making sure she receives what I know is best for her. That is why you're going to raise her for me, Cora. You will raise me a strong, powerful daughter – a daughter someday fit to be a queen." His eyes glint as he hisses the word. "There is much in store for her, and I rest assured that you will help her strive for this greatness. You have proven yourself worthy, and I am confident you will let nothing deter you from this task." His eyes flash knowingly before he continues. "I do believe you'll find my offer quite generous – and beneficial for yourself as well. You see, my dear, you will always be the daughter of a miller, but Regina is destined to be so much more. With her success comes your own success."
He offers the baby to her once again, and she secures her daughter in her grasp, though she continues to cling to the spell with hungry fervor.
XXX
"Mama, do it again! Do it again!" the small dark-haired child shrieks in delight, clapping her chubby hands together. At three-years-old, she is already quite a beauty – black hair that falls in thick ringlets around her shoulders, porcelain skin, and ruby tinted lips and cheeks. She looks like a doll, dressed in a pale frock the rivals the whiteness of her skin.
They're out in the garden in the back of their manor, the only part of the estate that her mother tends to on her own, the walled off conservatory filled with various plants and herbs her mother uses for her various spells and concoctions.
Cora is dressed in a stiff ebony gown that contrasts the whiteness of her daughter's. She smiles down at the little girl, basking in her admiration. "Just one more time, my little princess." She reaches for a delicate white rose, her fingers skimming the satin petals faintly.
Regina watches in awe as a deep crimson seeps into the petals, dying the entire rose blood red. Cora smiles, snapping the rose off by the stem, delivering it to her daughter. "Be careful of the thorns," she warns, as Regina's hands eagerly clasp her prize. "Run along and water your apple tree. A sapling does not grow strong without care."
Regina nods, keeping the rose between her fingers. She stops for a moment, before dancing over to her corner of the garden. "I love you, Mama."
The words are so sweet, so pure. Cora smiles in return. "And I love you, my little princess."
XXX
"Cora, I thought we agreed that we weren't going to expose her to magic just yet," Henry murmurs, watching his daughter sleep through the beam of light that slits through her ajar door. Regina's black curls spill out against her pillow, her ruby lips parted slightly in her slumber. In her hand, she still clings to the red rose, the petals beginning to come loose.
"Henry, my love," Cora mutters, leaning her head against her husband's shoulder. "It's only small things, like when she helps me out in the garden. She enjoys my little tricks."
"Yes, but little tricks never stay so little. I just want to keep her innocence, Cora. Look at her." He watches her tiny chest rise and fall. "She's perfect just how she is. She doesn't need anything more."
Cora purses her lips, though she says nothing. "I'll see you in our chambers, Henry." She turns on her heels, the sound echoing down the hall.
Once she has retreated, Henry creaks the door open, bending over quietly to kiss Regina's soft forehead. She stirs slightly, but doesn't wake. Gently, he pries the rose from her fingers, placing in the drinking cup on her bedside table.
As he leaves the room, he watches as a single petal drops from the stem, fluttering down to the floor.
XXX
Regina leans against the gate of the stall, admiring the chestnut mare grazing on a bundle of hay. The sight is calming, and she finds it easy to become lost in the eyes the this gentle animal, away from the piercing trill of her mother's voice, always pushing her to better herself.
Her mother trains her like a princess inline to take the throne. Lessons after lessons: literature, history, mythology, art, etiquette, sewing – and the list drags on. These are all skills Regina knows she is lucky to be taught, but her mother's constant berating to be the best she can be wears on her. Sometimes she just wants to stop and breathe for a moment.
Her riding lessons twice a week are what she looks forward to most. This is when she feels more proud of herself; this is when she believes she can succeed at anything, when she rides free on the bare back of her horse, the wind in her face, the sun on her back. Sometimes she wonders what would happen if she rode endlessly, away from her mother, away from her suffocating life into a place were she could just simply be.
"I like to come here and think, too."
The voice startles her, and she turns sharply on her heel to face a boy with a mess of brown curls and striking blue eyes, perhaps a just few years older than she is. She vaguely recognizes him as the son of their stableman. She blushes, stepping away from the gate.
"Papa's been training me," the boy continues on when Regina doesn't speak. He unlocks the mare's gate, picking up a sack of grooming tools, motioning for Regina to follow him in. "His back is always sore, and he hopes I can take over for him in due time."
Regina hesitantly steps into the stall, her feet crunching against the hay. The mare lets out a small grunt as the boy reaches for a brush. She stands against the far wall, merely watching.
"Delilah's due to have her colt in about of fortnight, " he continues to fill the silence. She watches he dust fall from her coat as he runs the brush across her swollen torso. "Want to try?" he asked curiously, following her eyes.
She bites her lips, imaging her mother's disapproving glare. It is not proper for a lady to tend to her own horse. But she finds herself nodding nevertheless, a grin on her face as she steps toward Delilah.
"Alright, just place your hand underneath the strap," he tells her, helping her tuck her hand into the brush. Her skin tingles from the contact. He keeps his hand clasped over as he brings the brush to the mare's torso. He presses down, dragging the brush against her fur. Regina watches as a cloud of dust flutters to the stable floor. "Now you try."
He takes his hand away, leaving Regina feeling quite tiny next to the beast. Taking a breath, she gently runs the brush down her side.
"A little harder. The dirt doesn't get out by being gentle," he laughs lightly, and she blushes, though she's determined to master this. She tries again, this time a little more firmly. "Now you're getting the hang of it."
"Regina!" Her mothers voice is all too distinct. She jumps, the brush falling from her hand as looks up at the boy with apologetic eyes.
"I'll see you later," he smiles, unlocking the gate for her. "I'm Daniel by the way."
"Regina," she mutters softly, her voice faint. She's not used to having her own voice, her mother's constant drone of orders always silencing her.
"I know," he laughs again, the sound warm and sweet.
"Regina, your lesson ended nearly half and hour ago – what could possibly be taking you so long?" Her mother's voice is closer now, and she steps out of the stall, giving the boy a fleeting glance.
"Goodbye, Daniel. I hope we get to meet again soon."
XXX
She's woken up with a start, an unfamiliar hand against her shoulder. She nearly screams, though her voice is silences as a small hand clasps over her mouth.
"Shhh."
She jerks her head, her gaze settling on a pair of blue eyes in the darkness.
Daniel.
Her shoulders relax, and he slowly pulls his hand away, a wolfish grin on her face. "Follow me."
She doesn't have time to protest, pulling a shawl over her nightgown and finding her delicate slippers. Her cheeks are flushed with excitement and a hint of fear as he leads her quietly down the hall through the servants' quarters, out into the still night. She's not surprised when they near the stables, a warm glow coming from Delilah's stall. She peers over the gate, a small gasp escaping her lips when she notices the mare on her side, Daniel's father hovering near her.
"Is she alright?"
Daniel laughs, the sound like a gentle chime of bells. "Of course. She's just given birth."
And all of a sudden, Regina notices the tiny head poking out from behind her haunches. She smiles. Daniel's father steps away, letting the children take a closer look. The colt is still sticky and damp as he huddles up next to his mother. He lets of a tiny whinny.
"He'll be needing a name," Daniel states, reaching out to pat his small head. Once he pulls away, Regina follows suit, feeling the warmth of life beneath her fingers.
Regina has never named a horse before, but as she looks at the tiny colt, one slips into her mind. "Rocinante."
"Well-read, I see," Daniel smiles, and Regina raises an eyebrow as he recognizes the name of the steed from the outlandish tale.
"As are you," Regina smiles. Rocinante nuzzles her hand.
Her mind goes a bit blurry as the warmth of the stable mixes with her exhaustion, and she's not quite sure how it happens, but she falls asleep in Daniel's arms, her cheek pressed up against a bedding of hay.
XXX
"Show me another one," Daniel eagerly keeps his gaze glued to the heavens as Regina huddles against his side.
"All right," she obliges. "You see that row of three bright stars?"
He squints, following her finger, and then nods.
"That's Orion the hunter. Those three stars form his belt." She traces the three dots with her finger.
Daniel smiles. He snuggles closer to her, kissing the top of her head. Her heart flutters, and she lifts her head, beckoning him to find her lips. He obliges, and an eruption of butterflies explodes in her stomach.
"I love you," he reminds her.
Her swells. "I love you too. So much."
She shivers slightly from the chilly night air, but Daniel's arms keep her warm.
XXX
"You, my dear, look simply beautiful," Rumplestiltskin gushes as Regina stiffly walks in her dress. She hopes he can't tell she's been crying. She nods a thanks as they reach the outskirts of the throne room, the wedding march already playing.
It's a happy tune, but for Regina, it sounds like a death sentence.
He senses her trepidation. Her fear. Her anguish. "This is your destiny," he reminds her. "This is the role you were born to fill. You were meant to be great, Regina. You do know what your name means, I presume?"
"Queen," she answers him. "Regina means 'Queen.' It's no mistake my mother chose that name for me." She sighs lightly.
"On the contrary, I chose that name for you," Rumplestiltskin raises an eyebrow.
Regina's eye widen, realizing she never had a choice. Never had a chance. Her mother was just as much his pawn as she is. A feeling of suffocation overcomes her. Maybe if she runs now, she could still give herself a chance.
Rumplestiltskin's eyes glint as he disappears into the crowd, the wedding march growing louder. She takes a step forward.
Run now! she attempts to persuade herself.
But as she takes a halting step forward, she realizes with a sickening dread that this is what she has chosen. Every part of her life has led up to this moment. She could turn around now, but she realizes she wants this just as badly as Rumplestiltskin does. Just as badly as her mother does.
Without Daniel, she can imagine no happiness. So vengeance is next best option. The petals that Snow scattered down the aisle smash beneath her feet. For the first time in her life, she embraces the greatness thrust upon her.
XXX
Regina lets a small whimper escape her lips, clasping her arms in a tight vice around her abdomen. She watches the pool of crimson stain the stark whiteness of the sheets, her sobs equivalent to that of a wounded animal, brought on more by her grief than the pain.
This isn't the first time this has happened.
"I've come at a bad time, haven't I?"
She jerks her head up, noticing the grinning man who has just appeared across the room. "Leave me alone," she hisses, though her voice is too weak to hold the acrimony she intends.
"As you wish – though I could give you something for pain," he offers, almost sympathetically. Her hovers near a gold-plated chair with a embroidered satin cushion, listening to the heavy sound of her labored breathing.
"Let me suffer," she manages to hiss. Perhaps this is punishment for all her wrongdoings. Perhaps she is destined to wither alone, suffocated by her own anguish, her happiness only existing in memories. "It is for the best," she further adds, a bit sardonic.
He cocks his head curiously, and she feels a bit rueful as she realizes she has perhaps become even more hardened than he.
"The king will never love my baby. At least, not as he loves Snow." Her name tastes like venom on her lips. Another bout of pain wracks her, and she rides it out silently, only a small hiss seeping from her lips.
She feels like a mere decoration as she floats around the palace, her days filled with endless mediocrity. Leopold thinks she's lovely, but it ends at just that, and she sometimes wishes he'd look deeper into her broken soul. At times, she wishes he loved her. At times, she wishes she could find it in herself to love him. She remembers the sweet, innocent girl she once was, a girl who believed in happy endings – there is still a fluttering of hope behind the damage.
"My dear," Rumplestiltskin speaks again, reminding her of his presence. "I will leave this in case you change your mind," he walks carefully over to her bed, delicately leaving a vile of clear blue liquid on her nightstand. "Do not give up just yet – you have a great and powerful future ahead of you," he reminds her, as he does every time they meet for her coaching. She's trained herself to be driven by the words. While power may not be happiness, she'll at least be able to dole out justice where it is deserved. "And if it is a child you desire, then I promise you that in due time you shall have one."
She lifts her head, a small fluttering in her heart, though as the blood flowers around her, she does not allow herself to be too hopeful. This is the third baby she has lost. She nods solemnly, watching him disappear with a flourish.
She hears a gentle knock on her door, starling her as she pulls the heavy comforter over her lap, masking the blood. She doesn't want anyone to know, not even the servants, planning to dispose of her ruined sheets herself. Before she can answer, her door creaks open, leaving her feeling clammy and panicked.
"Snow," she speaks, her lips pursing into a thin line, trembling even more as she tries to keep herself composed, as the young girl steps into view.
"Mother!" Snow cries, the simple name the girl has adopted for her slicing through her like a dagger. "The servants said you were not well. What ails you?" She perches herself on the side of the bed, her face knitted in genuine concern.
Instead of softening her, Regina feels a bitter acid in her gut. This monstrosity of a child has managed to ruin every facet of her life, no matter how unintentional her sabotaging has been. Snow has every hope for her life that Regina has lost, and she loathes her for it.
"A stomachache," Regina answers weakly. "If you don't mind, I'd like to rest." Her voice is gentle, mellowed by her drained state. She's not sure she'd be able to hide the hatred seeping in her veins otherwise.
"Of course," Snow rises from the bed, lingering in the doorway. "Feel better, Mother."
Regina falls back against her pillows, clenching the hem of the comforter until her fingers turn white. She clings to the hope that Snow will not be the only child she'll ever hear utter the word 'Mother.'
XXX
"And what do you think you're doing?"
Regina curses as she wheels around, already knowing the source of the irritating voice. "Can't you ever mind your own business?"
"You holding a dagger only a few centimeters from your gut seems very much like my business, dearie," he raises an eyebrow. She lets the knife clatter to the forest floor. Rumplestiltskin leans up against the base of a hemlock, looking pleased as the knife lands in the underbrush. "Now let' s not be rash about this. Our training has been going quite well…it hurts me to find you here in this state."
"I'm becoming my mother," she whispers hoarsely. The realization has sent her into a spiraling mess of guilt and self-hatred.
"You are already much greater than your mother," he reminds her.
"I don't want to be great. I want to be happy," she sniffs, feeling small and vulnerable. Marrying the king has brought her nothing but heartache, and seeing Snow's face daily has given her nothing but grief.
"Happiness cannot be achieved without greatness – at least, not the happiness you seek," he cocks his head, an unearthly smile spanning his face. "Justice, my sweet girl. Imagine the justice. Imagine what you could do with power – it's what you've wanted all along."
She nods. She knows he's right.
He flits over to her, bending down to pick up the dagger. "I have a much better use for this in mind," he cackles maniacally, placing the weapon back in her hand. "Why don't we commence your training?"
She nods again, letting the hatred seep back into her veins.
"If you do well today, then I think it's about time I give you your present," he reminds her, piquing her interest. "You've done very well, and I trust we won't have another incident like this?"
She shakes her head. "I'm ready."
XXX
"Daddy." His sudden entrance startles her, as she rests in her her gloomy chambers. She lets the dark, swirling ball rest in her hand as she finds his eyes.
"Is that it?" he asks curiously, approaching his daughter more closely. "The gift he promised you?"
She nods. "It is a curse. A curse that will finally bring me happiness."
He smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. However, he reaches to rest his hand against her shoulder. "Your happiness is all I've ever wanted."
XXX
She holds his stone cold heart in her hand, the spark of life gone. At her feet, his body lays discarded, lifeless.
She fights tears, fights the guilt – she can't turn back. Not now. Not that she's truly lost everything.
"I love you, Daddy," she whispers one final time.
She fights the despair.
XXX
"Lovely house you have here, Madame Mayor," Mr. Gold's tone does not lilt as much as it did in his past life. She's not frightened of him here, but every so often she catches a glint in his eye that makes her think otherwise.
"Thank you," she smiles, leading him into the sitting room, whiteness of the couches contrasted by the black décor. She offers him a drink, but he declines. She sits opposite of him, folding her legs beneath her ebony dress. "So, you've made arrangements, I presume?"
He nods. "It was so very good of you to take me up on my offer, Ms. Mills. Such a tragic story," he frowns appropriately. "No child should be left without a home."
Regina nods solemnly.
If it is a child you desire, then I promise you that in due time you shall have one.
The words ring in her mind as clearly as the day he first uttered them, though she assures herself that that it is just a convenient coincidence.
"If you'd just sign here, then it will all be official." He hands her a thick packet of papers, flipping to the last page. He places an 'X' on the line, and she tries to not appear too eager as she scribbles her name.
Mr. Gold smiles, tucking the papers into his brief case. "Good day, Madame Mayor. And congratulations."
A smile beams on her lips as she leads him to the door. Once he has disappeared out of sight, she walks upstairs, hovering in the doorway of the spare bedroom, the walls now painted pale blue, with a deep chestnut crib resting in the far corner. As she closes the door, her smile does not wane.
She is going to be a mother.
XXX
He cries through the first night.
Regina panics, floundering like any new mother. It's been ages since she's felt this helpless, ages since she hasn't been in control.
"Henry, Henry," she coos, kissing his pink forehead.
He continues to wail. The ugly feeling of failure seeps in beneath her skin. She tries not to cry herself. The crying soon becomes cathartic, a constant drone. She holds him against her chest as she lies on her bed, the minutes trickling by.
And then all at once, one moment he's screeching, and the next, he takes in a trembling breath, and he's fast asleep against her bosom. She smiles, her own eyelids fluttering shut in minute, the fear waning as she lets a sense of pride engulf her.
XXX
"Mommy!" Henry calls to her from the backyard, where she has hung a swing from a sturdy oak branch. His tousled brown hair rustles gently in the wind, his cheeks pink with excitement. She steps off the porch, beaming at her four-year-old. "Mommy, look! I can swing all by myself!"
Henry scurries over to the swing, heaving his tiny body up onto the wooden board. He grasps the rope, concentrating his very hardest as he tries to get himself going, but his efforts are futile.
"How about I give you a small push?" Regina offers, crossing the grass to reach her son.
He frowns. "But I wanted to show you I could do it all by myself."
"I know you can," she assures him. "But sometimes it's okay to ask for a small push."
He considers this for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip. He looks up at her before nodding. She steps behind him, giving him just enough of a push to get him started.
"Now look, Mommy!" he calls out to her, pumping his legs as he propels himself further.
He tires of swinging soon, and he brings it to a halt, running over to his mother. "Did you see?"
"Mhmm," she mutters, reaching to scoop him up off the ground, cradling him in her arms. He's almost getting to big for this. It makes her heart sink with a hint of regret. She kisses his head. "That was quite impressive."
He snuggles into her grasp, reaching to wrap his arms around her neck. "I love you, Mommy."
She hold him tighter. "Oh, Henry, I love you, too."
The curse, the anger, the hurt, the loss. It has all been worth it, now that she has this.
XXX
"A nice lady did story time in the library today," Henry states as he pushes his mac and cheese around on his plate.
"Oh?" Regina mutters, a bit absentmindedly as she peers over her glasses, looking up from her paper work.
"Yes, but I forget her name," the six-year-old sucks on his fork. "But she was pretty, with short dark hair and pretty pink cheeks. And she told all these stories…fairies, and princesses, and princes, and true love," he rambles off. "Why don't we ever read these stories, Mommy?"
Now he has Regina's full attention. She pushes her papers aside, her gaze growing stony. She's done a fair job of hiding these stories from Henry, filling his bedtime with other tales. Even without stating her name, the image of the all too familiar angelic face fills her mind. Snow can't even let her be in this life.
"I don't want you talking about those stories again, Henry. Do you hear me?" she warns, her voice icy, a tone she's never used with her child before. "I'm going to call the school and arrange another activity for you during story time." She takes in a breath as she reminds herself she still has control.
"But Mom—"
"No, 'buts' Henry." Regina raises an eyebrow.
His face curves into a heartbroken pout. It slices through Regina. She hates that she has to hurt him.
"No why don't you finish your dinner, and we'll go read some other stories?" she tries to wager with him, her voice softer now.
He nods, a bit solemnly, though he smiles dutifully.
She lets her worries melt away, though she's certain that they're bound to resurface. After all, all magic comes with a price.
XXX
There are many ways to die. She ponders this as she huddles herself into a miserable ball, her tears falling onto the crumpled sheets. The silence consumes her. The emptiness eats her.
She imagines her son waking up in an unfamiliar bed, greeting David with a broad smile in the morning. A smile that used to be just for her.
She's brought this ruin upon herself. She chokes out a sob.
Poisons, knives, drugs, nooses….she flips through her options in her mind, again and again and again. Who would notice? Who would care? Rumplestiltskin doesn't even have a need for her anymore. Only her pride and her power lust have kept her fueled for this long, a lifetime of misery grating at her skin.
But without Henry, what does she have left to hope for? She's become her mother in every sense. And now she's lost what she loves most.
She tries to summon her hatred, her anger – they've all driven her in the past. She imagines Emma's face, a spark of loathing surfacing for a moment, but it is quickly doused by guilt and regret.
She tugs her knees to her chest, sniffling in her vulnerable state. No one will find her. No one will comfort her.
After all, the wicked die alone.