"The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her!"
-Wuthering Heights
Regina didn't notice the significance of the shirt when she first grabbed it from the hanger and buttoned it anxiously. There were too many things to think about, too many things that had managed to go wrong in the space of one day and, damn, wasn't that just the story of her fucking life?
It was the fleeting whiff – imagined, most likely - of leather and sweat and something indefinable. Of course it couldn't be real. She had washed the shirt immediately upon receiving it back, twice in fact, in water hot enough to scald. But the smell reminded her of Emma's touch and the pulsing, swirling rush of magic, and the candle flamed in front of her. Just for a moment.
So she left the shirt on.
XxXx
She was cleaning up Henry's room, something she had done nearly every day for years. He wasn't a messy child, exactly. He, like her, preferred things to be in neat little boxes. Comics arranged neatly in little stacks. Legos in a tub under the bed. A place for everything, and everything in its place. Toys. Books. Parents.
Sometimes, when he was smaller, she would move one of his toys and see how long it took for him to find it. It became a game, and he would race up to his room to see what today's puzzle was. The Batmobile under a teddy bear. Superman fighting a dinosaur.
She found the walkie-talkie under his pillow and wondered idly if they worked between worlds.
XxXx
Like daughter, like father, she thought irrationally. Ironic. Her fingertips caressed the cool metal as she forced the blade away from her neck. At least she wasn't tied up this time, as she had been with Emma in her dreams.
The sword must have been sharper than she thought, but David and Henry were out of sight before she noticed the gentle pounding of the cut on her index finger. Implements used to slay dragons were, after all, dangerous. Part of her immediately knew what she should do, the regimen of running water and ointment and bandage, but the blood smeared on her flesh seemed oddly luminescent, a bright red the color of apples or jackets.
She brought her finger to her mouth instead.