Regina's hand were beautiful, with long fingers and smooth clean skin. Those hands were soft and gentle, and Snow knew how tender they could be.

They had brushed knots from her hair, held her hand, cupped her face as she and Regina kissed, and elicited low breathy moans in their secret and shared nights.

Those hands, like Regina herself, were kind and unmarked.

Even after her father's death, Snow struggled to picture them any other way.

But after months of running and hiding in the woods, Regina appeared in a village - clothed in black and hunting Snow White.

Watching from a distance, she saw the woman she loved snarl when her questions were met with stubborn silence and unquestioning loyalty for the princess.

Then, one of those hands - one whose touch Snow still craved - reached inside of a man and ripped his heart from his chest.

Her grip tightened. But even as the blood red heart turned to dust, even as Snow's own heart shattered at the sight, Regina's hands remained smooth and clean.