Emma Swan's left eye is swollen shut, her eyebrow is split causing rivulets of blood to trickle down her chin and onto her tank top, dyeing it a grotesque shade of pink. Her nose is crooked, bruised and obviously broken. Whatever pain she had felt at first in this sudden attack was quickly forgotten as adrenaline pulsed through her veins, lighting her mind and muscles on fire, giving her strength she'd never before possessed. Despite her poor physical state this is the most powerful Emma has felt in her entire life. In this moment she is more the White Knight than she has ever thought herself capable of being. It is exhilarating. Even as she feels bones fracture and hears the slap of fist against flesh, it is exhilarating.
The bastard has been gargling blood for what seems like hours and his eyes are rolling absentmindedly within his head but no mercy is to be granted to a murderer. There will be no dignity in this. It will not be quick. It will not be painless. Not for this piece of scum.
The Princess is barely aware of her surroundings except for the insistent reality of the body shaking beneath her, her own coarse shuddering breaths and the warm blood on her hands. This is madness a dispassionate voice in the back of her mind supplies, but she pays it no heed as clenched hands hammer an uneven beat against the assassin's skull, her face contorting into an almost joyful grimace. She is completely aware that she no longer has to keep punching, she watched the light leave the man's eyes herself, but she cannot bring herself to stop. Even as distinct features are transformed into a bloodied pulp she cannot control her anger and fear.
Suddenly strong arms wrap around her, restricting her straining arms at the wrists and holding her as she shakes with violent sobs. Emma tries to fight against the awkward embrace for some minutes, legs thrashing and shoulders tensing, before finally collapsing against her father's chest and sliding to the floor. They sit in the pool of slowly congealing blood for what seemed like hours; James turning Emma's face away with gentle fingers under her chin and whispering soothingly into her golden hair until the guards arrive and remove the corpse. It is only then, when the roaring in her ears subsides, that she hears the whimpering from the bed.
Henry.
Through her blurred vision Emma can make out her son, clutched in his mother's arms, as they both stare at her with something approaching horror. You're a monster the voice alleges and in that moment, Emma is inclined to agree.