Empty
Not that she hadn't felt it before in her life but perhaps she had just forgotten what exactly emptiness felt like. Perhaps she had forgotten, if only for a moment, the barren feeling of a soul and swept chill of a heart; true emptiness. But again, it was not a feeling that she had not been breeched by before. So should she have been surprised by the crippling wind that hit her, that devastated her? Shouldn't she have expected that hallow wind to pass through her like it had at previous depths of devastation; the wind that usually came like a thief in the night to steal her joy, the last smile to reach her soul or the last gleam to dance in her eye. She couldn't have, she wouldn't have.
Because this time, it was different. This time, there was no mystifying spell to chant to undo her deeds. There was no cloud of smoke that could change her situation. There was no solution, none at all. She had orphaned herself; taking away the last person that she could have seen loving her in the one way that she wanted.
Unconditionally.
She could never receive it from Henry, always feeling second-best to another presence in his life. It didn't matter if he ever apologized to her or ever expressed any regret for the deterioration of their relationship. She would always peer into the brown orbs of his eyes and see the absence of innocence that she couldn't help but feel responsible for.
For this she is truly empty. For this she is truly alone. And for this, she knows it is the end of her undoing.
Regina Mills is no longer; the only remnants of such a creature being the shell that lies curled in the crest of her bed with only regret to swirl her mind. However, for the first time in 4 days, she stirs, her eyes rolling up to the plastered white ceiling above her. The whites of her eyes shone red as her form sunk into the depths of her sheets that seemed to be thrown on top of her.
In that moment, she realizes the understatement of a century.
Love is Weakness
Love is not weakness. It is a debilitating parasite that waits within you. It does not stir nor does it move, it stews under the confines of your heart, waiting to bare its teeth; waiting to show it's power. And when you are at your weakest it attacks, pulling at your heart strings and tugging at your soul without remorse. It begs you-no-it forces you to recognize it's power through heartbreak, through anger, through remorse. No my dears, Love is not weakness; love preys on weakness.
"I killed her." A bitter rasp barely reaches the walls when it escapes her lips. But it is enough to resonate with the rest of her, to release the acceptance into the atmosphere.
It is also enough to be her final undoing. To leave her
Empty