Storybrooke, Maine - Present Day.
Harlow Louvel dreamt of freedom. Dreamt that there was pleasure in movement and pain in stillness. She dreams of running through the forest with abandon. Of her feet digging confidently into packed and fertile soil; of warm light striking in her in beams both shadowy and brilliant. Here she feels a reckless frisson of joy. Here she was herself.
It is then—when she believes she might experience sheer content—that she wakes without warning. Blinking dazedly until her eyes adjust to sunlight bursting through her window, she lets out a dejected sigh when she realizes what has awoken her. Slapping the snooze button on her alarm clock, she ceases its strident blaring and futilely tries to grasp the already vanishing remnants of her dream. It isn't long before she grudgingly comes to accept that it, like others, will tease her mercilessly as it dangles there just out of reach.
Had she ever known such elation outside of one? she wonders. Quixotic as the very notion may be to her, deep down, some part of her would like to think so.
Resigned to the fact that she has work soon, Harlow halts her contemplation's and gets out of bed. Going about her day once washed and dressed, she ventures down the hall and into the living room. Where her roommate Rebecca lies passed out on the sofa. Sprawled haphazardly across its cushions, her position indicated that she'd crashed there rather hastily.
She must've had quite the night, thought Harlow unsurprised.
While day had her jockeying as a door-to-door saleswoman, evening found Rebecca carousing merrily at the Rabbit Hole. Every so often she'd ask her cotenant to join her, but Harlow always declined as the end result was less than desirable.
'I don't want any unnecessary headaches', she'd said.
Speaking of, Harlow doesn't bother to attempt waking Rebecca in a normal way. Instead, she opts for simply starting the coffee machine. Soon the air is prevalent with the scent of it and her roommate stirs accordingly—shuffling towards the kitchen as if carried by a siren's song. All too familiar with this routine, Harlow is there to meet her, a mug of the decoction preemptively extended. "On a scale of one to ten, how bad is your hangover right now?"
"A five," replied Rebecca jovially, unabashed. She eyes the mug speculatively before taking it in appreciation. "Am I that predictable?"
"We've been roommates for years. I'd say so," Harlow said, watching with mounting concern as Rebecca practically inhales the cup's piping hot contents. "I'll never understand how you can drink that heated a liquid without so much as a single blow," she comments offhandedly. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were part dragon."
"Nothing that exciting, I assure you."
"Late night?" Harlow asked, gesturing to the couch.
Rebecca grins with satisfaction. "Yep. My head may be pounding, but it was worth it."
"No bedfellow this time?" Harlow was used to seeing her usher a random man out the apartment just after sunrise. No doubt that was where most of her fun lied.
"Nope," Rebecca said, offering nothing more on the topic. Setting down a now empty mug, her sharp green eyes take in Harlow's suit. "Off to see the overlord?" she teases slyly.
Despite the accustomed dread that came with the prospect, Harlow chuckled. Her friend's quips were the best part of her morning. "What's funny is you think you're joking," she groused.
"If that's the case, I don't see why you haven't quit yet."
Stricken by her words, Harlow unconsciously stilled.
Of course she doesn't see why. She doesn't know what Harlow's boss has on her. Doesn't know that the person living with her is a— Harlow forced herself to stop there. Dwelling on days past would serve to do nothing but drive her mad. "Would you believe me if I said it's because I'm not a quitter?" she asked, shamelessly attempting to skirt the issue. She didn't think she could ever bring herself to tell anyone the real reason why.
"Not at all."
"Hmm," Harlow murmured. This conversation was becoming increasingly suffocating. Lowering her gaze, she was strangely relieved when she caught sight of the time on her wrist. "I have go. Can't be late."
Hurriedly exiting the apartment, she leaves all thoughts of the past behind. As she heads to work, she braces herself for yet another day of subjection. A common circumstance when you were secretary to Regina Mills.
The journey on the way there is unchanging.
Harlow sees the customary things. Happenings so usual they blend in like wallpaper. Marco stood on a ladder outside a storefront, fixing its perpetually broken sign. Archie was out on a walk with Pongo. Ruby was arguing with her Grandmother as she put today's diner menu outside, Mr. Gold hobbled along the path to his shop.
She also notices other things: Leroy drunkenly dribbling a basketball on the park court. Mary Margaret making the commute to work. Graham patrolling the streets in his squad car.
Instinctively, Harlow found herself looking for some sort of discrepancy amongst it all—anything small would suffice—but all remained the same. As it always did.
By the time Harlow pulls up to Storybrooke Town Hall, the sun has drifted behind the clouds. Stepping out of her car, she approaches the building—frowning at the exteriors particularly garish shade of yellow before walking inside.
Thankfully, the interior is more aesthetically pleasing to the eye. Consisting of a limited palette and a very rigid colour scheme, it was upscale and refined. Taste was one of Regina's few virtues it seemed. If the only one.
Just outside the mayor's office, Harlow settles behind her desk and picks up her work itinerary for the day. As usual it's disturbingly lengthy, but there aren't too many tasks she couldn't handle within a reasonable time frame. She'd begun to distract herself with a menial one when Regina strode confidently into the room.
Dark haired and sharply dressed, merely looking at her made Harlow's heart grow cold. But she makes sure to mask the sensation by pasting on a dutiful smile. "Madam Mayor," she greets, rising and taking her coat.
"Do you have the paperwork I asked for yesterday?" Regina inquires in her effortlessly regal voice.
"Yes, I have it right here." Harlow said, reaching for the paperwork and handing it to her.
Impassively, Regina examines it. "It's… adequate enough I suppose," she says with a delicately arched brow. "You can be certain that I expect better next time."
Though she knows the paperwork is done to the letter, Harlow can only incline her head in acknowledgment. "Of course, Madam Mayor."
"I'm expecting some important phone calls," Regina continued. "Make sure you screen them properly."
Harlow nodded, feeling no better than a mindless drone. Meekness wasn't something she readily considered herself capable of, and yet here she was. Yielding to one of the worst people imaginable. "Will do, Madam Mayor."
Regina then sneers knowingly. As if she senses Harlow's unhappiness and receives great enjoyment from it. "That's all. Get back to work," she said, waltzing into her office.
Once she's gone, Harlow's formerly docile expression shifts to one of annoyance. Words could not describe her hatred for that woman. And Regina's son, Henry, hadn't helped. A few weeks ago he'd somehow convinced Harlow that his mother truly was evil incarnate. Though she certainly doesn't believe his claim that they're cursed fairy tale characters, she hadn't needed much prompting in the previous respect. Time and time again, Regina had proven herself to be as callous and malign as she was beautiful.
Not for the first time, Harlow tries to recall whatever clearly made her desperate enough her to apply for this job—her rent and bills honestly weren't all that high—and can only recollect having it for as long as she can remember. Exhaling in frustration, she reluctantly returns to her desk and starts her workload. Five o'clock couldn't come soon enough.
A/n: Hello fellow Oncers. I do hope you enjoyed the first chapter of Flora and Fauna. I look forward to seeing if any of you figure out which fairy tale character Harlow is, because that was actually one of the major draws of the first two seasons for me.
Know that the tale may not be the one you expect. And that I will recite it in a very OUAT fashion, so expect some twists and turns. See you all at the next update.