Good Evening Readers,
I haven't mentioned yet, but please note this story is canon up until the episode Queen of Hearts.
All previous disclaimers apply.
Enjoy.

Chapter three: About Steps and Light

Emma Swan hurries down the street, the heels of her sneakers squeaking on the pavement, her movements as purposeful, as care- and graceless as always.

She feels slightly unnerved, not wearing her usual armour against the world.

Despite the relatively early hour, to her disappointment she can see several people out and about. She tries not to draw attention to herself, keeping her head down, lengthening her strides. Nevertheless, wherever she goes murmured or maddeningly cheerfully stated "Saviour.", or worse "Good morning Princess" follows her like a disgusting swarm of black flies. Whenever she hears those two words, she feels like she has been hit. The air around her seemingly becoming thinner the more time she spends among friends, acquaintances turned into absolute strangers. Strangers who look up at her, who feel the need to celebrate her somehow. Strangers who always want something from her. Their simple look is enough to increase Emma's feeling of being trapped, that there is no running away, not this time, and apparently not ever. Their eyes are a constant reminder that this has become her reality. It doesn't matter that she can't deal with it...

She was thrown in the middle of this sea of mess, and now she can't do anything else, but keep on struggling. She has to stay on the surface she has to avoid the currents that could rip her into the deep.

However, regardless what she is doing, she feels herself slowly but surely sinking.
Mary Margaret was her best friend, Emma loved her as such, and she grew to love Snow as well during their time... there. But she still misses her friend, and she still has no idea how exactly she could or should act around her newly-found mother. She is confused like never before. And she is angry, a slightly bit disappointed even. Especially in her father. David Nolan wasn't a man she had high regards of, and she knows nothing of James (is this even his real name?), not counting the tales about how "bravely" he has fought for his one true love. It bothers her beyond belief that she doesn't know anything at all about him as a person, well, apart from his bravery and his ability to take on sacrifices, or so she has been told.

To top everything else, she can't shake the feeling just how... bizarre she finds this concept of "one true love". Yes, she understands, or at least she believes she does, what an importance true love can hold in a fairytale. But for her own experience, the 28 years she has lived in this reality, for her view of world something like this is extremely foreign, unreal even, which of course she tries to hide for the shake of the others.

She recalls last night at Granny's among her... family and friends, how she looked on with a silent, fascinated mortification as Snow and David (?) ceased to be individual persons, and became them. They weren't Snow and James (?) anymore, but a faceless couple, who merely embodies "true love", whose symbiosis –judging by the way they were observed and smiled at by the people around them - must be celebrated.

Emma's ears were still ringing from the hundredth declaration of "I will always find you", as she swept her gaze over the other occupants of the room, recognizing once again just how different her reality is from theirs. So as an attempt to anchor herself somehow she embraced Henry more tightly, giving him all her love in this silent way. Because at the end, he is the reason why she is willing to fight for a new reality, why she isn't running away. In some way he truly is her anchor.
Well, until he utters the dreaded word "mom"...

Emma aimlessly roams the streets, her anger slowly fades, only confusion and no small amount of fear stay, her newly-found and already constant companions.
It would be so easy to blame somebody for this mess her life has become. And truth be told, she has already done that, but directing her frustration and anger at Regina won't help her to cope with reality, make her stronger, or less insecure. It merely gives an easy way out, something to concentrate on instead of dealing with her actual issues.

Her feet rhythmically slap against the pavement, she is purposefully making an even bigger noise than usual in a vain attempt to drown out the seemingly constant "Saviours" or "Princesses" hurled in her way.

Emma concentrates on her breathing, eyes still strictly directed at the ground in front of her, and she tries to sort out her thoughts.

Surprisingly, she isn't angry at Regina, disappointed and slightly mortified yes, but not angry. After all, she still doesn't know her whole story, and she has no idea, how she would have acted in her stead. Probably not like the Evil Queen did, but still. Henry told her that the former mayor is trying to redeem herself, and apparently she was the one who enabled them to come back at the end and that...

"Good morning Princess! How are you today? Good to have you back! Would you mind telling me in which condition our home is? Is it liveable? Does it look as lush and beautiful as it once was?"

The burly man steps up to Emma, with each question he comes closer, until he is blocking her way. She has never seen him before, the trusting, hopeful look in his eyes seems to suffocate Emma. She can't even pay attention, what he is talking about, she catches just a few of his words. Princess, our home, liveable... He is towering over her, demanding in his sugar-coated way from her to take responsibility, to act, to be someone else who she isn't. Or not yet, at least...

The familiar cold grip of panic slowly conquers her consciousness. Her insecurities, her fears are coming to the surface, and she can't do anything to rein them. She knows she is pale, her hands clammy. If she were six, she would run and hid in the closest wardrobe... Sadly, she can't do that anymore, so she mumbles something incoherent, steps to the side and with frantic steps hurries away.

Right foot, left foot.
Puddle – jump over it.
Left. Right...
Distance helps. It always has.
When she feels safe enough, she tentatively looks around. She needs a place where she can be herself, no matter how shattered she now feels, she wants to be herself for a little while, without looks of false understanding, without expectations, without velvet covered demands.

She exhales slowly, an idea coming to her mind and she begins to walk up the street, her strides determined and purposeful once again.

Regina wakes up because she is so unbelievably cold. For a moment she is disoriented, but then everything comes rushing back.
And for the first time in twenty-eight years she considers to just pull her blanket over her head, and hide in the comfortable darkness for a while, pretending that reality doesn't exist.

But of course her iron will won't allow her such a pathetic moment of weakness, so despite barely having slept for three hours she opens her eyes...
... and shuts them immediately with a painful groan.

'Well, now I know what happens when the green recedes...'
Or so she suspects that this is the reason why her eyes have suddenly become extremely sensitive to light.
'At least the skin on my arms isn't burning anymore.'
She supposes the marks must have changed too, but she won't know this for certain until she opens her eyes and inspects them carefully. If only the mere thought of exposing them to the light wouldn't frighten her so much.

However she is a queen, she lived through worse, and she knows she will survive this too.
'Well, in the immediate future at least.'
So she slowly opens her eyes, hissing at the stabbing pain, gingerly gets out of her bed, mindful of her protesting limbs, goes to the window and draws the curtains, letting only a small space for the light to fall in.

She sighs contently since the darkness, the dimmed sunlight seem to be a balm for her eyes. She looks around her room, noticing that her sight is normal again. Her perception of the colours isn't that vivid anymore, and the sharpness of the world around her seems to be faded too. Everything looks normal. Well, almost normal.

She pads to the mirror in her bathroom, drawing the curtains on her way, only slightly hesitating to switch on the light. At the end with a grateful hum she notices that as long as the artificial light is dim, the stabbing pain doesn't return.
She slowly looks up, meeting the familiar brownness of her eyes, she can't find any lingering trace of that magical shade of green anymore. The green colour of the curse seems to have been vanished, leaving only curious memories of strange vividness and a state of extreme light sensitivity behind. Regina is already dreading what might happen if she gets another seizure, if during that episode her eyes are going to turn totally green...

She steels herself, straightening her posture, meeting her eyes in the mirror once again. She won't allow herself to wallow in self-pity, or be paralysed by fear of the future. Now she has to plan, while she still can. She has to decide how she is going to act.

She walks back to her room, as she is disrobing she notices that the marks on her arms are indeed darker. This concerns her, and in the same time strengthens her decision to thoroughly research her condition. She forgoes her usual attire, opting for being warm. Besides, she isn't planning to leave her house today, and it isn't like she is expecting any kind of company. So she puts on a pair of designer jeans, a warm but stylish blue sweater, and thick wool socks.

Regina gingerly descends the stairs, carefully closing the curtains wherever she can, leaving only narrow slits for the light to fall in, because she doesn't want to be in total darkness. She would rather endure the pain for a few moments than have her most dreaded memories to resurface.

She forces herself not to think about anything else, but preparing her breakfast. Since she can't dim the sunlight enough in the kitchen, she grabs her bowl of fruit salad and mug of tea and pads to the pleasantly darker living room.

As she is slowly eating her fruit, piece by piece, she begins to gather her thoughts.

Firstly, she has to research her condition. She highly doubts that she is going to find anything, but nevertheless she has to try. She suspects to what end these types of magic induced seizures, not to mention the marks and her eyes are leading. As a result she has to make plans for the worst case scenario as well.

She won't tell a soul what is going on with her that is certain. She doesn't need or want anybody's pity or declaration that she deserved this. Obviously, Henry can't know about her condition. And as much as it is going to pain her, she has to talk to Emma Swan, to reassure that the bothersome woman is going to take good care of Henry.

And in the remaining time she has to reconsider her promise to her son. She doesn't want to break it, but by now it's obvious that the path she has been on so far isn't going to work, this can't be the solution. Not to mention that she simply won't be able to fight against herself on so many levels at the same time. She can't deny anymore who she is, she is going to have to embrace and accept herself, if she truly wants to fight against her condition. However how frightening that accepting herself is going to be. Even if this means that she has to embrace her own magic that she was born with. Denying or not using her magical abilities feels like binding up a limb to never use again... Truth be told, she doesn't understand, why she is the only one who shouldn't do magic at all, why aren't there general restrictions, rules for magic users? What about the Dark One or the Blue Fairy? Shouldn't their magic be controlled as well? She knows she is biased, but still.

She muses about her love-hate relationship with her own magic, and what she has done so far against it, since it has been returned to her. She came to realize in the last few days that the problem doesn't lie in using magic itself, but in the goal she wants to achieve with magic, and in the when she is using it. She hates that she loves the power that it gives her, she hates that she is almost addicted to this, and she hates that this power is able to so easily corrupt her mind and soul. She went off the road, abused her power... In this regard, she has been weak all her life, she let her emotions rule her, this has to change she knows it. But the way Henry or the Cricket demand from her isn't going to work, especially in her current condition...

A sudden knocking on the entrance door interrupts her thoughts.
She is tempted to just simply ignore it, but what if something happened to Henry? So she stands up and slowly walks to the door, straightening her back, forcing herself to regain her usual regal pose. By the time she reaches the door the first hesitant knocks turned into a constant, impatient rattling noise. Naturally, even before Regina opens the door, she is mildly annoyed at whoever stands on the other side.

She swings the door wide open, takes a deep breath to remind the rude soul what exactly could be the drawbacks of angering a former evil queen...

...but the sudden exposure to the mid-morning sunlight stops any kind of coherent thoughts, her anger evaporates nothing else is left but the burning pain in her eyes. She barely manages to avoid a painful groan leaving her mouth, she presses her lips together biting down hard on her bottom lip, squints her eyes and looks up at the blurry figure in front of her. It's too bright however, and the person is too pale, their hair is of light colour too.

"Are you hung-over Regina?"

The voice however is unmistakable. 'Just what I needed.'

"No Ms. Swan, I am merely high on the amount of endorphins your presence seems to set off." The sheriff has in Regina's opinion many faults, but sadly not being observant is not one of them. Suddenly she is extremely glad that her sweater covers her arms, and as a result her marks too.

Emma Swan stares mutely at Regina for a long moment. The brunette is squinting. Her eyes are blood shot, teary, and strangely unfocused. She is unusually pale. However Emma has enough common sense not to mention anything to Regina, well apart from her smart-ass remark from earlier.

Regina opens the door wider, mutely inviting the sheriff in. Emma once again pretends that she doesn't hear the small, grateful sigh that leaves Regina's lips as soon as the door is closed and the house is once again covered in unusual semi-darkness.

"To what do I owe this particular... pleasure, Miss Swan?" Regina asks as they walk to the drawing room.

Emma doesn't say a word. For a moment she just enjoys that right now she is simply Emma Swan. The colourful adjectives the former mayor might associate her with, and Regina's sarcasm are surprisingly refreshing... Emma supposes that this might prove just how miserable she has become. But she couldn't care less what it tells about her that she is seeking out Regina Mills of all people to feel some kind of normalcy. Right now she even enjoys the snarky woman's sarcasm, it is much more welcome than the brainless adoration she is subjected to nowadays. What she doesn't deserve at the first place, or so she feels. She simply can't wrap her mind around words like birthright, blood and family responsibilities...

However, her long silence seems to worry Regina.
"Is Henry alright? Did something happen to him? Why d..."

"He is fine Regina." Emma cuts her off rudely as she takes a seat on the couch. She curiously regards Regina, her movements are unusually stiff by her own standards too. Mild annoyance flashes on her face, but then her mask slips back on, she becomes once again unreadable. Emma notices that her eyes are clearer and she isn't squinting anymore. However, she is restless, there is a strange kind of tension radiating from her, and Emma is sure she doesn't even know that every now and then she softly tugs at the arms of her sweater...
Almost as if she were...

Before she can ask anything, Regina sits down in front of her and with a politician's calculating, distanced tone asks:
"Why are you here, Miss Swan?"

Emma fumbles for words, reasons, because she can't tell the truth.
"I just... You know, thanks for yesterday."
Her ever so eloquent answer makes Regina's eyebrow twitch. Probably any other human being would have rolled their eyes in her stead.

"I do believe we have already established this." She sniffs at last.

Emma once again doesn't say anything else, she just observes Regina with her intense, curious green eyes. When Regina actually fidgets, however how slightly, she knows something is very wrong here. Despite her better judgement Emma takes a deep breath, and for once in her life she thinks through how to voice her questions, without extremely enraging the former Queen. However Regina once again cuts her off before she ca say anything.

"Miss Swan, I am aware that we have several issues to talk about, find an agreeable solution for Henry's sake, but now I must ask you to leave, since neither of us seems to be in the right frame of mind to approach such important matters with even the slightest hope of a beneficial, productive outcome."

Regina looks at Emma sternly, her cold eyes clearly conveying the message: don't you dare... Emma swallows back her questions.
"Whatever you say, Madam Mayor."
Regina's eyebrow twitches, again but she doesn't say anything else, aside from:
"I trust you can show yourself out, dear?", with the most insincere smile on her face.

Emma once again stares at Regina for a long moment. She seems even paler now... So without further arguments, she stands up, nods at her and walks out of the room.

As soon as Regina hears the front door closing, she lets out a shaky breath and stands up, she has research to do after all.
Only now she notices that her hands are trembling, her forehead is slowly covered in cold sweat. By the next exhale something warm is running down her face. She frantically lifts her hand... and yes, her nose is bleeding. Her skin begins to burn on her arms.

Her last fearful thought is:
'Already? Impossible!'
... before she passes out with a loud thud on the hardwood floor, the next seizure claiming her whole body and mind.