Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or recognizable characters, all credit belongs to Once Upon A Time. I'm merely borrowing them to dance to my own will.
AN: you guys are all brilliant. Remember that as I write because I now write for you. Thank you. Also I suggest listening to "Fairy Dance" by James Newton Howard while reading Regina's journal entry.
Dear Henry,
Everyone always assumes a land without magic means simply, no magic once you get there.
No. It's much crueler.
This land, without magic, gives you hope only to take it away.
Once you arrive you can still twist the trees and make the leaves dance upon them, create light where there is none, flourish a myriad of colors through your hands. It's blissful and of course, magical. But, in the land without magic, it takes, it sucks the magic away. Slowly, one by one, the magic dwindles within you. One day the colors fly and dance with the leaves in the wind, the magical music fueling their twists and swirls. The next only the leaves can dance. Then only the music can play. Then another, the trees cannot bend to your will, the sky no longer looks the bright blue but rather a dull hue.
Because you see, a land without magic, drowns you.
I'm sitting here on a bus, leaving New Haven. I didn't linger there long. I'm looking at my hand, my music is dwindling. Sitting in the far back, where it smells of mildew and dust from lack of air, my magic twirls, and the purple dances. It's rhythmic, harmonic to only my ears, and most of all, it's me. I wish people could see this side of magic. The purple is creating shades of its own color forming two figures that look much like two women dancing, bowing to each other, and I wish you could see it. Magic poured and left me long before I could show you. Then suddenly, it came back, and you didn't trust me, nor magic. Everyone's so quick to dampen the mystical form that exists within us sorceresses and wizards. They never take the time to see beauty as they do with nature.
Oh yes, Henry. Nature is magic. I can feel it. Even in the land without magic. It's subtle and quiet. It's the timid reading child in a room full of laughing playing children. So no one can perform any of their own, nor take any from the land.
It's almost gone Henry. The musician part just left. A small part of me is frighten. But I've lived about as long without magic as I once did with.
There's a song on, the magic is dancing to it. Like the two forms are a part of a cotillion. I asked someone in front what the song is, "I'll follow you into the dark"
I'm writing as I watch my magic flurry. The music of my own is gone, so the radio will have to suffice for now.
Did you know all is not affected by this land? The land without magic? There are few, I've pinpointed them throughout history. Beethoven, he could hear it, his own magical music, his deep inner self, but that's all. All great musical artist could hear it Henry, the magic within. Then there are those who could see it, they call it a, "disorder."
I remember frowning when I first discovered it, "synesthesia." A neurological condition. No, those who have this, see. They see the magic, much like I'm doing now. People like this are a rarity. Even back in the Enchanted Forest. In order to watch the magical dances, you must first, trust. You must trust magic.
Some people, those who find it in themselves to "trust" find a serendipitous trait in learning. Those ones become the "good" magicians. Their quality to trust, battles the darker magic. Now, don't get me wrong my love, all magic is bad, even bright magic. All magic, comes with a price.
I didn't see my magic dancing... Not until I came here. I trusted myself then, completely. That I could do anything and would, for myself. Then one day, I laid my body against the kitchens clean floor. (I may, or may not have slipped after mopping. Things were still new. Like polished floors.) Sighing from the pain I felt down my leg only to found I had twisted my ankle, I trusted myself to have enough magic to heal it.
Then...
They swirled. Rumple never taught me how to see my magic. He knew if I did, I wouldn't have been fully taken by his dark magic. And it's true.
I cried, because it was so beautiful. Like watching ballet players who performed flawlessly and emotionally. I was watching, a piece of myself within those forms. I could hear it then, I could hear my soul, clashing with the wanting for happy and the knowledge that I am not. I could hear my pain and contentment, and lastly, I could hear the wanting for a small piece of "love".
It was a pity. To see and hear magical potentials so late. It was gone before I could admire it with reverence.
Anyway,
I liked Hartford. I suppose that's why I didn't linger long in New Haven. Merely stayed at a hotel and took a picture, for you, of the hallway. There's most interesting things, you're probably thinking.
But no. This is where you're wrong my little prince. There's beauty everywhere, you just have to break the bonds this none magical land strings about your retina, and see.
This hallway displayed my magic, full bodily forms in a makeshift ball room, they danced along the hallway, jumped and their partner caught them and they spun. One with long hair, the other short, and they seemed bound together in this piece. Another pair, both with short hair, dancing softly, not erratically like the other two. This pair seems to move slowly and at ease, never letting one another go. A third pair, one had long hair and the other short, the shorter hair was tall. The tall form held the shorter one with long hair, they danced-forms disappearing and reappearing, like they wanted to entangle themselves into one another but an invisible force is separating them.
The camera didn't capture it all. But enough. To show you, how breathtaking magic truly is. How I am not fully a monster as you may see me. Maybe by seeing this you'll understand, and deep down, this magic is me, those swirls are a silent performance of my life.
Love mom
Regina took one last picture of the tiny dancing purple forms on her lap. Once she clicked the stutter, the images then, slowly evaporated into the air. Leaving her feeling emptier than when she left Storybrooke.
"Goodbye," she said softly.
Past
It's getting colder here. Neverland has to be hot and humid-yet Regina could feel it. The frost seeping into her spine. This land, it doesn't like them, or is it Peter Pan? Either way, the adults are not welcomed. Regardless, Hook is leading them to someone she'd rather not see. Subtlety, quietly, Regina took lesser steps on the pretense of her feet hurting.
Snow had made a snide comment on evil feet and how it probably hurts from stomping on hearts. Regina thought about how gorgeously divine she would look in leather pants with red splayed everywhere. Then she battled it away with memories of her sons smile. She isn't the person to rip hearts without thinking of the repercussions anymore but she'd do anything to get her son back. Even if it meant seeing the fairy whose life she involuntarily ruined. The comment about her feet hurting was actually frustratingly true, only, not from stomping on hearts, but rather… the ground. She stomped making herself known, her vexation that Henry's safety is resting on a pirate's sense of direction. A pirate that drinks rum every so often none-the-less.
So she stops, thankful no one notices. She looks down at her boot heels and curses the high standards drilled into the coils of her mind by her mother.
"Hey"
Every single time.
"Hey"
Present
They sat in a room far in the corner of the house after finding the letter. He didn't want to read it in the kitchen. Emma couldn't place why. They stood there and Emma frustratingly bit into the apple.
Stupid Regina Emma thought, and briefly wondered if perhaps, the former mayor went on a trip.
That's why no ones here. Maybe she went to the next town to get something. Something important that is. Nevermind the growing nerves that shouted to throw the apple and search.
There was no doubt in her mind that she would leave Henry permanently. With that she twisted the apple in her hand and looked out the window. Oblivious to Henrys' increasing panic as he read further and further into his mothers handwriting.
Henry's stomach seems to plummet and crash as he reads the last words his mom may ever say to him.
Mommy loves you.
Suddenly his happily ever after is stained. And it's her. It's her fault. He ran.
"Henry?" Emma's fingers brushed his shoulder but Henry shoved it off.
"Henry?!" She dashed, attempting to grab him again.
He leaned slightly in one direction only to dash the opposite. The blonde wasn't expecting it and hit a hidden low beam bar. Regina and Henry were planning an inane childish idea. The idea of a small door, which came from Henry's bibliophilic binge of, "The Hobbit," and The Lord of the Rings series.
She registered pain, forgetting momentarily that her son had just outwitted her embarrassingly. Dammit she was one of the greatest bail bonds personal! And an eleven year old outsmarted her. Her! The savior! Well, he was raised by an evil queen. It's quite fitting.
1...
2...
3...
slam!
Her back straightened along with her myriad of thoughts clumped together of Henrys' ability to escape. Her eyes darted in the direction of the front door. Henry.
"Kid!" Getting up and seeing spots are not good.
The apple with the one bite, had rolled under a sitting chair, then it sprouted legs.