"Are you sure about this?" asked the town's therapist.

"Very. It's not normal for a child not to love his mother….not if they don't have a good reason anyway," Madame Mayor replied sharply.

"But, Madame Mayor, I'm sure Henry adores you. Maybe you're being a little too strict with him?"

"Are you criticizing how I raise my son?" She gave him a deathly glare that would cause milk to curdle.

"No, no, no, no, of course not." He pushed his glasses up. "But, every child has a certain wiring…uh….um…a certain way that they think and learn and express themselves. Usually they have a special place they go to where they can let their thoughts out privately. Whether in a journal, talking out loud to someone, usually themselves, or an imaginary friend."

"Imaginary friend? My son has no such thing. I've told him that imagination is nonsense and should never be taken seriously."

The therapist's brow rose in surprise. "No imagination? Oh my…that's….terrible."

She quirked her brow as if using it as a threat. "Explain."

"A child's imagination is the most important thing in the world. It gives them hope. How can you not encourage him to use it?"

"Because we live in reality; anything less is a distraction. Imagination is an alternative reality for people to escape their own crummy lives. I don't want Henry to get his hopes up for something that can only be found in Fairytales. He needs to accept reality for what it is: A back-stabbing, heart-breaking, lousy, disappointing, depressing Hell where there are no happy endings." She took a moment to register his reaction.

He blinked in disbelief, saying nothing, for there was nothing to say. This reaction pleased the Mayor. She sat back with a satisfied smirk. "Need I say more?"

"I…uh…"

"Didn't think so," she stood up with regal poise. "We're done here. Henry is going to be taking sessions with you, and that's final. Nice talking with you, Archie. Have a good day." She left with a victorious grin.

/ The little girl could not get over the feeling that overcame her the day before. What made her want to look deep into those perfect pools of green? Make her eyes gaze downward to those perfect rosy-glossed lips? How could she even comprehend this feeling when she was only ten and the maiden thirteen? Whatever it was, however she deciphered it, she knew it made her smile like crazy.

'And just what are you so happy about?' came the crisp voice of her mother.

She swallowed her feelings of happiness, allowing only a subtle fear be present as she turned to face her. 'What do you mean?'

'Oh, don't act like you weren't giddy like a gnome just seconds ago.' The Queen took a step forward, holding up her hand – which shimmered lavender – and grasped the air tightly.

The girl yelped as she was lifted up, struggling in the tight grip her mother had on her. 'Mother, please! You know I don't like it when you use magic on me!'

'And you know I don't like to be lied to.'

'Mama…' the girl's eyes pleaded.

'What do you say?' she cooed with a mocking smirk.

The girl bit her lip, hiding her want to cry. 'Mama….don't.' Her resistance caused her to be squeezed more. 'Mama,' she squeaked, 'I'll be good.'

The Queen closed her eyes, absorbing the sweet, submissive words. 'That's all I ask,' she said as she lowered her daughter, releasing her grip. \\

(2 years later)

Ginger was putting the faces on the gingerbread men she had made when she heard the door slam, followed by an angry growl. It was Henry. She put down the icing, cleaned her hands off with a dish towel, and headed upstairs to his room.

"What's gotten you in such a bad mood?" she smirked.

"It's my mom," Henry groaned.

"What about her?"

"She thinks I'm crazy."

"I'm sure she doesn't."

"She does!"

"Henry, come on—" Ginger ventured.

"No Ginger," he snapped, cutting her off, "not this time. You may not realize it, but my mom is…is…evil."

"Henry—"

"Shh! I'm not finished. She's evil; I firmly believe that now. She gets into people's heads, like…brainwashing them or something. Even you! Look, my teacher gave me this book," he said, taking it out. It had a brown leather cover with a title in Medieval font: Once Upon A Time. A book of Fairytales.

"It's just a fairytale book, Henry. None of them are true," Ginger said.

"Yes they are! Every one of these characters is someone here in Storybrooke. My mom, she's the Evil Queen. Archie, he's Jiminy Cricket. My teacher, Ms. Blanchard, she's Snow White."

Ginger shook her head. What a wild imagination this boy had. Though, she did wonder if what he said was true. Madame Mayor did seem like the Evil Queen. The regal way she walked; the apple tree in her yard; the way she controlled the people in town. But that was crazy. Fairytales were just stories. "Henry…" she sighed.

"You don't believe me …do you?" Henry said.

"How can I? It doesn't make sense."

"That's the curse talking." He was desperate to keep Ginger on his side.

"What curse?" She quirked a brow.

"The curse that the Evil Queen put on all of the Fairytale characters in Fairytale Land. It brought them here to Storybrooke, and they forgot who they were." He pointed to the clock tower. "See that? The clock is stopped because time is frozen here. I'm not crazy."

"Henry, how am I supposed to believe what you say," she began, choosing her words carefully, "if I haven't read the story? Hm?"

He smiled, his eyes glistened with hope. "I knew you were on my side."