I realized that more than I wanted to kill her, I wanted to own her. I wanted to claim her and rule her very being. But something about her was far away, somewhere I couldn't reach. I loathed the thought of her freedom, and yet, as she sat up in the bed beside me, she was freer than I was. I was trapped by my hate, consumed by it. She was free to love and forgive. It was a feeling I would never know.

"How?" I pressed, looking into her face for the truth.

What kind of a game was she trying to play with me? I wanted to beat the truth out of her, to take her neck in my hands and break it.

"Because you're not so unlovable as you might believe. I knew you before this bloodlust began, Regina, and I know you have the capacity to love. You love Henry, don't you?"

"Yes," I said, my confusion still written all over my face.

"Then you can love another person, too."

"Like who?"

"Anyone you wish you love, Regina. You have it in you to turn away from your hate. And if you can't do that for me, that's okay. But someday, I hope you do it for you. I don't mind taking the brunt of your anger. I will happily take each blow in stride and allow you to express your loathing. The only thing I will not do is let you hurt my family."

"WHY do you care so much?" I snapped.

She didn't look surprised. Just... What was the look on her face? It was disappointment.

"Because they're my family, Regina. They're all I have," she told me.

I cringed and hissed, "Love is weakness."

"Love is strength. You will see. Look at Henry. Is he weak?"

He was the strongest little boy I'd ever met. Incredibly resilient. And he loved deeper than anyone I'd ever known. Maybe she had a point, but I refused to believe it.

"No. But he's a little boy. He will grow out of it."

"You think he'll stop loving you? Because he won't."

I was taken aback by this. Why was she telling me that? Was she even right? I thought about Henry and how he was getting older each day - taller, smarter, more handsome. I did believe that one day he would leave me. He would grow up, we would grow apart, the last piece of my family would be torn to shreds, and I would be left alone again. I shuddered at the thought of watching him leave the castle. I imagined that one day he would stop believing my lies about Emma, and that he would go in search of his mother. He was a stubborn boy - just like her - and likely would not stop or rest until he found her. Picturing him saying goodbye was the only thing that could break my heart, and it did.

She must have seen this in my eyes, because she rested her hand over mine and said, "He won't."

Maybe she was right. He was a loving little boy, and he did seem to care for me. I worried every day that his love would run out, and that he would see through me, see my cruelty. Sometimes I thought about stopping, about refraining from malice and spite, but every day I chose the different path, and every day I let out the darkest parts of me, except when he was with me. It was easy to release my anger on Emma, but now I had a different plan. Well, not a plan so much as a theory. Maybe emotional torture was the way to go. Somehow, I had to break her. I was already half way there. She'd given up on herself and any hope she may have had, but she still would not give up her secret.

Snapping out of my trance, I jerked my hand away.

"What are you doing?" I gasped, gaping at her.

"Treating you with the kindness you've never known, because you deserve it. You deserve to be loved."

She sickened me, and I felt nauseated. I stood and moved to the doorway, turning back to meet her gaze, which was sharply focused on me.

"Rest. Regain your strength. I want you alive when I torture you next."

I heard her sigh and left the room.

Up in Henry's room, I sat beside him on his bed. He was reading his storybook, engrossed in its pages.

"Henry," I said. "Do you love me?"

"Of course I love you, Mom. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you once called me cruel. You stopped believing in me."

"But you proved yourself. You changed. I'm proud of you."

He draped his arms around my neck and hugged me tightly, not letting go. My hands reached up to rub his back, but I felt my heart sinking into the depths of my stomach. He did believe in me, after everything, but I knew it was because of Emma, because he believed that she'd abandoned him. But I couldn't tell him otherwise. I couldn't risk the loss of his love. I couldn't stand to watch him turn away from me again. Back in Storybrooke, he'd begun to hate me for my actions, and it killed me inside. He was the only one since Daniel who could make me feel something, the only one I loved. And I loved him deeply. He was my little treasure, my little prince, my perfect son. I kissed his forehead and stroked his hair.

"I love you too, Henry, and I always will. No matter what," I promised.

I was telling the truth. I knew that he would always be the apple of my eye, and that I would never stop being proud of him. He was so smart, so clever. Each day, he impressed me more with his intelligence. He soaked up every lesson from his tutor like a sponge. But I knew he longed for companionship, for a friend. His heart was heavy with a loneliness I could not fill, and it broke my heart to see the sadness in his eyes. But no family would come near him, because he was my son. Part of me wanted them to fear me, but part of me wanted their love, for Henry's sake.

"I know you're lonely," I told him, "but I promise this is for the best. I care about you and want to keep you safe."

"I know," he said sadly.

My heart stuck in my stomach and would not move back into place.

"You should go play, Henry. Don't bury yourself in a book all day. Go do something fun. Play with your toys or do something else."

"But I want to read, Mom!" he protested, hugging his book tightly to his chest.

I sighed and conceded.

"Alright. If you change your mind, you can join me downstairs. We can talk about whatever you'd like."

He looked intrigued and set the book down on the bed.

"Anything?" he asked enthusiastically, but with skepticism.

"Anything."

Downstairs in the hall, we sat at the table as he ate his lunch. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until the cook offered him food. He ate as though he was starving, even though he'd had a huge breakfast just a few hours before.

"Slow down, my prince!" I said, smiling. "Don't choke."

He obeyed. When he finally paused to speak, he was cautious of his words. Of course, his curious, burdened mind asked the one question I couldn't bring myself to answer.

"Why doesn't Emma love me?"

I sighed and shook my head.

"I don't know, sweetheart," I lied. "I don't know."

When he started to cry, his face growing red, I stood up, knelt in front of his chair, and took his hands in my own.

"It's okay, Henry," I told him. "I will always be here for you."

Finally, I felt something I could not understand. I felt guilt.