Boom!

Emma bolted from her sleep, hand flying to her heart. The room was dark. The candles had long since burnt out. So had the fire place. There was no light or sound she could place outside the pouring rain and flashes of lightening.

She glanced around. She didn't remember falling asleep. She had paced the room after the Queen left, replaying their conversation over and over again...

I'm going to cast a curse and you're destined to break it.

The words prickled at the back of Emma's neck. It was an unfamiliar sensation. Emma was used to detecting lies, the black ooze of false intentions settled in the pit of her stomach, solidifying like cement. This was different. A cold chill slipped down Emma's spine, spider fingers ghosting over her flesh. The Queens words weren't a lie, but they were more than the truth.

Prophecy.

The word flitted through her mind. It was probably the best fit for what Emma felt. That or a death sentence. The words felt powerful and irreversible. That was the definition of fate though, wasn't it? Being powerless to stop it? Emma's life was somehow entwined with a curse she knew nothing about.

It didn't make any sense. How could there be a prophecy about her in the Enchanted Forest?

"How am I even in the Enchanted Forest?" Emma muttered.

She ran her hands over her arms, warming away the moist night air. She didn't have an answer for any of it. If she was meant to break the Queen's curse, why had the Queen summoned her? Wasn't it safer to leave her where she was? What damage could she do from Phoenix, Arizona?

Emma wasn't born yesterday. If the Queen had brought her here, there were only two reasons Emma could think of. Either Emma was a double edged sword and also had something the Queen wanted, or the Queen wanted to eliminate any chance of her curse breaking. Even a slight chance from a faraway land.

Emma's money was on the second reason. She really wasn't sure why the Queen hadn't killed her already.

People often confuse fate with destiny.

Emma snorted and wrapped a soft throw around her shoulders. She hadn't had much luck with fate or destiny in her life. As far as she could tell, both were a great cosmic joke. Whatever the Queen thought Emma was, she'd re-evaluate those beliefs if she knew the hand fate had played her so far. Waking up in a magical fairy-tale land and being captured by a murderess Queen didn't even make the top five worst things to happen to her.

If Emma had ever been able to choose or control her destiny, she wouldn't have spent her childhood in a dozen homes across the country. Why did the Queen think Emma had a choice in this?

Maybe it had something to do with the way the curse was cast? Or the way it was meant to break?

The thought only lead to more questions. What was this curse? Why was the Queen casting it? And how did Emma fit in her story? What was her story?

From what Emma could tell, the fairy-tales she'd grown up with were a far cry from what she'd encountered here. She'd never heard a version of Red Riding Hood where the grand-daughter was the wolf. Where was granny? The wolf in the woods didn't seem like the kind to attack her own grandmother, but then what did Emma know? Maybe Red wasn't the original wolf. Maybe she was bit and turned into one?

Right. So Red Riding Hood is a Werewolf?

And what about Snow White? The Queen's loathing wasn't driven by jealousy. Emma was sure of it. What was the real story behind their feud? The Queen hadn't been wonderfully forthcoming. Not without incentive. A secret for a secret.

Emma had tried the door after the Queen left. The handle was still missing. She was locked in, a prisoner despite her new luxurious accommodations. The Queen had made her position clear. If Emma wanted more freedom, she would have to give the Queen more than a simple answer or two. The question was: how much did she give? And what were her secrets worth?

Despite the Queen's assurances of a possible alliance, Emma wasn't stupid enough to believe she was out of danger. The Queen was deadly. What happened when Emma was no longer useful?

The mirror.

The mirror was her safety net. At least for now. Whatever spell the Queen had cast, the mirror wasn't supposed to be a part of it.

Emma stood slowly, stumbling to the desk across the room. The inkwell was full, sitting next to a stack of fresh parchment. Emma picked up the quill, tapped it to the paper and paused. She glanced at the mirror, her eyes narrowed.

If you need anything, call. I'll hear you.

Could the Queen see her? Was she watching?

She wasn't taking any chances. With her back to the mirror, Emma fumbled with the sparking rock, lighting three candles. They were new. So were the logs inside the fireplace. Someone had replaced them while she slept. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Emma rarely slept deeply enough for anyone to sneak up on her… Then again, no one in her world could change an entire room with a wave of their hand. How could she fight against that?

It didn't seem possible. Not without a weapon of her own. For now, a bargaining chip would have to suffice. As long as she still had something the Queen wanted, she would be safe.

Emma reached for the quill again, staring at the parchment. The symbols on the mirror were runes. Or hieroglyphics. She wasn't sure. They skirted the edge of her memory, fuzzy and allusive.

She took a deep breath. "Focus, Swan." She hadn't paid much attention to the runes. Her gaze was pulled to the people and places she saw reflected in the glass. People like the Queen.

Her palms tingled.

"The child will come to me…"

Warmth ignited in Emma's chest and her brow furrowed. Her hand fluttered over the parchment, the quill etching a series of symbols before her. She wasn't writing the runes but she was.

"Shit." Emma dropped the quill and stepped back, shaking her head. The runes were nothing more than a whisper in her mind, like a breath of air or puff of smoke. They flitted through her memory and slipped through her fingers. She couldn't see them clearly, but there they were, written in her own hand. "How…"

She didn't finish her sentence. It didn't matter how. She had her safety net. She just had to make sure the Queen couldn't find it.

She glanced back at the mirror, biting her lip. There weren't any good hiding places in the room. Not with the vanity reflecting her every move. Anywhere she placed the paper would be obvious, unless…

Emma folded the paper, dropping to the floor beside the bed. It was the one place the mirror didn't have a clear view of her movements. She stayed low, slipping the paper in the heel of her shoe. After a moment, she lifted the mattress and stood up.

Her deception wouldn't fool the Queen long. The first time Emma left the room, the Queen would tear the bed apart. If she even waited that long. Still, it bought her time, hopefully enough to find a better hiding place, or a way out. She'd take either. There had to be someone else in the land who knew about the Queen's curse or how she could get back to her own world.

You have to get out of this room first.

She had a feeling there was only one way to do that. If she wanted out, she had to play the Queen's game.

It's not like you haven't done it before. Every home you had to learn the game, didn't you?

The Queen wasn't any different. If you didn't count the whole magic thing.

Emma's stomach growled and she rubbed her forehead. How long had she been out? She remembered eating. The Queen had left her food. She had a light sandwich and few sips of cider and…

Her mind went dark.

There was nothing after that. She didn't remember being tired or falling asleep. She didn't remember anything before the lightning strike that woke her.

She spun toward the mirror. "Did you drug me?" The glass rippled and solidified as Emma shuffled closer. "Your Majesty?"

Nothing. The mirror remained silent and motionless.

The Queen had said to call her, hadn't she?

My Queen. That's what you are to call me.

Emma tightened her jaw. She wasn't dumb. The title was one of possession and ownership; an acquiescence on Emma's part to the Queen and one she wouldn't give in to. Not again. She'd slipped up once, disoriented by the Queen's magic. She'd never say it willingly. This woman wasn't her Queen. She wasn't her anything.

She crossed her arms, scowling as her stomach rumbled. She was hungry, but the discomfort was minimal. She'd suffered foster families who had starved her for days, swiping scraps where she could find them.

You don't know that it hasn't been days, she thought.

The mirror rippled again and she blinked at her reflection. Her skin was still smudged with dirt and dried blood, but the scrapes and bruises were gone. That couldn't be right. Even if she were unconscious for days, her wounds wouldn't have healed that fast. An illusion?

She reached up, pressing at her scalp. The bump was gone. Her heart picked up pace.

"How long was I asleep?"

There was no reply.

Emma sighed. She wasn't likely to win this battle of wills. She would eventually need food, unless she deliberately refused to eat. That game seemed a little too dangerous. The Queen was hard to read, but the danger was real enough. She could feel it in her bones. Challenging her wouldn't end well.

Still, the Queen could wait. She needed a bath anyway.

The bathing chamber was spacious and more modern than she had expected. The tub was built into the floor, warm water bubbling as steam wafted into the air. Soft towels and linens lined a tall oak shelf. There were also soaps and an assortment of vials Emma wasn't about to touch. Not without knowing what was in them. They didn't look like any cosmetic products she'd ever used. The substances inside were black, blue, purple and red and looked like Yzma's cabinet from the Emperor's New Groove. She wasn't trying to turn herself into a llama.

Behind a thick purple curtain, she found a toilet. It was carved from stone but was better than the chamber pot she had expected. Water swirled continually at the base, washing away any dirt and waste. The seat was smooth and polished and was better than a lot of foster bathrooms she'd used. At least it was clean.

Emma grabbed three towels, tossing one over the floor length mirror before removing her torn shirt and jeans. She toed the water, audibly sighing as she sank in to her neck. The heat soothed her muscles, relaxing her back and shoulders. She was tense, but considering how she felt before her "nap" she was in decent shape.

"Better than decent…"

She lifted her arms, admiring unblemished skin. There wasn't a scratch or bruise on her, no remnants of jagged rocks or thorns. Either she had slept a really long time or she had healed remarkably fast.

Or I had some help.

Emma frowned. Could the Queen have healed her? And why? People didn't do things for no reason. Altruism was always motivated by some desire or another, usually at her expense.

She tilted her head back, massaging her scalp.

At least the Queen wasn't likely to kill her anytime soon. If the Queen had plans for her death, she wouldn't waste energy healing her, would she? She couldn't be sure. The Queen didn't seem to play by standard rules of human behavior. She switched from hot to cold in a breath of air, shaking the shifting ground under Emma's feet.

"She's probably bipolar."

Emma washed quickly, climbed from the tub and wrapped herself in a large towel. She had to give it to the Queen, she spared no luxury. The towel was nearly as soft as her bed sheets. If this was what the Queen gave prisoners, what did she give honored guests?

Who were her honored guests? Ursula? Jafar? It sounded ridiculous.

Emma opened the armoire and peered inside. The closet was filled with dresses. Frilly, pastel dresses.

She raised a brow at the mirror. "No way in hell." She pulled out a lace gown and held it up to her chest, sequence sparkling in the firelight. "Where did you even get this?" It didn't look like the queen's usual style. At least from what she'd seen of it. "This looks like something the Pink Fairy threw up."

The mirror rippled, a soft chuckle sounding from the other side.

So the Queen was listening. Emma's lips twitched. It was a small victory but the Queen had answered her, without use of her proper title.

Emma licked her lips, clearing her throat. "I'm going to need some other options."

"It sounds like you have quite the dilemma, dear."

The answering voice was followed by a bright shimmer. Emma's reflection vanished, replaced by the Queen's.

The dark woman lifted a brow, her lips pursed in amusement. Her raven hair cascaded over a red velvet dress, accented with black diamonds that dipped between her breasts. Her skin was flawless, warmed by the firelight. No way was this woman worried about the looks of a child.

The Queen's head tilted, assessing Emma's expression. "Something you'd like to say?"

Emma shook herself, her jaw snapping shut. How long had she been staring?

She lifted the dress. "I'm not wearing this."

"Really?" The Queen leaned back, batting long eyelashes. "What do you plan to wear then? You do look rather... delectable in that towel."

Heat flamed Emma's cheeks. Right. It probably wasn't proper etiquette to parade in front of royalty half dressed.

You're not dressed at all, she reminded herself.

She cleared her throat, squaring her shoulders. "I've had less to work with." She winced internally. Okay that probably wasn't the best thing to say. How much less could you get than a towel?

"Judging by the clothing you came here in, I'd have to agree."

Emma ignored her, dropped the dress on the bed and rummaged back through the armoire. "Don't you have ..." What did people call a t-shirt and pants here? "Trousers or a tunic?"

"I might have something more suitable."

The Queen flicked her wrist and a translucent image materialized: black leather leggings and boots, and a midnight blue tunic.

Emma reached for it, her fingers passing through the material like she had grasped a ghost. "Let me guess, you want more information?"

The Queen shrugged. "I'll have the answers I need in time. For this? All that is required is for you to ask."

"I thought I had."

"Properly, Emma." The Queen's lips pulled back, bearing perfect white teeth. "How do you address your Queen?"

Emma straightened, electricity snapping up her spine. "I-"

"Thought I didn't notice?"

Emma turned from the mirror, teeth grinding. Of course the Queen had noticed. Emma was stupid to think she hadn't. The Queen was smart and cunning. Her appearance in the mirror hadn't been a victory. It was a counter move. A trap. One Emma had walked right in to.

"I have other clothes."

"You have rags. They are hardly suitable wear for tonight's dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Did I pique your interest?"

Emma sat on the bed, crossing her arms over her chest. The Queen's words had done more than that. The mere mention of food had her ravenous, her ribs caving into the empty cavern of her stomach. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this hungry. It didn't make sense. A few skipped meals were nothing to her usually.

"Did you drug me?" She asked again.

The Queen's brows lifted. "Perhaps you should try thank you."

"For drugging me?"

"For healing you."

Emma swallowed, a slow rage building inside her. She had guessed the Queen had a hand in her quick recovery. That didn't excuse spiking her cider. She didn't even know how long she had been out. Days? Weeks? She didn't want to think about the possibility that it could have been longer.

"I'm perfectly capable of healing on my own. It might be slower-"

"You'd have been in agony."

"They were scratches."

The Queen leaned forward, fingers splayed on the vanity before her. "They were scratches left by Talite thorns. Not deadly but painful. Fevers, muscle aches…"

Emma opened her mouth, closed it and opened it again. "And I'm supposed to just believe you? You could have told me – "

The Queen scoffed. "I'm sure you would have trusted me. Kind of like now?"

"I…" She fisted the sheets beside her. The Queen had a point. She wouldn't have believed her. The Queen had ripped out a heart only hours before that and thought Emma would break her curse.

"My cider contains natural healing elements, but I added a sleeping drought so you wouldn't be aware of the pain."

"And what's in tonight's dinner? Eye of newt?"

The Queen's eyes darkened; her lips pulling tight.

Emma's heart sank. "I didn't mean – "

"Enough."

The Queen lifted her hand and Emma flew forward, crashing through the mirror and on to the stone floor on the other side. Fingers tangled in her hair and Emma yelped. Her back arched. Her head tilted up until her eyes locked with those of the Queen. "If you need a lesson in gratefulness and respect, I'd be happy to provide one, Em-ma."