Author's notes: Facilier: since he was killed off in canon so abruptly before we got to know much about him, I'm taking some liberties with his story. I'm assuming that in the original reality, he and Regina never met, so when the Dark Curse hit the first time, he wasn't affected and never crossed to Storybrooke.

Castles: What castle was Regina staying in right before the first Dark Curse? Not the one that was King Leopold's, since that was the one she was exiled from. Not the one that was King George's, since that would make no sense. For the purposes of my story, I'll assume she got an Instant Magic Castle Kit (TM) from Mordenkainen's catalog (he of "Mordenkainen's Magnificent Mansion" fame) and cast it on some ruined keep. The magic castle is magic, and comes with failsafes, which is why no one noticed the tower where Wish!Belle was imprisoned. Regina only let Hook in because he was pretty and she was curious to see what he was after.

Hansel and Gretel: I've tweaked their relative ages so that Gretel is a couple of years older than Hansel.

Title quote: "Hast du mir einst den Tanz versprochen?" (orig. "Hast einst mir den Tanz versprochen") is from a poem by Heinrich Heine, by way of the musical version by Die Streuner. "You once promised me the dance", says the ghostly lover to the maiden, and you broke your word.

The Death tarot card, usually numbered as the thirteenth Major Arcana, depicts the grim reaper: sometimes a black-armored herald on a white horse, sometimes a skeleton with a scythe. Your prayers and appeals are to no avail — death comes for all alike. It is said to signify inevitable change, a severance of the past, the end of one life and the beginning of another.

The tavern was a dive, but it was the closest one to the pier where the Malus was docked. Regina strode imperiously to the bar, the sharp sweep of her alligator-hide coat fending off the drunk and the curious. At her order, the bartender poured two glasses of rum. Regina carried them to a table, where instead of drinking, she plucked a bag from her coat and poured out a pile of wood ash. She dipped her finger in the ash and drew the rectangle of a bier, topped by a cross, flanked by a coffin on either side. Once the pattern was complete, she set one of the glasses on top of the cross.

She lifted the other glass in a toast. "To... us!"

The first glass clinked against her own in answer. "To us!"

And Facilier was there, smiling wickedly at her. "To twenty years of our... acquaintance."

"To the day." Regina emptied her glass, closing her eyes for a moment. "You remember?"

"Of course, ma chérie," he said, his tone conveying far more than mere 'acquaintance'. "But twenty years calls for something special. Something better than a dockside drinking hole."

"You have somewhere in mind?"

"Indeed."

Magic flung them across the realms. She gasped, the distance a vast emptiness that made her head spin.

Facilier caught her as they fell out of the void, his arms steadying her.

Regina opened her eyes to find herself on the roof of a squat, round tower. The ground around her feet was littered with ancient skeletons. As long as enough of the stones were intact, as long as a few bones remained, he had a magical affinity for such places where the dead were laid to rest, no matter how old or abandoned the site.

"The tower of silence on the outskirts of lost Karakzha," Facilier murmured in her ear. He guided her to the stairs, the cracked and crumbling stones gaining solidity with each step. "Once visited by merchants from all the quarters of the realm, the city is long forgotten."

"I've never heard of it," Regina admitted. The breeze that chilled her skin was dry, smelling faintly of sand.

"No, I expect not," he said softly. "Come, our mounts await."

Regina had not owned a horse since she had sacrificed her favorite steed in her attempt to cast the Dark Curse. Nowadays she spent more time on a ship than a horse, but she rarely passed up a chance for riding. The two grays standing at the base of the tower were not horses: their eyes were lit by flames and their hooves smoked where they struck the ground. Their gaits were smooth, sure-footed where a real horse might stumble in the moonlit night.

As they rode on a dusty road around the shores of a dry lake, Facilier told more tales of the lost city. "The lake was fed by a water spirit captured in the mountains. Her power founded the city and made a commoner a king."

Regina nodded, reminded of her mother, and wondered whether this king had been as villainous in his ambition.

"She was held here for two hundred years, until a young prince made the mistake of falling in love with her." Facilier turned his head, flashing a sly grin at Regina.

"Hmmph." Was he warning her? She knew enough to guard her heart; she enjoyed his company, and why should she not?

Facilier chuckled, then continued, "Now the water spirit is gone and the lake bed dry. The city was taken by the shifting sands. Once a century, a freak storm uncovers the ruins. We have three days until these streets are buried again."

As they rode through the ruins, Regina caught glimpses of the old city in all its glory, ghostly mirages summoned by Facilier's sorcery. He led them to the gates of the royal palace. For this night, they were the king and queen of lost Karakzha.

Regina smiled at the thought, but her smile turned wry when she left a dirty footprint on the glistening floor and she remembered that she still wore her adventurer's rough garb, and that she hadn't had a real bath in weeks. She had intended to invite Facilier to join her at a bath house, but now...

"What is it, ma chérie?"

"I don't suppose your magic extends to refilling the lake so I can wash up properly?" Regina raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"But of course."

The king's bathtub, restored, was a shallow pool some fifteen feet across. A swirl of enchantment swept the tiles clean. Facilier ran his fingers over the pipes that fed the pool. "Servants once pumped in hot water scented with rose petals." He gestured. "Those pots once held the finest bath salts." As he spoke, air became water and steam.

"Decadent. I like it." Regina eased off her coat and draped it over a wooden rack. "The Enchanted Forest never had such amenities, not even my old castle."

Facilier smirked. He touched her lightly. "May I?" At her nod, he finished undressing her, his hands warm and deft. His fingers lingered on her skin. "Your majesty. Shall we?"

The water was shocking in its heat. But the discomfort was soon forgotten as Facilier joined her in the pool, and 'bathing' went beyond a mere soak. They ended in what must once have been the king's bedchamber, tangled in furs and silken sheets. Lost in the throes of passion, Regina had not noticed the transport spell.

Now she broke away from a kiss to regard their surroundings. Then she huffed in amusement. "We're going to need another bath."

Facilier smoothed away the stray hairs stuck to her forehead. "Never mind that. Let me show you the dining room, first."

He had gone all-out in his conjuration tonight; Regina was touched by the effort. The food was unfamiliar to her: lamb flavored with cumin, beef on skewers, hot flat bread, a sweet dish of dried fruit mixed with rice, a vegetable stew, accompanied by black tea and grape wine.

It was only later, when she woke up with his arm curled around her, that she heard the silence behind the faint crackle of the fire. There had been no other nobles to share the feast, no bustle of servants to carry the platters. And now the wind outside the walls had stilled, leaving not even the sound of insects or frogs behind.

A ghost city.

Regina closed her eyes, listening. She couldn't even hear Facilier breathing beside her. Only the weight of his arm and the warmth of his body reassured her that he was here, not another ghost.

He remembers it as it was, alive. How old is he, really?

And what could she be to him, in the end? When the world had forgotten her, would he remember? Would the memory mean anything to what he was?

Everything had been so much simpler with Daniel. The two of them had planned a life together, a plain life brightened with children, with friends and neighbors. Somewhere peaceful, far away from her mother.

But now she was with someone whose true home was built out of bones. Someone whose nature meant he would never have any children, least of all with Regina — she had destroyed any chance of that long ago, rendering herself barren with a potion rather than allow Cora any chance of royal grandchildren. Regina shifted away uneasily, sitting up on the edge of the bed. Suddenly chilled, she pulled up her legs and wrapped her arms around her knees, bowing her head. From behind her, Facilier murmured sleepily, but she didn't respond.

And what is he to me? What have I let him become?

Twenty years. Thanks to Pan's influence, the years sat lightly on her, but they didn't touch Facilier at all. A feast here, a dance there, a string of encounters across the realms — what did they add up to? She had resolved never to give her heart again, not after Cora had crushed Daniel's and love had died on a stable floor. Yet somehow, immortal or not, Facilier was there: a thought, a memory, a fleeting happiness that called her back from whatever strange seas she sailed.

Death was heartless. Wasn't it? Whatever human part of her lover smiled to see her, it was less than the whole. Someday he would tire of her, or she would die. And then what?

Another ghost to be resurrected at his whim, dancing to his tune. Just like poor lost Karakzha, a story told to impressionable mortals.

Regina shuddered. No. She would leave him before that happened.

"Regina? What's wrong?"

She turned to see him looking at her. She saw nothing but sincere concern. Honest affection.

Appearances deceive.

She forced a smile. "Nothing, love." She took his outstretched hand in her own and slipped back under the blanket to spend what remained of the night with him.

Tomorrow. She would leave tomorrow. The Malus was her home, she reminded herself. She didn't need anyone in her bed. This was an indulgence, no more.

Is that what you believe?

It was what she had to believe.

In the end, witches killed Ivo.

Not directly, but Hansel knew his father's death was nothing natural. At first, after he and Gretel had escaped from the candy witch, he had thought everything would be all right. But then Zelena, the wickedest witch in all of Oz, had returned to their cottage with her false promises. Ivo rejected her lies. In retaliation, Zelena had set fire to Hansel's arms, wreathing them in magical flame.

He would never forget her parting words: You mess with a witch, you get burnt!

The burns had become infected, nearly killing Hansel before Ivo had brought him a cure. The children never found out exactly who had sold their father the healing potion, but whatever witch or sorcerer it was had exacted a steep price. Ivo weakened even as Hansel recovered his strength. By the time the children had to bury their father, Hansel was strong enough to help dig the grave himself.

When their tears had dried and they faced a bare cupboard and an empty coin box, Gretel told Hansel, "We can't stay here."

Being the older, she expected his obedience, and in this case, he agreed, but, "Where can we go? What do we do?" He knew there were people who had to beg for their food, but had never imagined becoming one himself. "Should we try the city?"

"Not the city; the witch is there. No, I have a better idea." Gretel showed him the bean she had stolen from the candy house. "This is a magic bean. If you throw it on the ground, it opens a portal to wherever you want to go, even if that's in another world."

"You mean... you think we should leave Oz?"

"Not just leave Oz. We need to go somewhere better. Somewhere we'll be safe from witches. Somewhere with good people, people who won't let children starve to death — and not because they're fattening them up for the oven!"

"Is there a place like that?" Hansel tried to imagine it. Throwing themselves at the mercy of strangers — what kind of magic could make that turn out well?

A great swirling pit of green light, it seemed. Gretel grabbed Hansel by the arm when he hesitated and ran straight at the light. He stumbled after her: good or bad, he would rather face it together with his sister than alone.

At first, faced with a pack of sharp-fanged hounds baying for their blood, Hansel thought they had made a horrible mistake. He clung to his sister as they huddled together in a futile effort to hide under the leaf litter. Then the hounds were joined by what seemed to be an entire army — footmen and horses, bows and spears. They were surrounded.

Hansel tried to follow the bewildering snatches of shouted conversation and commands that flew over his head. This was not an army but a hunting party. A royal hunting party? Hansel shrank back, sure now that they would be executed as two commoners trespassing in the royal forest. Gretel's fingers tightened on his arm as she spoke up for the both of them, once the dogs and mob of hunters had quieted.

"May it please your highness, my name is Margarethe, and this is my brother, Hans," she said, eyes lowered in the presence of nobility. Hansel tensed, half-expecting some witchly flurry of magic. Nothing happened. "We are orphans, fallen through a portal to your land. Begging your mercy, highness, we meant no trespass."

"Orphans!"

Hansel risked a peek around his sister. The prince's eyes were wide, and a look of sympathy spread across his face. He was young — in fact, Hansel would have guessed him to be his own age.

"And your home...?"

"We have none, your highness," said Gretel stoutly. "But we are hard workers, my brother and I, and we ask only for a chance to earn our bread."

The prince wouldn't hear of it. They were children, he said. Though he was a child himself, he gave the orders to bring Hansel and Gretel back to the palace as his guests. Somehow, in their transition between realms, the two commoners were elevated in the prince's mind to his equals, noble refugees from a far land.

"Call me Henry," he insisted. Hansel suspected that the other boy was lonely. He hadn't seen any other children about the place, only a few younger servants, and he knew that in Oz, highborn children were kept away from the lowborn. But because they were strangers, they could be whoever they wanted to be.

"It's the magic working," Gretel whispered to Hansel later, in the privacy of the guest chamber they had been assigned. "When I used the bean, it's what I wished for... so don't mess this up, you hear me? Papa was a king, and there's no one here to say any different."

Hansel didn't like lying, but as she said, it wasn't really lying if they just looked sad and hinted at mysterious enemies when questioned about their pasts. The royal family easily accepted them both as fosterlings, and as befit a noble-born boy, Hansel became a page alongside Prince Henry, while Gretel found herself an apprenticeship with a local herbalist.

In time, the two boys became close friends. Prince Henry's father had been a hero, a knight, but in Hansel's mind, his own father had died just as heroically. That was the story he told, omitting mention of his father's humble profession. And when Henry confessed Sir Baelfire's origin as a commoner, that only strengthened the bond between the two boys.

"When you're a knight, you can become a hero, too, and win the hand of a princess just like my father did," Henry would tell Hansel.

Hansel never argued the point, though deep in his heart he knew he didn't care about princesses, as long as he had Henry's friendship.

"That's not how you do it." Drizella jabbed at her little sister with a stick, but it was a feint, and a moment later, Ella's stick was sent flying.

"Hey!" Ella shook out the hand Drizella had just whacked.

Drizella sighed. "Aren't you supposed to be hanging up the laundry, not attacking the trees?"

"I did." Ella glared at Drizella resentfully. "Anyway, this is more important than stupid laundry. Don't you care, Drizzy? Or do you just do everything Mother says—"

"Of course I care! But you're eleven years old. You think you're just going to sneak into the palace and stab the prince with a kitchen knife? Do you have any idea how many guards he has?"

"I know all that. That's why I'm practicing." Ella bent down to retrieve her stick.

"The tree doesn't hit back. What do you think you're going to learn, doing that?"

"More than I will doing the laundry," muttered Ella, smacking the tree as hard as she could. "If I hit first, and hit hard enough, the guard won't be able to hit back, either."

"Idiot. You're going to get yourself killed. Father wouldn't want that."

"But it's been six months, and Mother hasn't done anything. He was murdered. We have to avenge him."

"There was a trial—"

"Not a fair one! Everyone was lying. Father wasn't... wasn't a thief."

"I know, but we don't have proof. Look, I'm working on it. You just have to be patient." Ella was an annoying brat, but she was family. Drizella had already lost one sister and didn't want to lose another. Ella opened her mouth to argue, but Drizella spoke first, "Go back inside. You still have to sweep the kitchen before Mother throws a fit."

"She won't notice. Isn't she supposed to be going to some ball tonight, and aren't you supposed to be going with her?"

Drizella rolled her eyes. "Shut up. It's not as if I have any more choice about it than you do."

Drizella hated the high society her mother was so eager to dominate. Lady Tremaine dressed her daughter up like a doll and paraded her before the nobility as her perfect little pawn. It wasn't only the clothes: her mother made her practice flirting and smiling into a mirror until Drizella loathed the sight of her own face.

And it was all a lie. Drizella knew her mother would rather have her precious Anastasia, that she thought the wrong daughter had fallen through the ice all those years ago. Anastasia should have lived — Anastasia of the pure heart, Anastasia who didn't have to be taught how to smile, Anastasia who loved her mother and deserved her love in return. Anastasia would already have been betrothed to a prince.

Drizella was only fourteen, barely old enough for her mother to dangle in front of the highborn. The balls were practice, of a kind grimmer than Ella's flailing with sticks. She almost wished their positions were reversed. Better to be a drudge, ignored and permitted the freedom of her own thoughts, than to have to smile and dance and beg for every scrap of Mother's approval.

By nature an introvert, Drizella hated it all. But she had loved her father, too, so she mingled where Mother brought her, and listened. That was how she knew that Mother had conspired with Prince Martin, the older son of the king. Martin was barely nineteen, but his soul burned to bring justice to his countrymen, oppressed by the king's tyrannical taxes. That, or he was precocious in his ambition — Drizella knew that was her mother's view. Lady Tremaine had obviously assured Martin of her support, but alas — Marcus Tremaine was too loyal to the king. What could be done?

So, the mockery of a trial, and Marcus's hasty execution. And a revolution simmered...

But Drizella didn't tell Ella any of this. Her sister was too young and simple-minded to understand. She would charge into the ring like a bull, and like a bull, get stabbed full of holes.

"How did you know how to do that?" Ella caught up with Drizella the next day.

"Do what?"

Ella twirled a stick at her. "You said 'that's not how you do it.' Then you knocked the stick out of my hand. So where did you learn sword-fighting?"

"Ah." Not so stupid after all. It occurred to Drizella that here was the perfect way to keep her little sister out of trouble for a few more years. "Do you want to learn, then?"

The wood-cutter was a retired soldier, sent into exile in some failed rebellion from so long ago that no one else remembered it. Drizella had befriended the man and inveigled a few lessons out of him. Now she brought him a new student. As it turned out, Ella soon surpassed her older sister, being stronger from regularly lugging buckets of water and baskets of laundry about, as well as more determined to become a warrior.

Drizella gave it up after the third time Ella beat her in their sparring sessions. It didn't matter, anyway. The real power was in magic. Lady Tremaine was strangely ambivalent about the use of magic. On the one hand, she scorned witches, fairies, and the like, but on the other hand, she was perfectly willing to use it herself — as long as such use went unseen. But Drizella had always been an observant child, and she had caught glimpses of her.

The witch.

She had to be a witch, thought Drizella. She showed up at key moments in their family's history: when Mother came back, when Ella's mother left, and when Anastasia had drowned. There was some secret there, something that Mother was keeping from them all. Something magical.

That was the key. If Drizella had magic of her own, she would be able to avenge her father and be free to live the life she wanted, out from under her mother's thumb. Let Ella learn to wield a sword. Drizella would pursue a different path.

"We're going to die," moaned Hansel. "This is crazy."

"Shut up and keep paddling," hissed Henry. "We're almost there. See that light? That must be where the dock is."

It was dark and it was cold and Hansel was sure the boat was leaking, but it was the only way to reach the castle on the island. Thank the gods the sea was calm tonight. A mile had never seemed so far. Henry had "borrowed" the boat from a local fisherman, saying that they were sure to be forgiven afterwards, because it was in a good cause.

They were going to rescue a princess.

"Agh!" A stray whitecap splashed Hansel in the face. Luckily, the boat — an outrigger canoe — was more stable than the ones he was familiar with from Oz. But the venture was still insane. The princess had been kidnapped by a renegade prince from the Southern Isles, in a mad bid for a throne. Sarah was the oldest daughter and heir of Queen Abigail and Frederick. She would marry him, Prince Otto announced, or remain his prisoner forever.

A totally demented scheme — except that Otto had somehow acquired the keys to a magic castle. Magic strong enough that no one could break in, strong enough to keep the inhabitants supplied through any attempt at a siege. Poor Princess Sarah had held out for over a month already, but things were not looking good for her.

Too bad, so sad, and none of Hansel's business, except that he had to go and try to impress Henry with his own magic key. Well, it was actually Gretel's magic key (she had sworn never to be locked up by a witch ever again, making good on her oath by acquiring a universal key from somewhere — she refused to tell Hansel where), but Hansel had borrowed it. Really just borrowed it, intending to put it back right after he showed it to Henry. But of course Henry had taken him at his word and immediately leaped headfirst into the idea that they should sneak out and rescue the princess themselves.

"It'll be an adventure!"

"Oh. But we're just squires. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Think about it. Maybe she'll be grateful and offer to marry you!"

"I'm thirteen! Ugh!" Hansel felt ill at the very idea.

"I'm only joking."

"It's not funny, Henry."

Unfortunately, Henry wasn't joking about the adventure. So here they were in the dead of night, hoping to reach the island without being dashed against the rocks.

When Regina, along with half a dozen of her crew, made landfall on the island, she was surprised to see a boat already moored at the dock. Prince Otto had made a point of magically kidnapping the princess, vanishing in a cloud of smoke. How anti-climactic to have to row a boat out from the mainland after all that.

Not that it mattered. Sorcerer or not, the man was a damn squatter. Regina didn't know how he had gotten his grubby little hands on the keys, but it was her castle. Just because she had left it behind when she was cursed and could no longer keep up the maintenance spells didn't mean she had abandoned it.

Well. All right, it had been a heap of rubble the last time she had been here, so Otto was at least competent enough to reactivate the magic holding the walls in place. Whether he was skilled enough to cast his own wards, or whether he relied on the old set that came with the castle...

Regina stepped up to the base of the wall and stretched out a hand gingerly. Aha. She glanced back at her crew. "It's fine. The castle remembers me."

They caught Otto on the stairs as he rushed down, belatedly alerted to the intrusion.

Regina laughed at the shocked expression on his face. "Ah, our host finally shows himself. Hello, dear."

Otto snarled, waving his hands to throw a fireball at Regina.

The flames splashed harmlessly off her alligator hide coat. Just because she no longer cast spells didn't mean she had given up all use of magic... and other tricks. Even as two of her followers stepped up with swords, Regina took advantage of Otto's distraction to hit him with a spray of squid ink. After that, he was able to make no resistance when she cuffed him with magic-suppressing bracelets.

"How dare you lay a hand on me! I am a prince of the Southern Isles..."

"I pity your parents, then. I may have been a disappointment to mine, but you're just a diplomatic nightmare."

"A temporary setback. When I am king..." he blustered.

"On the thirty-second of never? No, I'm afraid 'King Otto' isn't in the cards." Literally not, as it was the Serendipity Deck which had led her to this mission in the first place.

Once she confiscated the castle keys from Otto, she had him chained and dragged away. Sarah's royal parents could deal with him later. Meanwhile, she queried the castle and found the princess locked up in a luxurious bedchamber.

"I'm Captain Manzana. Your parents hired me to rescue you," Regina said to the frightened girl. Remembering what it was like to be trapped, pressured into a marriage she didn't want, Regina softened her voice. "It's all right. You're safe now."

Still wary, the princess allowed Regina to escort her downstairs. Regina paused at the front gate. She turned to Smee. "Take her to the Malus and wait for me. There's one more thing I need to check." Taking a lantern, Regina turned back to the castle.

"Captain, wait," protested Smee. "Are you sure it's wise to go alone? What if there's a trap?"

"All the better. This expedition hasn't offered much challenge so far."

"That's the best kind," grumbled Smee.

Regina rolled her eyes. She picked the most bored-looking of the crew. "Fine. Rafe, you come with me."

There were two other prisoners, the castle had told her. Curious that Otto had not mentioned them, nor the princess. Regina found them in a dungeon in the bottom of the castle, where the crashing of the waves drowned out any cries for help. The door opened to her, but the prisoners were chained to the wall.

"Hold the lamp." Regina left Rafe in the doorway as she moved warily towards the prisoners. "So. What have we here?"

"Are you... who are you?" As the prisoners stared at her, and one of them stammered out his questions, Regina realized that they were children. Two frightened boys.

"Captain Manzana, of the Malus." Regina coaxed the story out of the boys. They had come here on some foolhardy quest to free the princess, but had been caught by Otto the moment they set foot inside the magic castle. She shook her head at the would-be heroes. "Next time, leave it to the professionals."

"That's...that's what you are? A mercenary?"

"If you like. I'm certainly not here out of the goodness of my heart."

The other boy, who had held his tongue up to this point, gave his friend an anxious look. "Henry, your family...?"

The first boy turned to him. "Yes, of course."

Regina blinked, taken aback. "'Henry'?"

Henry nodded. "That's me. And this is my friend, Hansel. Don't worry, my family will pay the ransom for him, too."

Regina bit back a smile. "Henry was my father's name, too." And her father would have wanted her to help these children. "Tell you what, this one's on me." She took out her lock picks and started on the shackles. "Now, where do you two live?"

He named the capital of the United Kingdoms of the Enchanted Forest.

"A long way from home. Not my favorite place to visit, but..." Regina finished loosening the shackles. "Let's get started." She helped them into the corridor where Rafe was waiting with the lantern. The light washed over their faces, illuminating them clearly for the first time. Regina gasped, a jolt of recognition shocking through her.

The boy. Henry. He's the one Pan wants.

Frozen in disbelief that her decades-long search could be at an end, Regina stared, her hand closing automatically on Henry's arm to hold him in place.

"Wh-what's wrong?" Henry tugged back, his alarm increasing when Regina didn't release him. "Captain?"

I promised to take him home.

Regina shook away the thought. He's nothing to you. You made a deal with Pan. But looking into the face of the boy, seeing innocent trust about to be betrayed, she hesitated.

I only want to know you're doing the right thing. Her father's last words to her echoed in her memory. And now she was about to sell his namesake to a demon. No.

Regina sighed, dropping her grip. "Nothing. Your face looked familiar. Come on, let's get you home." She would resign from Pan's service and take back her life. As long as he didn't find out about this Henry—

"The Truest Believer." Rafe's voice had gone strange. He grabbed Henry, looping a rope around his wrists in one swift motion. "Your home is with Pan."

"Rafe! Let him go." Regina's command fell on deaf ears. Rafe had the blank, faintly glowing eyes of the possessed. With a sinking feeling, Regina realized that he had never stopped being a Lost Boy. All this time, he must have been Pan's spy aboard the Malus.

"Hey! What are you doing?" The other boy, Hansel, charged at Rafe, but the Lost Boy easily fended him off, knocking him to the ground and kicking him once he was down.

"Hansel!" Henry jerked uselessly against the rope.

Rafe met Regina's eyes. "You owe a debt. Pan's gifts always come with a price, and you must pay."

"Fine." Regina stooped down as if to shove Hansel out of their path, but she straightened suddenly and caught Rafe in the face with a fistful of poppy dust. "...we'll see about that." She transferred the rope from Henry to the now-sleeping Rafe. "There. That should keep him for now." She looked at the mistrustful faces of the two boys. "I meant what I said. I'll take you home."

But Rafe (or whatever shadow spirit spoke through him) meant what he said, too.

Regina almost made it to the end of the corridor before she collapsed.

All the years Neverland held back, may they fall on you threefold.

Quiet enveloped Regina as everything went dark and the sound of the sea receded to a distant murmur. Human voices couldn't reach her here. Pan's curse, set in her heart years ago when they first made their agreement, bloomed at last, triggered by her betrayal.

I should have known, she thought. But what use was knowing? She wasn't the Evil Queen anymore, to buy her own happiness with the lives of her subjects. Captain Manzana was no hero, but she didn't trade in children, either. As the years had gone by with no sign of Pan's target, Regina had fooled herself into thinking that she would never have to make good on her own end of that deal. It had been pleasant to be an adventurer for hire, respected for her skills rather than her title or past reputation.

Well, everything came to an end. That was the lot of all mortal life, wasn't it? A peaceful way to go, all things considered. She couldn't summon the energy to fight her fate.

She thought, then, of drawing the sign. Just the pattern traced out with her finger would be enough if she willed it. If she called for him. The name she had not called in four years.

He was already there. The shadow lurking behind the other shadows.

"I didn't summon you," she said softly.

"You don't need to draw a sign for me. Your soul is beacon enough."

"Because I'm dying."

He didn't say anything. They both knew it was true. Then Regina sighed. "Thank you. I... I'm glad you're here."

"Four years. It's been four years."

"Four years is nothing to you."

"It's everything." Then he was kneeling behind her, drawing her into his arms, supporting her in his lap when she had no strength to sit up. "Regina... why?"

"I was afraid," she admitted. Afraid when she realized how much he had come to mean to her. "It all seems so stupid now. Four more years we could have been together."

He caressed her cheek, moistened with her tears. "It doesn't have to be the end."

Regina forced a chuckle. "Don't... don't lie to me. I... brought it on myself. I know."

"And you brought your own salvation with you."

"What... what do you mean?"

Facilier lifted a hand, and two faint outlines glimmered through the shadows. "Who are these children? Give them to me. Their lives for yours, that's a trade I can make."

"No!" A moment of clarity and a flash of panic fueled her protest.

Then one of the outlines pushed through the veil of darkness. It was Henry. "Please, sir, are you a sorcerer? Can you save her? I'll pay..."

Facilier chortled. "He offers freely..."

"Don't you dare!" The boy didn't know what he was saying. She wanted to jump up and force him away to safety, but even the effort of speaking exhausted her.

"Are you certain?"

"It was my decision. Don't... don't you dare take it away from me. Twenty years we had."

"What about your revenge?"

"I don't care about that anymore." Regina was surprised to say it, even more surprised that it was true. It was another woman who had carried that grudge, an eon ago in another life.

"But you don't know who this boy is."

"His name is Henry. He told me."

"Ah, but did he tell you he is the grandson of Snow White and her charming husband? Their only grandchild, as it happens."

"What!?" Regina tilted her head to face the boy. "Is this true?"

Henry's eyes were wide, shocked, but he nodded. "What...what does he mean about revenge?"

"It doesn't matter," Regina spat out harshly.

"Doesn't it?" Facilier murmured, his breath warming her neck. "It could be my gift to you."

And oh gods, she was tempted. Back in the world, in the world where her heart beat for vengeance, where blood ran hot in her veins, she would have accepted. Hate for hate, loss for loss, to kill Snow's grandchild like this. But here, in the shadows, with the years weighing her down, meaning drained away and she saw only a boy with a life ahead of him — if she didn't cut that life short, as she had done to so many once upon a time.

What's one more?

It would be one too many. To go back to that, now? She shut her eyes. "No. No, I don't want that."

"Then Pan's curse will kill you."

"No, that can't be right," protested Henry. "She was saving us. Good can't lose to evil, not like this."

It's not a game, Regina wanted to tell him. Black and white pieces on a board — life wasn't like that. But she had no breath left.

"If it's a curse... wait... there's one magic powerful enough to break any curse. Please, sir, you have to try."

"True love's kiss? Ah, child, such things are not for those such as I." Facilier's soft response caught at the end. As if in grief. As if he could feel such a thing. Regina felt his hand around hers, holding her here.

Not for much longer. Not against her will. He had always respected her choices. And now he would let her go...

"But you love her, don't you? You have to try!"

She didn't hear Facilier's answer, or what the boy said after that. Love? Was that what it was that they felt? That he felt? That she felt? The boy was too optimistic. What was it Rafe had said? The Truest Believer.

But when all sensation faded, and Regina thought she would never feel anything ever again, she felt the press of his lips on hers. Familiar, warm, the same as all the times before, but not the same at all.

I love you.

As the truth of that love rushed through her, light flared bright enough to pierce her closed eyelids, a rainbow that shattered every curse binding her soul.

True love's kiss.