The black sticky substance is slithering towards my eyes and my nostrils and soon will be in and will conquer my body. I don't fight its advance. Because I know it doesn't matter: I'm already infected. In my mind and in my soul, I'm already sick. So I just lie here and let Mother squeeze the heart and wring all its dark juices. I don't talk but I'm letting her know I'm not afraid of what she's doing. She responds by squeezing the still beating heart even harder. Her nails thrust in the flesh and tear it open in bloody gashes. I scream in pain and then I realize. She's making me drown in my own darkness. I can't help it. I start to cry like that time I fell from the horse and she asked me if I intended to disappoint her forever while Father struggled between coming to me or staring at us from a discretionary distance. My sobs are shaking me with the same desperate rhythm than then. The impotence and self-pity I feel are the same than then. And so is the look of utter disgust Mother is shooting me. But I can't help it.
I taste my tears and they're fresh like the dew drops that swing precariously on the leaves of my apple tree early in the late winter mornings. I run my hands over my face, spreading my liquid cry all over it and washing the tar away. I'm clean now. I can move again.
By the apple tree, Henry leans over his book, concentration painted on his face. The volume is massive. I don't remember it looking so big and heavy. With every turn of the page, Henry has to use both of his hands and his tongue sticks out briefly among his lips in his typical earnest gesture. I extend my hand to pull a lock of hair out of his eyes but I freeze at mid air, fearing his reaction. "Hi, Mom!" He says, the sun hitting on his smile so brightly that I'm nearly blinded. "This is getting awesome, you're gonna love it!" His hands grip the book tightly. I notice the pages are all blank.
I'm afraid that if I look intently enough at the book I will finally be able to read it. Henry nods and closes the books. "You're gonna love it", he repeats and then gets up and disappears behind the apple tree. A path parts from here. There's a thread of gold on it. So I follow. The sun sets and the night shallows everything again, except for the pulsing glow emanating from the thread at my feet. I'm Theseus, going deep into the labyrinth instead of following the way out. I'm Dorothy with no silver slippers to carry me back home when I'm done. But maybe I'm already heading there.
The thread grows thicker and thicker and opens a cave of golden light in the night. Emma sits with her arms around her knees at the center of it. She swing swiftly and stares away at the dark. She looks peaceful. I kneel beside her and begin combing her hair. "I'm feeling much better now" she says, tilting her head to the side so I can reach for another golden lock and braid it. "I saw Henry by the apple tree" I inform her, "his book is all blank now". Fireflies are dancing all around us. I start picking some of them and pinning them to Emma's braids. Her hair gets even brighter and starts to wave slightly in the air. "That's because there's no destiny anymore" she smiles and gets up. "And I'm finally free" she takes a step forward and the light follows her. If she gets away, I'm going to be left in the dark. Lost between the blankness of an empty book and the black depths of the night. I fear I will not be strong enough to bear it. "Oh, Regina" Emma looks back at me for the last time before levitating and heading up, "but maybe we are".
She's so far way now, a shooting star with her braids waving after her like the tail of a comet. I raise my hand and grab the last strands of gold. I could keep a hold on them and just fly her like a kite, so she wouldn't get lost in the sky (so I wouldn't be left alone in the dark).
I open my hand and let the silky strains slip away, caressing my palm until they're out of reach.
