Lupin stood before his brother's flower strewn grave; in all honesty he didn't know why he came to this place. The grave itself was only symbolic and had been completely useless for some time. He pondered that his frequent visits was because of a strange morbid curiosity of one who knew death but never truly felt its sting.

"You come here almost everyday don't you?" the mayor, the woman that caused this counterfeit grave to come into existence.

The boy smiled emotionlessly and shrugged, "It's not like I have anything better to do."

Regina carefully tooled he features into an expressionless mask, that empty smile fazed her more than she would like to admit, "I try to come as often as I can."

"I know, you've left roses," Lupin remained facing the grave, never moving to observe the woman beside him.

She smirked, "They pale in comparison to yours."

The boy groaned in exasperation, "Don't tell me we are competing about who's flora choices are better!"

Setting her blood red roses on the edge of the plot of lupin flowers, Regina sighed, "Of course not," resting what was meant to be a comforting hand on the lad's shoulder, she whispered, "I know what it is like to lose someone close to me as well."

Lupin's skin grew ice cold in rage, how dare this witch touch him! He quickly moved out of her reach, finally looking into her eyes, "And do you know what it is like to stand before the root of such agony and not be permitted to eradicate it?" Without waiting for her answer, the boy stalked angrily towards the outlying woods.

Gulping for a steadying breath, Regina shook from the anger and power the boy's silver eyes conveyed to her. Never had she thought such power could be found in this world she had shifted to, never had she thought it was possible.

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The people were worn, they were broken, and they were dying. Oppressed by the horrific power and indescribable anger of a sorcerer to feared to ever name. Even the wilderness, which was left largely unscathed, grew darker and foreboding as the years of tyranny continued. But once something is pushed past its breaking point, pushed until it has nothing left to lose; it strikes out in anger like a wounded rabid animal hungry for flesh. These ancient people were far pass their breaking point and they were hungering for sorcerer flesh.

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Staring impassively at the angered masses that stood outside his gates, the sorcerer smiled grimly. The fools thought that they could destroy him? A cold mirthless laugh echoed bitterly from his lips, they would die for such treachery. The knowledge that was used to imprison him before had been lost long ago, there was nothing that could defeat him and his battered wounded soul.

Shadows embraced him like old friends, thirsting for blood and pain to quell their unending hunger. A hungry, crazed smile graced the sorcerer's face; his violent hunger would be well fed tonight.

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The fields were transformed into lakes of blood, bodies littered the ground, there was nothing but silence to be heard. No survivors, no mercy.

The sorcerer smiled at his grotesque creation, no one would have try to harm him again, no one would dare. The pride of such gruesomeness, however, quickly faded when neither happiness nor joy warmed his heart. He felt nothing, no anger, no sorrow, no sadness, nothing, he felt nothing.

Blue eyes widening in surprise, where was his anger? Where was his hatred? Where were those two constant companions that led him down the road to hell? Why did they abandon him now? He had finally succeeded in snuffing out any threat that would ever harm him.

With new eyes he looked at the land around him, truly seeing the fruits of his hatred for what it truly was. He saw the faces of the people that lay dead before, a mother holding her child, a father trying in vain to protect his son. So many lay dead by his hand, so many were his victims.

All this killing, all this horror, was for nothing. He had gained nothing! The only thing that was created was a soul fit to burn in hell for all eternity. He had become what the Citadels were afraid of, he had proven the stuck up bastards right! He had become his own worst enemy.

Finally, an emotion emerged from his blank empty heart, an emotion that he had not felt in many a century; terror. He was not afraid of anyone hearting him, he was not afraid of being betrayed, he was not afraid of being abandoned, he was afraid of what he had become. And he did what any child would do, he ran.

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Mr. Gold closed the book softly; it reminded him of when his son left. Afraid of the monster his father had become. Smiling sadly , he put the book on one of his many shelves, silently respecting the sorcerer for his strength to stop, of his strength to realize and admit his was wrong. Mr. Gold couldn't help but wish he had such strength, then again it did take the sorcerer a few centuries to figure it out. There was hope for him yet.

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Emma sipped her coffee as she tried to focus on her pile of paperwork that seemed to breed on her desk. But her mind would not cooperate; she couldn't help but think back to Henry's book. There was no way magic was involved, right? Oh, what was she thinking! Someone probably dropped it; it wasn't like that well actually worked.

She looked up as a Lupin passed her window, his eyes downcast, his lips forming a sad frown. Emma blinked in surprise, she had never seen him so sad, which was strange considering the fact that he should be the one person in this entire town that should be depressed.

Without even thinking about her actions, she rose from her seat, running after him, "Lupin, wait!

Well I finally updated, Yay! Sorry it's a little short, but please please please Review!