Once again I apologize for the slow updates. Life has been crazy.

Sammi16: Thanks, and you're welcome.

Guest: Thanks so much! She's definitely going through a rough and insecure patch. And thanks again, I really do like to aim for unique! So it's awesome to hear that it's a success. I've been considering it yes, but I'm not sure yet where to fit it in. I want it to look natural and not thrown in there for the sake of it being there.

baratta: Thank you, I was rather proud of this one as well.

OnceUponAFangirlOUAT: xP They needed to have at least one. I mean we are 10+ chapters in. And yup, you're correct. It didn't take her whole soul away, only part. My take on the wraith and souls is that a soul can never be completely taken-as long as you have at least one fond memory and someone to love you, a soul can be regrown.


Her footsteps are light and weary. The call is so very loud, it hurts her ears. She can feel a lukewarm trickle. She thinks that her ears might be bleeding. She whimpers to herself. It seems that her candle can't possibly burn bright enough. She tries with everything she has to make it burn brighter, but her magic fails her.

She has to find it.

If she can find it than she can make the candle brighter.

But how can she find it with such a small light?

The odds are terribly unfair. She can barely see anything in such darkness. She only feels the briers and brambles licking at her feet and tasting her blood. She believes that they get pleasure from her pain. Most things seem giddy at her suffering.

She feels like a child but she wants to go home. Wherever that may be.

She takes a deep breath and pushes forward, stumbling over a log or a stump, she can't tell which in this brand of inky darkness. She is wandering aimlessly, willing herself not to let out a choking sob as that awful, god-forsaken howl draws nearer. She knows that it is very close, she can feel the cold ebbing from it, seeping into her bones. It leaves a film of frost on skin and a glitter of ice on her lashes. Shivering now, she reaches out, feeling her way through the forest. It is growing denser and her hands run over rough bark more often than they meet with nothingness.

She is finding it hard to maneuver.

Branches claw at her prone face. One jabs her in the eye, it is too dark to tell if it has stolen her vision.

Despair settles in and she feels the wraith's presence swell. She is engorging it with her hopelessness. Her panic is of the blind sort, she finds herself tearing through the trees and in return they are tearing through her. And like every fool caught in a dark fantasy, she trips. Her foot snags on a root and she is sprawled on the ground in anguish. She can feel moss and twig against her cheek and small toadstool beneath her fingers. She claws at the ground, dirt buries itself under her finger nails.

She is shivering all over because she can hear that grotesque call. And because she has dropped her candle, the light, her only light, is gone.

A voice cuts through the shrill wail. It is a pleasant voice and Regina crawls towards it. Tears stream down her face. It tells her not to worry, that she doesn't have to cry anymore, that she doesn't have a reason for tears. But she does.

She swears that she does.

She can see a soft glowing in the distance. It is so bright, so pure. White-blue in color, it sooths her and brings some warmth back to her frigid body. As she draws nearer she begins to outlines. And then whole things. In soft blue light she can see crystals that also seem to pulse with light. She can see a staircase of fungi curling around various trees. She can see moths and fireflies, they seem just as drawn to the orb as she is. She can also see her hands. They are tattered, she can't recognize them beyond the damage. She can't imagine that her face is in any better condition. Her organza dress is muddy, shredded, and spattered with blood both fresh and long clotted. She is a dreadful sight, but a wing reaches out to her anyhow. The bird is such an untainted white. Snow white. She almost laughs. Her fingers brush the feathers and it speaks. It tells her that the light is hers.

She stares at the large orb for a moment and wonders if it really is. It looks like it has been in this place forever with a host of vines lacing over it and a generous helping of flowers blossoming from it in iridescent purples. It has been there so long that roots curl around it, she thinks that it may be connected to one of the trees.

"Go on." The bird tells her.

So she approaches the orb, it stands only a few inches shorter than she is tall. She doesn't think that a simple touch to its surface will do her much good. So she curls herself around it, practically hugging the thing.

Her light.

It is hers.

It takes away her torment. She can feel it drifting away from her. She closes her eyes. She thinks that she had only done so for a second. But it couldn't have been because when she opens them again, her battered hands are smooth and soft and clean of blood. And the forest, it has changed too. It is still dark but it is no longer dead. It is no longer foreboding and forlorn. It feels almost welcoming. It is in full bloom and it is aglow with species of plan, Regina has no concept of.

Various animals lap at a pool of water that may as well have been an aquamarine gemstone. She hasn't even come across the majority of their species even in the Enchanted Forest. They are so large compared to her. And when one of them—a horse-stag hybrid creature—pushes its almost absurdly fuzzy muzzle against her, she falls backwards. It hadn't meant her any harm, it was a gesture of affection. But it had underestimated its size or overestimated hers.

Innocent.

It is innocent.

Everything here is innocent. Pure in every sense.

She doesn't know if she has a place here.

The horse-stag isn't the only thing larger than her. It seems that everything is bigger than it should be. She notices for the first time that the orb is gone. She wanders to where it had been, all that remains is a crater crawling with roots and vines.

She reaches out to touch it.

And she notices how small her hands are.

It dawns on her that it is not the animals that are larger than they ought to be, but she who is smaller. She teeters over to the crystalline pool and the animals make room for her. Her fingers hover above the surface and a small fish comes up to press its nose to them. A fish with a nose, it makes no sense to her. But it is oddly charming. It distracts her for a moment, before disappearing again. Leaving her with her reflection. She expects to see her own face. And she does. But she is only a child. A little girl.

She thinks that it should alarm her, but it doesn't.

Because now she knows…

She does belong here. She is pure, she is innocent.

She is clean.