She's good at this. Herself being herself.
The Evil Queen is back, she muses, back at doing what she does best – hurting her enemies.
Red, familiar rage simmers in her heart since when she discovered Emma has taken Henry away. Away from her mother – away from her.
It's easier, without her son around.
It's easier to ignore his voice – I believe in you, you really have changed – it's easier to watch a giant grow, to hope he crushes David under his boots, because it will be one less obstacle for her – to Henry.
It's easier to fall in the vortex.