Get it to work! Get it to work! Get it to work!

That was what he told himself every day. He didn't eat…he didn't drink…he barely slept….he just worked.

Get it to work! Get it to work! Get it to work!

When wasn't sure when this madness started….but it was the only thought that consumed him. His daughter was waiting for him. She was crying herself to sleep right now perhaps because she didn't know where he was. She probably thought he was dead. She probably thought he abandoned her. Oh gods, he hoped she didn't believe he abandoned her. He hoped she was smart enough to realize that he would never do that intentionally. Gods, he should never have agreed to this.

Get it to work! Get it to work! Get it to work!

They gave him an unlimited supply of colors and fabrics and accessories…and Jefferson tried to make them he tried. He made them one by one…just hoping that his magic would flow into it. Gods, what good would him having magic be if he couldn't use it?

He worked until his hands were sore from clutching scissors and his fingers ached from holding the needle. He rushed to create as many hats as he could…he stabbed his fingers by accident so many times that his blood stained the fabrics. He hoped…just hoped that ONE of them would work.

But with a magic hat came a certain energy that he could sense, and none of them had that. He failed every day.

Get it to work! Get it to work! Get it to work!

And with that failure came…punishment. The Queen came in every day to assess his work. At first it was physical pain that she inflicted. His back and legs were beaten by reeds but they never touched his hands. Eventually his back was covered with welts and it was raw and bleeding. He could barely walk without crying in pain, but he supposed that was the point. The more time he spent walking, the less time he spent doing her bidding.

They shaved his head another time; the shears cut into his scalp so deeply that it would leave scars….He just stared blankly ahead as blood dripped down past his eyes. He would terrify his daughter if she saw him like this…scarred up and broken…

Maybe that was still the Queen's intention. Jefferson didn't know why he worked. He had abandoned hope of seeing her again. It didn't occur to him until after they shaved his head that he probably wouldn't join them on the way back. They would betray him as Regina had.

But he still fought anyway…he still hoped…because if he gave up then he would disappoint his daughter even more and the disappointment and failure he'd created for her was already irreparable.

Get it to work! Get it to work! Get it to work!

The emotional torture started a year after he was there. He hadn't had a full night's sleep in months. He'd barely eaten or slept. He didn't have time to. There was always work to be done.

He was sick, he knew that. He had forced too much of a toll on his body but he couldn't rest even if he wanted to. He was in too much pain.

He knew it was the fever when he looked up and saw his wife. He knew it was impossible that she was there but he still felt his heart swell in his chest when he saw her. He felt the tears start to surface as he stared into her beautiful blue eyes.

And for a second, he let himself believe that he was seeing her, "Karenina."

She gave a small smile.

He started sobbing then, "Karenina, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I ruined everything. It all fell apart…I've lost our daughter. I'm sorry. I couldn't protect her. It should've been me! It should've been me and not you."

He grabbed her hands desperately and stared into his wife's eyes…She looked sympathetic to him and he felt his heart break even more.

But it wasn't her. He knew that. But he was desperate…and he was tired and he needed to get this out of his system or else the guilt would drive him insane.

He reached out to wrap his arms around her torso. It wasn't her. It didn't even smell like her. If it wasn't a delusion then it was one of the witches in the court masquerading as his wife…he wouldn't be surprised. They had looked into his mind earlier to make sure he was telling the truth…it was a painful process that nearly killed him.

He should be furious…he should be angry that they were using the image of his dead wife to manipulate him but he was just so tired….other than Grace, there was nothing left. And it wasn't as if he had given his wife's memory any honor….so why should he defend it when he had failed her so badly?

Something warm soaked through his shirt and he pulled away. His eyes widened as the wounds that killed his real wife opened on her.

"No!" he sobbed, "Please. Don't. Don't make me watch it. Not again!"

He knew it wasn't her but it was just too real….so real that he visited Karenina's death in perfect memory.

The woman wearing his wife's face fell to the ground convulsing. Jefferson scrambled away to the corner and started crying harder. HE rocked back and forth with his hands over his eyes until they found him in the morning.

They broke something in him after that. The Queen tried to tore him with images of his daughter as well but…he didn't respond. He couldn't. He just worked.

He didn't know how long he spent in that room. It could've been 2 years, it could have been 20…and every day he lost both sanity and hope.

Get it to work! Get it to work! Get it to work!

He poured all his frustration and agony into his work…maybe one day…he could summon the right emotion to get the magic into the hat.

He poured so much energy into his work that he never even noticed the purple smoke that broke the windows in the room and covered him until he realized he couldn't see what he was doing.

Get it to work! Get it to work! Get it to work!