"Wake up, Snow."
Sprawled beneath the apple tree, Snow White is beyond vulnerable. Regina's movements are slow, deliberate. She caresses Snow's cheek, fingers following the curve of her jaw. Down, then up to her lips; so soft, so red, more like the voluptuous red of an apple than the dark maroon of blood. Cradled gently in Snow's hand is an apple with a bite taken from the side.
"I told you," she sighs, leaning down and pressing her lips to her lover's. Regina remembers the story from Henry's book. A kiss to wake a princess. "Anything beautiful is usually poisonous."