"Where are you?"
The Queen mutters angrily, but her question is met with silence, which feeds her rage all the more. Her limbs are tight- her fists cramping as she keeps them closed around silken sheets- as she remains sat rigidly still in an attempt to pick up any noise from elsewhere in the castle. The idea that the blonde might no longer be inside the Palace grounds at all had struck her momentarily, but she has since thrown this theory out as unlikely, just as she had down in the topiary garden. Emma has nothing to gain in leaving their current battleground, nor would she have a clue where to go in this strange land.
She must be lurking around somewhere, but her decision to keep her whereabouts a secret vex her tormentor no end.
"You're just making things worse for yourself when I do eventually find you... Because I will. I will find you, dear."
The Queen seethes. Beside her, the sheets glisten damningly with her own spent excitement, and the room smells strongly of sex as well as the acrid stench coming from the burnt grooves in the stone. Their games since coming here have been rife with a battle for dominance- for power- which is not a first for her by any means, although the carnal element is one she can't recall ever being so brazen about, nor so frequent in her previous brawls for the upper hand. She has spent the last thirty-odd years stuck in a land with little release; trapped inside the prison of the Mayor who, even upon regaining control of her magic, had played by a set of rules handed to her by the Saviour she'd once vowed to destroy. Rules she'd not always played by happily, but she had played by them. She had allowed her lessers to keep her bound, to keep her tethered, to keep her tame.
As such, her recent spate of pleasure remains on her mind beneath her rage; her sex thrumming along with her head.
"The Saviour crawled... Crawled at my demand..."
She hisses victoriously to the silent room; picturing the slick gleam coating pale thighs as the blonde had knelt on the floor after tasting her.
After her need to taste her- to fuck her- had allowed her temporary freedom to do as her mistress demanded of her, and oh, she had done so wonderfully.
"Harlot."
The Queen spits, but she is offered no reply, and she suffers the unfavourable realisation that a great deal of her irritation that the blonde should be missing stems from her wish to keep the bitch to hand so that she might ask for a repeat of recent events should the mood take her.
I will ask her no such thing!... I will tell her. I will demand it... The days of the Saviour believing she possesses free will are a thing of the past. I own her, as I own the game... I've proven as much.
Yes, she is certain, as beneath her rage, beneath her lust, beneath her conviction, she relishes the lingering sensation of the blonde's misery so recently sampled. The emotions she'd channelled through the younger woman had been raw and terrible, and she strives to put together fractured puzzle pieces glimpsed in a kaleidoscope of distress so that she might utilise Emma's memories as punishment the next time she needs to keep her in line.
"Oh, and she's going to get it for her current little game."
She vows, although she suffers a slight sense of unease as her dark eyes flicker yet again to the destruction that marks the floor, and she wonders whether there might be repercussions for her lowest blow yet that extend beyond the younger woman's control.
"Impossible. She's merely playing true to her nature. Playing the flake. Running away..."
The Queen purrs, yet her hands remain fisted around silk sheets and her rage remains true as her eyes hunt the shadows growing steadily darker as night begins to fall.
Finally, she pushes herself up and stalks towards the window; looking out over the grounds, before taking a step back and studying the soft haze of her reflection now prominent against the bruised backdrop beyond.
"Oh..."
She breathes.
"Oh... You foolish thing. You ignorant whelp. You don't have what it takes to best me; I have my ways... True, I should have thought of this before now, but it matters not. What matters is that I win. Again, I win. You're mine. I have you now..."
Her words come out breathless- little more than a whisper- as she makes her way to the looking glass adorning the vanity table she'd spent hours behind back when things were good. Back when she'd had the throne.
Contemplating her reflection, she notes that her lips maintain a slight swell from where they have crashed against the blonde's, and she touches her tongue gently to the centre of her Cupid's bow- admiring the velvet point- before taking in a deep breath and closing her eyes.
When she opens them again, she is met with the cold squaller of the dungeons down below. She sees the cells in a distorted maze; glimpsed through a set of keys hung out of reach of the bars as her magic seeks out any surface that will allow her to scour the grounds. Finding no trace of the blonde amongst chains and dirt, she moves on, eyes glittering with a magenta hue as she moves methodically through the rooms of the Palace; skipping from mirrors, to suits of armour, to pots, to pans, to the guilded back of a hairbrush.
"Where are you?"
She repeats, moving fast through various scenes as she broadens her search to the gardens, to the grounds sheds, to the stables, to the woods, to the-
She stills, the dizzying showreel playing out inside the glass coming to a halt as she narrows her eyes and backtracks; honing in on several pieces of armour littering the courtyard, before finding the chest plate propped against the wall inside the stable and summoning its view.
"Got you..."
She breathes, although a slight frown furrows her brow as she studies the scene displayed to her; cocking her head as she drinks in dust, bone, and the sorry figure her prey casts in the shadows.
The blonde lies on her back; motionless. The heavy leather once more shrouding her slim frame makes it impossible to say whether or not she's breathing, but the Queen tells herself not to be ridiculous, as the idea that the younger woman might have succumbed to her torment is laughable.
Is it?
Yes, she would say so... And yet she suffers a niggling doubt as she remains glued to the scene; unable to see the Saviour's face from the angle she's given, but sensing no change in the blonde's position as thunder booms ominously overhead. The roof of the stables would have been rethatched in early summer had the curse not hit, and she knows its years standing derelict will have turned minor weaknesses in integrity into open wounds, allowing in rain, snow and whatever else Mother Nature might wish to throw down. The cobbled floor is no doubt cold, and soon it will be wet, yet the Saviour lies limp and shows no reaction to her surroundings.
She must know that I'm watching her...
The Queen reasons, although she can't see how this would be, and she isn't sure she's willing to praise the bitch with the necessary wits to pull off her sorry guise.
The woman is a snake...
Yes, but she is also a novice. Powerful, that much has been proven... But would she really possess the foresight to set a trap?
It was the bitch's job in her past life!
True. And yet... The Queen wonders. She had felt something when she'd touched the blonde just below the base of her skull and leeched the chaos contained within. Something quite similar in sensation to an elastic band; pulled further and further and becoming frayed. With each foul memory she'd fed off as she'd maintained her grip, that stretch had become ever more precarious, and as she glances back now at the ugly groves created in the hard stone floor, she wonders if that band- that tether- might have snapped with the blonde's disappearance. She is unsure whether such a thing is even possible, and thus has no idea what might have happened to the Saviour as a result, but as dark eyes fixate once more on the lifeless figure in the stables, she wonders...
"If what I did killed her, I would have felt it... I'm sure."
She muses, but as the sky darkens and the rain begins turns to sleet, she is unable to push aside a tiny sliver of uncertainty, and when a tongue of lightning lashes the sky, she pushes herself from the bed with the resolve to put her mind at ease and figure out just what's happened to her recent sparring partner for herself.
"If you're not dead, dear, you're about to wish you were, I can promise you that much."
She seethes, before cloaking herself in purple smoke and entering the storm.
"What do we do now?"
Lily asks shakily as she stalks alongside the Mayor in the hazy glow of the streetlights. Main Street is deserted, glistening with the earlier rain that seems content to hold off for the time being, but lingers heavily in the air. They walk quickly, neither of them discussing the decision as they make their way back towards the blonde's house to regroup. Regina had sent a text to Henry as soon as they'd left Gold's shop, telling him to stay over at the Charmings' and ask David to pick him up. The fact that she has yet to receive a reply demanding to know what's happened that would have her staying out so late leads her to believe Violet must still be at theirs keeping him occupied. She is unable to help the fact that this thought sits ill with her, although she has been told more than once by the blonde that she's a little too uptight about the matter.
"Seriously, it's fine. They hold hands, they giggle way too much, and sometimes they kiss. It's hardly anything inappropriate given their age! There's kids that do a whole lot worse!"
Emma had pointed out when the Mayor had asked for her to weigh in on whether the two should be left upstairs unsupervised when their young romance first blossomed, and she'd offered the blonde a frown, before biting back irritably
"You'd know a lot about that, would you? Speaking from experience?"
She supposes it's a sign of just how little animosity remains between them that this snide barb had merely earned her a sigh and a calm utterance of agreement.
"Regina?"
Lily prompts now as they round the corner and head up the blonde's driveway, and she offers the younger woman a distracted glance as she fishes Emma's spare key out of her pocket.
"Now, we've got to figure out a way to get to the Enchanted Forest."
She muses bitterly; past mishaps and accidental excursions suggesting this might be easier said than done. Leading them through into the younger woman's living room- pushing the slatted door to the closet closed as she passes without any real thought- she takes a seat on one of the sofas that centre the room before looking up at her companion with belated frustration.
"And since when did any of this become 'we'?"
She demands, and Lily offers her a withering look as she stalks over to one of the bookcases in the corner; proceeding to pull out a couple of paperbacks to flick through at random, before shoving them back in the wrong order. Her carelessness has Regina clenching her jaw, although the darker woman doubts Emma will have set the books out in any discernible pattern to begin with.
"It became 'we' when you told me my best friend's basement door had been kicked in at the same time she went AWOL."
The younger woman states, and Regina frowns as she studies her curious companion shrewdly.
"I hardly think Miss Swan counts as your best friend."
She counteracts, and Lily raises a brow as she looks up from a copy of The Firm and asks silkily
"No? Who would you propose I give the title to instead?"
"... It's been a long time since the two of you were close."
"Yeah... Much longer then it's been since your last attempt to harm her."
"Please... Let's not start that again."
Regina sighs wearily, holding her hand up to ask for a truce, and Lily nods as she takes a seat opposite the Mayor and replies seriously
"Look, it became 'we' as soon as you asked if I might know anything. I mean, honestly... What did you expect after what Gold just told us? That I'd just leave it?"
"...I work better alone."
"Not true."
"How would you-"
"-You can work alone... You work better with Emma."
"Emma's not here."
The darker woman reminds through gritted teeth, and Lily splays her palms as she points out
"That's not a denial."
"No... It's not. What of it?"
"I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page."
The younger woman shrugs and Regina thins her lips as she muses upon this response, before continuing a little uncomfortably
"About that... I want to ask you about your response to something mentioned in Gold's shop..."
"Okay, look, that jumped-up little wizard said the cuff held remnants of your magic! You can't blame me for jumping to the conclusion that-"
"-No. Not that."
"What, then?"
"...When I shared that I believed Emma's behaviour seemed flirtatious towards me, I expected at least one of you to tell me I must be mistaken. Or to at the very least greet the notion with surprise! ... As it is, I'm not quite sure what your reaction suggested...?"
She strives to adopt a politely neutral expression, although she is aware that her cheeks burn as she finds everything about the topic they broach more than a little uncomfortable. The one positive she takes from the situation is that Lily seems even more uneasy than she does, as the younger woman swallows before looking away and agreeing quietly
"Well... It certainly wasn't a surprise."