A/N: I've wanted to experiment with pitting the Evil Queen against Dark Swan for a while now, so finally came up with an idea stemming from the new season. I don't tend to like writing a storyline closely following the show while it's still airing/ changing, but this is more a starting point to then go off in its own direction regardless of what happens in upcoming episodes. I hope you'll join me on this new little journey and enjoy the first chapter. Reviews would be awesome :)
(NB: Rated M for smut and twisted power-play, this story takes on a darker tone than most of my others.)
Standing in the shadow of the trees, the Queen watches as her better-half - her lesser-half - raises her palms and cloaks her vault with a protection spell. To her weaker-self's side stands Snow White, and she grits her teeth as her long-ago nemesis places a kind hand on the Mayor's forearm and murmurs something softly into her ear. Beside Snow stands her Prince, sporting an expression of concentration as though merely keeping himself alive is pushing his mental capacity to the limit.
Well, that's always seemed highly likely.
The Queen sneers to herself, watching the three figures that crowd the mouth of the old crypt in the dying light of the fall sun.
How could it have come to this?
She seethes. She is unable to hear what the others say from her cloak of darkness, but she recognises the universal gesture Snow makes with her hand, and the others follow her towards the road and eventually slip from sight. The fact that her lesser-self walks alongside the others- companionably close- fills her with rage while subsequently instilling a great sense of relief to finally be free of that wretched body. To be let loose from that hellish moral prison.
Not to mention, to be rid of that terrible wardrobe.
Scarlet lips stretch into a slow smirk. She had been growing so tired of modest, heavy dress pants and fitted shirts. She supposes certain elements of this new world have rubbed off on her, as she has dressed herself now not in the garish opulence favoured during her reign, but in a darker, sleeker version of her royal attire: black leather clinging to her slim legs to match a sinfully low-cut corset beneath her velvet cloak.
Stepping out from the shadows, she makes her way toward the vault and extends a hand.
As she'd anticipated, she's confronted with an invisible barrier that extends in a dome about two feet from the crypt's entrance. Curiously, while the breed of magic that has been used is strong- blood magic one of the oldest and most revered forms of power used back in her homeland- the potency of the spell lacks the force she'd been bracing herself for.
Well, it would appear love really is weakness.
Readying herself to vanquish the feeble enchantment, she stills, catching the telling crunch of footsteps through fallen leaves. Slinking swiftly back behind the wall of the crypt, she slips out of sight, wondering irritably who her unwanted visitor might be.
A part of her hopes for Snow.
Snow to have come back, having forgotten something perhaps.
Snow alone. Vulnerable.
She'd even settle for the Prince, she supposes.
Yes.
Even better, in fact.
Even better for it to be Charming walking alone in the sweet promise of nightfall now that she thinks about it. Better Snow's loved one than the bitch herself. Oh, it has been a long time since she was last in a position to cause the lying little wretch some pain, and preying on her heart rather than merely hurting the Fair Queen directly seems a perfect way to celebrate her new and intoxicating independence.
Call it a christening if you will. A baptism of blood.
A terrible smirk resurfaces on her lips as she waits for her trespasser to make themselves known.
Because, really, that's what it is. Trespassing. No one should have any business here. No one should-
"-Shit."
The Queen's fury is interrupted by a bemused sigh as a twig snaps beneath dark boots and her companion stalks into view.
Emma stands with one hand fisted against her hip and the other holding her phone. She frowns down at the screen while the wind plays havoc with her hair before looking back up with a frustrated sniff of confirmation.
Behind her, unseen, dark eyes glitter.
Even better...
The Queen holds her breath, hardly believing her luck. Since finding herself free to slip through the shadows of this strange land her lesser-self calls home, she's been so preoccupied with the idea of revenge on her long-ago nemesis that she'd all but forgotten one very important player in her better-self's life.
How could I have forgotten the Saviour?
She muses with some surprise, but then she supposes her brief lapse of thought makes sense. Regina might have dealt with the impossibly vexing woman on a daily basis, but the last time she- The Queen- encountered the prophetic blonde, she'd been an infant. Nothing but a worrying weed to be crushed. An omen.
My, how things change.
Indeed, and she studies the younger woman intently as the latter scuffs at the leaves littering the ground.
"Could have waited for me at least..."
Emma mutters grumpily to herself, and the Queen raises a well-shaped brow as she contemplates the detestable likelihood that it might be the Mayor this irritable yet casually accepting qualm is aimed towards and bites her lip.
How unfortunate that the others have left you out here all alone, dear...
Her heart beats fast in her chest as her mind reels with the possibilities of her current situation. She needs to tread with caution, she knows this, as while held captive by her ever-more sickening journey to virtue, she's witnessed enough of what the Saviour has to offer to recognise the potential danger Emma may pose.
The blonde is powerful.
But so am I...
She smiles, and the cause is not only the wonderful freedom of seeing the Saviour for what she truly is once again- a problem, a thorn, a nuisance to be snuffed out- but, without the leash of her morals, she is able to allow herself to acknowledge other things that come to mind when considering the blonde.
Things she'd been vaguely aware of, yet had vehemently denied herself of thinking about when they had first met. Her better-half- even before being broken and weakened by the heroes- had been proper. Dignified. Cold. All facets of her true self reinforced by the tight binds of her position as Mayor and the strain of her knowledge. She'd lacked the wicked pursuit for fun that flickers dangerously in her heart once again now that she is no longer afflicted by such irksome restraints.
What's the point of power if one feels conflicted about embracing life's temptations?
Very little point! And she must admit, the Saviour is certainly a curious entity now that she's all grown up.
A tempting little game to play before getting down to business, and perhaps an intriguing asset in the grand scheme of her primary goal.
To ruin Snow White.
All in good time.
After all, after thirty long years cooped up inside the shell of her former-self, surely it's finally time for the Evil Queen to come out to play?
Smiling wickedly, she steps out into the open; bright, scarlet leaves crunching beneath the heel of her boot.
Emma turns around, startled, before a frown creeps uncertainly across her face
"... Regina?"