A/N: For those who might be wondering, there will be one more Red-centric chapter after this one. The rest of the narrative stays with Regina. That isn't to say Red won't show up again. She will. I promise.
Standard Disclaimer: These lovely characters ain't mine, I just play with them gently. Please don't sue me. The mistakes are mine, though.
Chapter 18 – Borealis
For days on end, the cycle repeats. With nothing of substance to occupy her in this magical prison, Red passes the time pacing to and fro until her legs turn to jelly. When she can no longer stay vertical, she collapses to the filthy, ash matted floor to do one of three things: bawl her eyes out; scream until her voice can no longer produce sound; or simply lie motionless having drained herself of any energy with which to express the frustration, anxiety, and despair that now dominate her every waking thought. Once she's recovered her wits enough to think somewhat coherently and her legs can once again support her weight, she arises to complete the futile circuit all over again.
There is no reprieve to be found in sleep, for the magic keeping her imprisoned also binds her to consciousness. She supposes the bliss of slumber would be too great a mercy here, someplace apparently designed specifically to slowly drive its occupant insane. It's a form of torture where her mind is responsible for all the dirty work instead of some grimy cretin – or heartless mother-in-law – wielding a whip or a knife. It does so with a panache that leaves little doubt she is, in this place at least, her own greatest enemy.
It would be a hopeless task to count the number of times she's imagined Regina dying. Usually bloody and alone, broken in body and spirit, half shrouded in the malice-twisted shadow of a witch with green skin and striking hair the color of the setting sun. Those are the manifestations of her deepest fear, and they never fail to paralyze her and cauterize her ability to maintain any semblance of rationality. The dark part of her, the one that always craves carnage during Wolf's Time, repetitively informs her those minutes – or hours for all she knows – of bone chilling terror proceeded by white hot panic are actually a preview of what awaits her should she ever get out of here. And that just sets off another bout of hysteria.
Equally pointless would be any attempt to reckon how many times she's entertained scenarios of her rescue. Oh, how she would laugh and cry in joyous tandem when Regina appeared, resplendent in a crimson gown trimmed in black lace, magic arcing from her fingertips as the cloud from which she had appeared dissipates harmlessly into thin, fingery wisps of violet smoke. Heedless of her sorry state of cleanliness, she would run headlong into her wife's arms. They'd kiss, of course, long and slow and deep to get reacquainted with how the other tastes after the excruciating separation. Then they'd go home and take a steaming bath, perhaps even make love right there in the tub, before tidying up and retiring to bed where Red would sleep for two whole days. It's that fantasy, hopeless as it feels, that keeps her sane when her logical side has already concluded the first scenario is the one most likely to be true and that she'll never see Regina alive again.
As if to further fracture the frail glass pane of her reality, time has well and truly lost all meaning. She is pretty sure that she has been marooned here for at least a week, though any further attempts to keep track of the passage of seconds, minutes, or hours became irrelevant around her hundredth cycle through the routine she developed to stay active. Pacing the circular area that isn't on fire does not lend much aid to her physical fitness, but the movement does help to ward off the earnest onset of depression. Or madness. Neither of which she can permit herself to fall victim to.
The reason to avoid insanity is fairly self-explanatory. If she were to crack and break, it would be best for everyone if she never made it out of here. A crazy woman is of no use to anyone, and a crazy werewolf even less. Red's mother, Anita, and her pack had been a menace to every living thing within a league, and they were all perfectly sane. Well, maybe not perfectly, but they were in their right minds for sure, able to discern between right and wrong, good and bad, and were aware their behavior was unacceptable to anyone with a sliver of morality left in their hearts. That being the case, she cannot imagine the havoc and terror a truly insane werewolf could wreak. How many innocents would it kill before being put down like the rabid animal it was? In that condition, utterly lost to the wolf and her bestial excesses, Red doesn't think there would be anything worth saving. If she can't be the wife that Regina deserves and the Queen that Misthaven needs, she would rather be dead.
As for depression...well, to werewolves, that particular mental condition can be fatal. It's the main reason the species has gone nearly extinct in the part of the world Misthaven inhabits. Persecution has dwindled their numbers, just not quite below levels of sustainability. No, it was the mass onset of malaise following the latest and largest culling that took the biggest toll on the packs of Misthaven. The exact science behind how the process works is known to none currently alive – that Red is aware of at least. Not even Granny has an explanation beyond an educated hunch. According to her, the wolf is inextricably linked to a person's spiritual energy, thus making it especially vulnerable to excessive bouts of grief or despair. The longer someone deteriorates within the icy throes of depression, the closer the wolf inches toward death. So if the wolf dies, the person dies, too.
Not that Red believes she can die here. Her inability to sleep combined with the fact that she does not require sustenance of any kind has led her to conclude she's not physically present. Or if she is present in body, the magic of this plane is able to sustain her without provision of the bare necessities to survival. If she'd had access to something sharp, she'd have tested the theory long ago by slitting her own throat – a macabre idea if she's ever had one. She's as confident as she can be that nothing would happen. Like the fire that she has discovered will burn her flesh without consuming it, she would feel the pain without experiencing the corresponding consequence of her action.
Maybe if she gets desperate enough, she'll be able to scrounge up the spine to rend her wrists with her teeth. Close as she is to seeing that as a viable experiment, she's not quite to the violent stage of delirium yet...
Logically all of this data taken together means whatever the correct explanation for the lethality of depression in werewolves is, in her situation it is ultimately inconsequential. The wolf will be kept alive the same way she is: with magic. All the same, avoidance of that fatal malady does not mean she can afford to lay down and give up. If there's even the slightest hope of being freed, she has to cling to it with all her might. She hasn't forgotten the oath she'd heard Regina speak as she woke up. For her own sake, she would have ceased resistance against the seemingly inevitable long ago. But for Regina…? For Regina, she will struggle against surrender until the bitter end.
Suddenly, Red is jolted out of her thoughts by a faint whooshing sound. She thinks it closely resembles the one she hears whenever her wife poofs into a room using magic.
"Hello?" she shouts, peering into the darkness on the other side of the flame wall. "Is there anyone there?" No one replies. She repeats the effort to make contact several more times before she catches a flutter of movement in the inky darkness.
Just after she's made her final bellowing call, she sees the new occupant of the chamber, clearly a woman judging by her slim but noticeable hourglass figure, slowly emerge out of the shadows. Her eyes, it seems, have regained an inkling of their keen edge so that she can now discern details about the stranger who has joined her in this special grade of hell.
The person that steps into view is a remarkably beautiful young lady around her age, with skin as fair as her own and pale blue eyes. Russet hair falls in waves about her shoulders and frames a delicate yet strong jawline capped by supple-looking lips. Her lavender dress, along with an ornate floral tiara and a stunning necklace made of pearls set into open hearts, mark her as a woman of high birth.
As Red studies her new companion, the woman stares back, gaping at her in mute disbelief. Red isn't quite sure why the woman is so astonished, nor she doesn't really care. Before her stands an opportunity at learning more about her whereabouts. Who knows, with any luck this stranger might actually know of way to get out of this godsforsaken place.
"Can you hear me?" she hollers, louder than she had before, figuring the other woman's lack of response to be caused by the ceaseless noise of an ever-burning ring of fire.
"Only just!" the woman shouts back. Red hardly hears her over the rolling rumble of flames that flare white hot, as if in condemnation of their attempt at discourse.
"I wish it would just stop!" she thinks, suddenly furious about the obstacle preventing any meaningful conversation. As if a miracle of her own fashioning, the roaring dies down to a tolerable level, as do the flames, which settle into a low, gentle sway. Red stares in wonder for a moment before returning her attention to the newcomer.
"Can you hear me now?" she poses, coming to stand closer to the wall on a hunch that pays off. The insufferable heat has died down along with the sound.
"Yes, I can," the woman says, her voice as lovely as her features. "Can you hear me?"
Red nods affirmatively. "How did you get here?"
The auburn-crowned beauty peers at her curiously, head cocked to the side. "I am frequently sent to such a chamber when I fall asleep." She steps hesitantly closer to the partition. "Is that not the case for you as well?"
Red rubs her upper arms, suddenly cold in the absence of the fire's unbearable heat. "No. This is my first trip here."
Deep sympathy bordering on pity mars the pretty woman's visage. "Oh. So you're still under the sleeping curse then. I'm sorry."
Red staggers and her heart skips a beat. "Wait a second. I'm in a sleeping curse right now?"
Suddenly, an unbidden thought darts through her mind of her best friend laying so pale and still in that glass coffin out in the middle of the forest. Snow had been put under a sleeping curse by Regina some years ago, and if what this woman is saying is true, that means Snow was once here, too.
Red feels caustic anger and hot shame color her cheeks. Shame that she hadn't made Snow talk about what happened to her after David woke her up, and anger that Regina condemned Snow to this hellish realm of ceaseless torment. If Red had known about damnable place at the time, she would have done a whole lot worse than scream in Regina's face until her eyes glowed yellow, her canines lengthened, and her lover actually started to look afraid of her. She certainly would have stayed gone a whole lot longer! More like two months instead of two measly weeks...
How could she have forgiven Regina so easily? And how could she not have recognized how acutely her closest friend in the world had suffered? The short answer is that love had blinded her. Love for Snow enhanced by profound joy that she wasn't dead and was returned unharmed to those that cared for her. And a fathomless love for Regina that overshadowed the rage that had propelled Red to flee the Dark Palace forever. Forever only lasting until she ached for Regina with an intensity that at times nearly brought her to her knees and could no longer fight against the burning desire to be with her again no matter the cost to her conscience or Snow's feelings.
Fortunately, Snow had understood why before Red did.
"What you have with her is like what I have with Charming. So don't beat yourself up, sweetie. You can't help it any more than I can," Snow had said as they sat together on one of the benches in the courtyard under a row of red maple trees. "The good you see in her and the love you have for her outweigh all other considerations. And that's not something to be ashamed of. I won't judge you for it, either. How can I when I still love her, too? Not like you do, maybe, but I really do. That's why I think you need to stop punishing yourself, and her, and go back home."
Red, course, protested with the same old tired argument. "But she cursed you! My best friend! Knowing how that would make me feel. How am I supposed to get over that, huh? How am I supposed to forgive her when I can't even stand to look at her?"
Instead of agreeing or cheering her on, Snow responded to the rant with one of her calm, reassuring smiles. "Oh, honey, I know you're upset with her and you should be. What she did was terrible, but I don't think forgiving her is the problem."
Pausing, Snow grasped Red's hand as a look came over her face that told Red she had best listen because what was about to be said was very important. And it was.
"I think you already have forgiven her," Snow then continued, the truth of her words slamming into Red with the force of a herd of cattle. "You love her too much not to. And again, that's okay, because so do I. There's no use trying to reason it out or make sense of it. That's just how love is. It makes no sense and perfect sense all at the same time. And fighting it will only cause more hurt that could so easily have been avoided. So what you need to do right now is stop fighting with your instincts and go back home. It's time to quit hiding out here and confront her about this. Staying with me won't fix anything. It won't make you feel better, or Regina, or me. And I'm not saying I don't want you here. You know I do. I love you like you were my flesh and blood sister, and you being here has been such a blessing. But we both also know you don't belong with me anymore. You belong with Regina now. And the only way you're gonna be able to make it work with her is to refuse to let her scare you off.
"She thinks that's what she's done, by the way. That you're just another in a long line of people who loved her that were unable to stomach staying with her when things got hard because she did something bad. I'm not saying this to hurt you, please know that. I just know Regina – a lot better than she thinks I do. And I know you, too. Remember all that time we spent on the road? Just you and me against the world? If nothing else, I learned during those years about how you love. So please listen to me when I say this: you may not realize it or can admit it right now, but you love her unconditionally, just the way she is, and what she did to me hasn't changed that at all. You'll never be over her as long as you both draw breath. To deny that is to deny yourself. So don't. Because despite your anger, you still want to be with her. And in spite her cynical nature, she hasn't lost you like she thinks she has. But how are you two supposed to figure that out if you refuse to leave my side?
"So go home to her, Red. Your heart is already there and has been since the moment you left her side. Listen to it! Go home. Prove to her that when you say you love her, you mean it, even when she's being...well, her. Remind her how good you are together, that it really is possible for her to be happy again. Tell her you forgive her even though she hurt me and you by proxy. And then, if she is willing to talk about what happened, please listen to what she has to say. Who knows, maybe then some long lasting good will come of this mess after all."
What could Red do in the light of that unexpected response except to embrace Snow's wisdom and act upon it. So that's what she did. She went home to Regina, told her how she felt, listened, and then forgave. And that was the last time Regina ever went after Snow.
"Sadly, yes," the woman says, returning Red to the present conversation. "That is why you are here. I'm sure you've been wondering where you were." Red nods, so she continues her explanation. "Well, this is one of the many enchanted planes to which all victims of Maleficent's sleeping curses are sent. Homely for a fire-breathing dragon, perhaps, but not so cozy for a person."
Red frowns deeply. Why hadn't Regina told her about this? Surely her wife's unique friendship with Maleficent meant she would have been privy to the existence of these so-called enchanted planes. The only reasons Red can think of, either than she simply had no idea, are both unpleasant.
One is that Regina stayed mum out of respect for her dislike of the dragon. Werewolves and dragonkind have a longstanding rivalry and a natural distrust of one another stemming from an era in the ancient past when the dragons enslaved werewolves to serve as highly efficient manual labor and to carry out assassinations that did not require a dragon's flair or finesse. The first time Maleficent visited the Dark Palace after Red started living there, a heated confrontation ensued in which Red embarrassed Regina in front of the entire court. Explaining her reasoning behind the uncharacteristic aggression only barely got her out of the proverbial doghouse. That, and the fact Regina could tell she was eaten up with jealousy. Which she totally was. There was a weird vibe between Maleficent and Regina that did not sit well with her. It still doesn't to be honest, even though she's learned to tolerate the dragon's occasional – and always offensive – presence for her wife's sake.
The other possible reasoning for Regina's silence is related to Snow. Snow was once confined here while under the sway of a curse Regina was responsible for administering. Her friend had suffered in this place for weeks before Charming woke her up. No wonder Regina hadn't said anything, if that was the case, especially considering the way Red had reacted to finding out about the Curse. Regina was probably too afraid.
Red sighs miserably. She just had to go and fall in love with the most frustrating woman in the entire universe.
"You don't say," she says, her biting sarcasm more irritation at Regina than the stranger. Speaking of said woman, Red suddenly recalls something she'd mentioned during their first exchange. She perks up visibly. "So, I'm assuming since you're not stuck here like I am, you've been woken up? Which is why you only appear here when you fall asleep?"
"Correct," says the woman. "True Love's kiss is the only magic powerful enough to break this curse. My husband, Philip, woke me some six years ago now."
The news is a welcome relief for Red. Luckily for her she has a True Love ready and willing to kiss her awake. Only, she's still here and wonders why. As she should have anticipated, the worst possible answer flits across her mind: Regina has been either incapacitated or killed. She shudders at the thought but refuses to give it credence, choosing instead to take Snow's advice and cling to hope like a lifeline to keep her from falling into a never ending abyss of despair. No, nothing bad like that has happened. There's just been some unforeseen delay keeping Regina away. Or maybe time hasn't passed like she thought it has and what seems like a week for her has only been seconds for Regina. Whatever the case, Red knows Regina won't leave her here forever.
"Well, it should be happening at any moment for me then," she says, with more confidence than she actually feels considering how long she's been here. If Regina could have given her True Love's kiss, she would have done so immediately. The implications are unsettling. Either she's wrong about what she is to Regina or, as she just feared, her wife has been somehow incapacitated. It never enters her mind that the spell could have been modified to prevent her being awakened by the most powerful form of magic in the known universe.
Not wanting to appear vulnerable in front of her visitor, Red schools her expression and steels her nerves. There is no room for doubt. For too long now she's believed what she and Regina share is, indeed, True Love to be swayed by notions to the contrary that are all but impossible to confirm. She knows what they have and trusts it with her life.
As Red gives herself a minor pep talk, hope lifts her fellow detainee's demeanor. "You have found your True Love?"
"Yes. We've been married five years now. Together for seven. She's a very powerful sorceress. I'm sure she'll figure out what happened to me. She won't leave me here to suffer."
"I hope for your sake that is true. As someone who spent far too long here, believe me when I say that this is no place for a person to linger."
Red grins secretively. She isn't exactly a normal person. "Even for a werewolf?"
The woman gasps as her blue eyes startle wide. "You're a werewolf?" She backs away a pace, clearly frightened.
Red hates that she feels slighted. She ought to be used to this kind of reaction, as it's not an uncommon one. Humans are instinctively scared of werewolves in the same vein as they are snakes, just multiplied by a factor of hundred – or more. Which is understandable considering most of what remains of her kind are little more than minimally socialized animals who get their jollies terrorizing the local populace until they are either run off for good or caught and put down like the rabid beasts they are. Her mother's pack was a preeminent example. Even Regina, fascinated as she has always been with werewolves, had never heard of a pack so much as ambivalent toward ordinary humans. In every one of her wife's various tomes, it was always the same tale of the weak, careless, and foolishly brave being torn to shreds upon the dawning of a full moon. Never was there friendship or mutual avoidance involved.
Heartbreaking as it is for Red, and though she has little evidence to prove it, she can't help but conclude that as far as werewolves are concerned she is an exception to the rule. If so, it has to be because of who her father was. It certainly wasn't her mother she got her affability from.
Taking all that into account, she doesn't blame this woman one bit for being frightened. Truth be told, even after her mother taught her control and Regina has since honed that control to a finely sharpened edge, sometimes she still scares herself.
"I am," she says to the terrified woman, trying her best to look and sound nonthreatening. That her efforts produce a visible effect is a great relief. "Have you encountered any of my kind before?"
"No, and I have only heard of them in passing."
In spite of her negative view of her kin, Red is crestfallen at the news. However many times she's read or heard about feral werewolves, she keeps hoping against hope to encounter more like her. Stupid girl that she is, she keeps getting disappointed. But that's just her, stubborn to the end. Like a starving dog hanging on to a dry bone, Regina would joke – accurately, much to Red's annoyance.
Unfortunately, the woman picks up on her reaction, which proves her to be a keen observer. "That saddens you."
Red nods reluctantly. "Yeah. I was kinda hoping to find more like me some day – that aren't bad, I mean. Other than my grandmother, I'm the only one I know of for a hundred miles, and as my wife would say, the only domesticated one in a thousand."
"There are reports in my father's documents of sightings within a fortnight's ride," the fair skinned beauty says, stepping back up as close as she can to the barrier. Red is relieved to see that her fear has fled. "To my best recollection, none of them mentioned violence. I have access to them. When I awaken, I will fetch them and have them copied and sent to you, wherever you live, if that interests you."
The gesture of goodwill is not only unexpected, coming as it is from a relative stranger, but deeply appreciated. Red hopes her smile is accordingly appropriate.
"That would be amazing. Thank you!"
"You're welcome," the woman says, smiling herself. But then her expression shifts and her brow furrows. "Come to think of it, I haven't made formal introductions. Normally I'm not so rude. Forgive me. I am Princess Aurora of Drakkenhall."
The Princess then executes a curtsy so perfect that Red is jealous. She's never got good at that, especially in those hideously restrictive dresses she's required to wear at state functions. It's hard enough for her to breathe in the blasted things.
All the same, she tries to do Regina proud with her own effort at a proper curtsy. "My name is Red," she says once the blasted maneuver is completed. "Pleased to meet you, Your Highness."
Aurora's answer smile is truly gorgeous. "Likewise, Red. Just Red is it?"
There is something in those perceptive blue eyes of Aurora's that tells Red her new friend has sussed out that she is no commoner herself. Or isn't anymore, anyway. Maybe it was the fancy morning dress she got tossed in here wearing that gave her away?
"Well, no," she says, abashed at having to come clean about her status. She's still not used to admitting she's royalty and isn't sure she ever will be. Old habits really do die hard. "Technically my name is Queen Red of Misthaven." She adopts a lopsided grin. "But I'm not the Queen of much but dust and soot down here."
For the second time, Aurora appears astonished. Less scared than when Red admitted being a werewolf, but shocked just the same. "Misthaven? Queen Regina's realm?"
"Yes. Regina is my wife."
"You're married to the Evil Queen?"
That has Red's hackles raised. Eyes flashing, she sneers at Aurora, so incensed she doesn't even notice the flames separating them flash white in concert with her anger. "She's not the Evil Queen! Not anymore." When Aurora stumbles back a step, hands raised as if to ward off an attack, Red deflates. She curses her inability to keep from being offended whenever Regina is insulted. "Sorry. I get a little aggressive advocating for her. It's in my nature to be overprotective."
It's a gross understatement if there ever was one. In that way, Red is a living reinforcement of people's preconceptions of her kind, that they are basically sentient wolves. Of course, they are far more complex creatures than that, especially Red, who according to Granny is the least werewolf of any of the natural born she's personally met. Where keeping her mate safe and defending her mate's honor are concerned, though, she is every bit the stereotypical canid.
Honestly, Red can tolerate valid criticism of Regina's many acute shortcomings. Often times, council meetings devolve into little more than echo chambers where Regina's every mistake in governance is nitpicked to death. It's hard to hold her tongue when the sniveling, spineless nobles that occupy the council are tearing apart her wife's every decision when all she wants to do is reemphasize their place on the food chain by tooth or claw. But her input is never needed, nor would it be appreciated when Regina gives twice as good as she gets. Sometimes Red feels sorry for the fools with courage enough to speak so impenitently. In short order they are given a harsh reminder that their sovereign is a woman who could just as easily ignite them into a burning ball of flames with a snap of her fingers as cut them to the marrow with a slew of crafty insults that usually leave them red-faced with shame.
It's only when people throw Regina's sordid past in her face that Red really gets riled up. Mostly Regina ignores the barbs she knows to be aimed at the Evil Queen while Red has a much harder time turning the other cheek. Which is odd, to say the least, when there was a time the opposite was true. When they first got together, Regina snapped nearly every time someone mentioned a past atrocity, leaving Red to scramble in a bid to calm her tempestuous lover. Now, it's Red being restrained whenever folks confront Regina who have either held on to their grudges, purposefully ignored all the good Regina's done since abandoning her crusade against Snow, or have simply forgotten their place.
Aurora doesn't need to know any of that though, so Red lets her explanation stand as is.
Although Aurora tries to put a brave face on in the wake of Red's outburst, it's clear she's still shaken by the way she absently rubs an unsteady hand around her neck. "No offense taken," she says, sounding as genuine as possible. "I hope you can understand my poor reception..."
Red takes in a deep breath, then exhales slowly as she sweeps a hand through her hair. She's frustrated with herself more than anything else. She'd long ago come to terms with Regina's past and the reality that she'd likely be defending her against detractors for the rest of their natural lives. She just can't seem to let it go. A slight against Regina is a slight against her, and if it goes on long enough, she will get mad enough to fight. It is simply in her nature to defend what's hers against any and all attacks, whether they be justified or not.
"Unfortunately, I do," she says with a sympathetic tint to her tone. "As much as it pains me to admit, Regina earned her reputation. She's working hard to redeem herself, though. Over time, she's won the trust and respect of most our people. The outside world, on the other hand, has been slow to accept that she's changed."
Aurora hums considerately. "Isn't that the way of things, though? When people become mired in their ways, their opinions, their prejudices...well, they become hard to uproot. It's hard to see past ingrained perceptions, even for the most wise of us."
"It is," Red agrees, grateful that Aurora is being so agreeable. "Which is what I try to remind Regina of every time someone tries to use her past as an excuse to defy or judge her."
"I imagine that happens frequently."
The point isn't made disparagingly. Not that Red could refute it even if it were.
"Too frequently," she says, a trickle of annoyance bleeding in. "Part of me is just tired of it and wants to fight back when people start tossing verbal stones at the woman I love. The other part gets it, though. Ya know? It takes time to heal wounds that deep, and it's just been five years since we married. I know it's irrational for me to expect people to see her the way I do, especially when she doesn't let down her armor for anyone but me."
Aurora eyes flash at the description of Regina's excessively private nature. "Sounds like someone I used to know. Everyone believed her to be dour, severe, and emotionless when I knew better. For whatever reason, she trusted me enough to let me see the real her, and it just frustrated me endlessly that she wouldn't open to up to others."
Red perks up, glad to have someone to commiserate with over their emotionally veiled loved ones. "That's exactly how it is with Regina. My friends still don't believe me when I tell them how amazing she is. They think it's an absurd notion that she isn't some tyrant that privately dominates me. Like it's unfathomable she can actually be incredibly romantic, sweet, funny, and kind. Or that she isn't fashioned out of jagged, sharpened steel. That she's vulnerable to people saying mean things just like everyone else is. The only reason I tolerate what little I do is because I know they only see the mask she wears around everyone but me and her father. They can't seem to fathom she got hurt so bad and so often in her past that she had to become hard to protect herself. That, or maybe they just don't care to understand."
Heaving out a sigh, Red realizes they have spent nearly the entire time they've been acquainted talking about the issues she faces being married to Regina and that she knows next to nothing about the cherubic beauty before her. She gestures toward Aurora, wearing an inviting smile.
"Anyway...enough about my trivial problems. Tell me about yourself."
Aurora appears surprised by the change of topic. "Do you really want to know about me?"
"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't," Red snaps back, then shakes her head in chagrined apology. "Sorry. Guess Regina has rubbed off on me a little too much. That, and I'm pissed off about being stuck here."
"No apologies necessary," says Aurora with that compassionate inflection Red is beginning to associate with her.
"You have it all the same."
"In that case, I accept." Aurora then smiles so big and bright that it illuminates her countenance and makes her appear almost unfairly pretty.
Unable to help herself, Red blushes. Not that she's attracted to Aurora or anything. Well, that's a lie. She is attracted to Aurora, just not enough to entertain even a passing thought along those lines. However beautiful Aurora is, she can't measure up to Regina. No one can in Red's eyes. Regina is, to her, the personification of everything she's ever wanted out of life and thought she would never get. There isn't a person on any world that could lure her away from her beloved Queen.
"Thanks," she says, then clears her throat before returning to the point of her subject change. "So, please, tell me something about yourself. It'll help distract me for a while."
Aurora tilts her head ever-so-slightly to the side as she joins her hands together at her waist. "What would you like to know?"
"Oh, I don't know. Have any fun hobbies?"
Those incredible blue eyes twinkle with excitement. "As a matter of fact I do. Tell me, do you play any instruments?"
Red laughs at the question, remembering the time Regina had tried to teach her to play the harp. Music is not one of her talents, as her then-lover had found out. Bubbling with amusement, she tells Aurora all about how Regina had tried so hard to be patient but with each incorrect note or lapse of posture gritted her teeth until Red could hear her jaw pop. The lesson lasted a whole two hours before Regina stormed out of the room, eyes wild with irritation, and declared that musical instruments were forever off limits to Red for the sake of the residents of the castle.
"I can't have all the help going deaf," she'd snarked as she disappeared into the hallway in a swirl of skirts.
Red and Aurora share a laugh over that before Aurora returns the favor with a tale about her husband Philip's own inability to grasp musical theory. To his credit, Philip repaid her for the abuse to her ears by importing an exotic stringed instrument from the south for her to learn. Come to find out, the unusual form of lute he acquired is called a guitar and originated in the southerly regions of Regina's paternal homeland.
Their discussion then shifts to their respective realms and from there to topic after topic for what seems like hours. The eternal flames spouting up inside the room continue to burn at a tolerable level, as if they are somehow responsive to Red's moods. When she's laughing about something, they emanate a soothing warmth that seeps deep down into her bones but when a story turns sad, they falter, allowing a pervasive cold to pierce the thin material of her morning dress and bite at her sensitive skin. Whatever the cause of the phenomena, she feels comfortable enough that she won't be harmed to arrange herself into a seated cross-legged position whilst chatting amiably with Aurora, who mimics her across the divide.
For a while, she's able to forget about her circumstance as she exchanges all manner of stories, some humorous and some serious but all interesting, with a woman she'd never met before and yet somehow feels like she's known forever. Regina likes to say that she has a special talent for making friends, but this feels different. Aurora is different.
It takes her a while to figure out that it's because there is a shared thread between them of loving people who make loving them difficult. That common ground is, she thinks, a firm foundation upon which they can build a solid rapport. Somehow Red knows beyond a shadow of a doubt, although she can't pinpoint what gives her such a feeling, that it's the beginning of a long and happy friendship. That is, if she can ever get the hell out of this place...