She stared down at the hastily altered contract in her hands. With two sentences, her whole life had been destroyed. And now she was enslaved to the very man- no, the monster- that had caused it.

Her whole body began to shake, but it was with an emotion she had never experienced
with such intensity. Wrath.

"How could he?"

A fury welled up in her that had her whole body vibrating with energy. Her family was gone, her
kingdom was on the brink of falling, her SON was taken from her forever. And it was all his fault.

As she sat amongst his possessions, she wanted to destroy them. Rip every picture apart, burn every log, throw all his precious articles into the sea he so worshipped. She wanted to destroy his life as he had hers.

"I'm going to…..." she petered off into a scream, unable to give voice to her thoughts.

You see little one, how easy it is to give into the call?

The thought sounded as if it had creaked out from the very fibers of the ship, and the welling up of white-hot rage settled, coiling viciously in her belly. But despite the turmoil, she was suddenly faced
with a revelation that unsettled her right down to her core.

She understood why Regina acted the way she had. Her life had been taken from her, and how else was one supposed to collect payment on something so precious, except by taking another's . Hadn't her mother always said that Regina blamed her for destroying her life and that it was the truth?

And the captain...he had his life stolen twice and taken the second thief's as payment. And she had the consolation of knowing that her son, the light of her life, was at least alive and that there was a possibility of her kingdom being saved. Neither Regina nor the Dark One had any such comforts. When their lives had been destroyed, so had their hope of satisfaction in the life they might have lived.

But despite the understanding, she could not help the fury that was still roiling within her. She wanted to hurt, to lash out and make another feel as she did. But she also felt guilty. Her parents had always said that heroes never let themselves be beaten by their own darkness, and she had often told Henry that anger wasn't the answer. But here she was, on the brink of giving in to her hate and her fear.

Tears started to well up in her eyes as she tried to make sense of her inner turmoil. Her hate. Her hope. Her despair. Her devotion. Her loss. Her love. Her fear. Her family.

She clenched her jaw and hands, jerking in surprise when she realized there was something in her hand. Looking down through blurry eyes, she took in the rose. She had no idea when she had picked it back up, but looking at the fragile bloom now, she couldn't help but see herself. A fragile life clutched in a hand far more powerful than hers, ready to be crushed at the whim of uncontrollable emotions.

"Why?" she demanded of the blossom, still undiminished despite the time she had possessed it and all her caresses. "Why?"

She wasn't sure what she was asking the little flower. Why did hate have to spread itself? Why did people have to lose? Why was fate so cruel? Why did it have to be her family? Just… why?

She couldn't hold her turmoil in anymore, and great, heaving sobs ripped through her body. Her body curling protectively around the flower as if she could do the same for herself. She felt her muscles ache with the one day of labor she had performed. She felt her heartbreak for the thousands who would fall victim to Regina's cruelty. She felt her spirit shatter as she finally accepted that her parents might be among them.

She sobbed for all she had lost and all she could have had until there was nothing left inside her but an abyss of exhaustion that had her slumping against the wooden shelves behind her. As her eyes fluttered shut, she thought she heard a creaking whisper.

Sleep little one, and I will tell you a tale. The story of how it all began…

The first vestiges of awareness came in the form of warmth and light. Her first memory was of the sunrise hitting her first sprouts. She could still recall the sensation, and it had always been her understanding of what birth felt like. An emergence into light, into life.

Each day brought with it new experiences, like cold, and rain, and lightning. She remembered how her small stalk had trembled in that first storm. The wind tugging at her roots and bending her few frail branches, thunder rattling her very being with every searing flash of light that illuminated the darkened sky. But she had learned a valuable lesson, that storms pass. And when the sun emerged from the clouds, she had never been more grateful for the sunshine, her roots stronger than they were before.

And so each day passed, and as she grew, her roots stretching out into the ever breathing earth beneath her, she became a part of the land. The mountains became her spine, the coast her loving arms, and all in between held in her careful embrace, a guardian over her corner of the world.

Her trunk grew strong, and her limbs became plentiful. Her roots broke the surface of the
warm soil, sprouting into new growth. Her form became the shadow of strength in which many creatures began to take shelter. Her long branches became the home of the wanderers on the wind, creatures with feathers and beaks. While beneath her, her roots became the sturdy barrow walls of the small lives of fur and flesh.

And she loved them all. Every living thing that fell beneath her shadow was precious to her. But none more so than the creatures that arrived on her shore many, many sunrises after her first.

They came to her over the great waves. The seas that brought her the music of all the worlds carried on the wind bore an even greater gift for her. They called themselves men. And they were weak, helpless, lost, hungry. So she stretched out her limbs and brought them to her shade. And unlike every other creature, when they heard her offer them home, they thanked her.

In return for their willing adoration, she taught them how to live. She gave them knowledge of the creatures that took shelter with her, the food she cultivated in the shadow of her leaves. She watched the women as their bellies grew heavy with child. She delighted in teaching their children the same lessons she taught their parents. She taught them to hear her song.

And for a long while, she was content. The people who had landed on her shores asked, and were given, materials to build themselves shelters. And while it hurt, she was more than happy to sacrifice a small part of herself to keep her family safe- a concept she learned from them.

The first thread of fate was woven when one man decided that the gifts freely given were no longer enough for him, and he demanded more, not just from her, but from all. And so the thread of greed was strung across the loom.

And then next thread was when a desperate woman hit her child because she could not figure out how to get it to stop crying. And a man saw her do it, went home, and tried to silence his wife the same way. And when it worked as effectively on his wife as it had on the child, the man told his friends. And when they understood that a closed fist was able to take as well as an open palm, they desired more than what was offered. And so the thread of wrath was woven.

And when a child saw another playing with a beautiful flower and wanted it, he snatched it from the other boy's hand, destroying the flower in the process. Then the boy blamed the other for keeping the flower for himself, and that if the boy had only shared, the flower wouldn't have been ruined. And so the thread of envy was woven.

And when a man observed a woman bathing and decided to slake his thirst, the thread of lust was woven.

And when a woman made her husband gather her food for her, and enjoyed the fruits of his labor without lifting her own hand to help, the thread of sloth was woven.

And when a man thought that his life mattered more than any of the others she sheltered in her shade, the thread of pride was woven.

And when a couple figured out that consuming was preferable to producing, and took without ever giving back, the thread of gluttony was woven.

What had begun as a beautiful tapestry of white now had veins as black as the sins they carried woven through it. And the threads were woven into the hearts and souls of every human, inescapable and permanent, poisoning the bloodline. They took from her without asking, never giving thanks. Their buildings grew larger, and so they began to cut down her boughs, not to use, but because she was in the way.

Ages continued to pass.

Humanity prospered, for despite the darkness that now permeated them, many tried valiantly to sever those threads within them and strive to live as their ancestors did. Old wisdom was lost, but younger generations uncovered newer mysteries. And many still knew that their guardian watched over them.

One day a man came to sit in her shadow and asked her to sing. And every day, the man returned, to hear her voice and her song. He was kind and compassionate, gentle and calm, at peace with the world he understood, a fortress of calm in the sea of turmoil that humanity had created.

A fortress at sea.

Merlin.

It was then that he whispered to her the secret of her creation, of the spot where she now stood being the same place he had found a sacred vessel. How the seeds that were planted were those of protection and gratitude. He thanks her for trying to teach those who came to her shores how to live without darkness.

Then he grew sad. He said that the darkness would always find a way to take root in the souls of humans. He pulled out a blade that emanated evil, made of the same material as the threads of the dark in the tapestry, a blade twisted and sharp. He thanked her for listening and asked her to continue to grow and show men how to love.

Then he left, the man who created her. It was beneath her farthest boughs that he sought to try and end his love, but he could not bring himself to do it. So when she reached out to curse him with the blade he had created, she did the only thing she could- she reached out to him. He became one with his first creation, and she was able to give him the peace he deserved.

She mourned her creator, whom she had barely known and withdrew into herself, not able to bear watching the pain of the world unfold. Kingdoms rose, dividing and destroying her great reach, as people used her more and more. Until one day, there was only one small grove left of her on the shores of the sea. And it was there, in a small cottage by the sea, that she watched a small child being born, with blue eyes and beautiful raven hair.

Alice.