AN: Good evening guy's, the response to the last chapter was simply amazing so thank you all so much. I thought I'd show you all my appreciation by getting this chapter out to you as soon as possible. It's shorter than the last few, but heavy on plot and Swan Queen feels so I hope you enjoy it. This chapter, as with all my others, is unbeated, so I apologise for any minor mistakes. If you find any big ones, feel free to kick my ass. Hope you enjoy, and let me know your thoughts! Also, if anyone can tell me what specific song from a famous musical inspired the first dream sequence, I'll throw in a Swan Queen moment of the winners choosing, into a future chapter ;-) Good luck!
The forest is dark. I can't see the way ahead. The trees are tall. All of them looming over me. Threatening me. Judging me. I'm scared. I'm lost. I want to run. I want to find the light, the safety, but I know that running will only lead me to more darkness.
I search for someone, anyone, a person to stand by my side and help me find the way but I'm alone. I could scream and no one would hear me. I could cry and no one would comfort me. I could die, and no one would save me.
I squeeze my eyes shut and silently wish myself free of this empty abyss. I wish I was in a meadow, a wide open, sunny, space where I can clearly see the path in front of me. But I'm not. I'm lost. I'm trapped. I'm surrounded by darkness, and I'm completely alone.
And I'm filled with such rage - such hatred - but I have no one to talk to. I need a friend to guide me. Someone who cares enough about me to explain the reason for all these strong, impulsive emotions. But there is no one to help me understand, no one who dares venture into the woods and help set me free. All I can see is darkness and shadows. And I'm alone.
The forest gets thicker, the darkness absolute, and I know – an intrinsic, living, part of me knows – that this is the Enchanted Forest. This is home, but it doesn't feel like it anymore. I don't recognise the path I'm walking. I've never seen the twisted trees I pass by. The night is cold, the air oppressive, and every tiny sound feels like an enemy stalking me in the dark.
In my heart I should know that I'm safe here but for the first time in my life I don't know who or what to trust. Native animals, creatures I once considered friends, now feel like predators. Their whispers carry on the rustle of the wind, biting comments that mock and hurt me, and I swear I hear the voices of Snow, Charming and my mother in every single one of them. People I cared for, people I loved, abandoning me. Leaving me to face the dark forest alone and all because I wouldn't – couldn't – decide which one of them was on my side.
I walk for hours, searching for a way out that doesn't appear to exist. The darkness gets darker, if that's even possible, and the world that I knew - the forest I grew up in - is vast and unfamiliar. I look beneath damp beds of fern, crawl through hollowed out tree trunks, but find nothing. There is no one here to end my suffering and guide me home.
A wolf jumps out in front of me, baring his teeth but I don't know why. Maybe he fears me. Maybe he thinks I'm here to destroy his way of life. Maybe he just doesn't understand me. But he startles me, scares me, and I feel threatened, so I defend myself. I use my magic to end him with a simple wave of my hand, relief flooding my veins as his lifeless body drops to the floor. Was it the right decision? Did he deserve to die? I have no idea. But I'm scared, and I'm alone, and I don't know what to do anymore.
Then from nowhere there's a hand. A warm, comforting touch that grips tight at my fingers and makes everything alright again. Suddenly the forest seems far less scary, far less dark, and far less hopeless. Even the moonlight has found its way through the tree tops.
I grasp at the lifeline, clinging on with everything I have as I turn to look at my saviour. Emma Swan smiles back, her beautiful face a shining beacon in the night, a light that guides the way.
"You're not alone, Regina," She whispers, her voice my saving grace, "No one is truly alone."
I bolt upright on the couch, startled awake from my dream. The sound of Emma's voice still hangs in the air of the silent vault. The lingering trace of her fingers as real as if she'd just been here with me.
I take several deep breaths, uncertain what that strange, dark, metaphorical nightmare even was, and as awareness slowly begins to creep back in, I realise that I must have fallen asleep while studying my mother's notes.
The fire has burnt out, leaving nothing but glowing orange embers to light the room. I check my watch - two oh five - and consider going to bed. That's when my phone vibrates, buzzing against the stone floor to indicate the arrival of a message. I swing my arm off the side of the couch to snatch it up, curious as to who would wish to contact me in the middle of the night. My Curiosity is quickly sated.
Emma.
Are you okay?
I frown at the strange message, wondering why she's still up at this hour, and quickly type a reply.
It's 2am, why wouldn't I be?
I wait patiently for a reply, one that doesn't come, and resign myself to the probability that the lackadaisical blonde has fallen back to sleep. Rubbing my tired, aching, eyes, I glance down at the notes that have slipped from my lap during sleep and are scattered across the floor.
Maybe my dream was related to them. A strange amalgamation of my mother's theory on broken hearts and Emma Swan's unexpected support. Stretching my arm out I pinch the closest sheet between my fingertips and pick it up off the floor, but before I can ascertain which page it is, my phone vibrates once more.
No reason. Weird dream is all. Hope I didn't wake you.
The message catches me off guard, confused by the rare coincidence that we were both awoken from an unusual dream. I type my reply, careful not to give anything away.
Weird dream?
Her response is instantaneous.
It was nothing. Forget it. Go back to sleep.
I take her message as read and decide to do just that, but before I can even sit up she's sent another message in quick succession.
You're not alone, Regina. No one is truly alone
I scramble to sit up at her strange choice of words and the rest of my mother's neatly scrawled notes float to the floor. Why would she say that? What does it mean? Have we somehow shared the same dream again?
My thoughts flick back to the last paragraph I remember reading before I fell to sleep and I slip off the couch, kneeling on the floor to look for it amongst a sea of paper. I find it at the bottom of the unorganised pile, scanning the elegant black ink until I find the last part I read.
I have seen instances where the connection between two souls is so prevalent that they learn to communicate on an almost spiritual level. A sixth sense that allows them to know when the other is in need. Sometimes this is done through instinct or thought, other times feeling. In one rare case I even spoke to a couple who shared dreams. At first the dreams were normal, random, beyond either of their control. But as their connection grew stronger the dreams became lucid, a way for the pair to communicate, to say the things that face to face, they could not.
I reach the bottom of the page and make a note of the page number, frantically searching the floor for the remainder of the chapter. I find it on three separate sheets. The top one detailing my condition a little more and reminding me of the reason I began to read this particular chapter in the first place.
When the strongest of our emotions - love, hatred – do not get the outlets they need, they can manifest themselves in more physical ways. I have witnessed a heart tear in half with pain, explode with passion (both good and bad), to the worst extremes. If the person suffering has magic in their blood, this manifestation can spread to unrelated and inanimate objects. A vase exploding on a shelf, glass shattering before one's eyes, the very ground tearing in two.
I stare down at my mother's writing, wondering if somehow the words on the page were written as one last attempt to torment me. Did she foresee my future and plan to manipulate my actions one more time, or are these theories based on real observations?
If the latter is true, then maybe my condition is related to this specific chapter. Emma and I do have a connection unlike any other, we share a son. Is sharing dreams the saviour's way of supporting me when the rest of the town has turned against me? And if so, is the rip in my heart due to a combination of the pain I feel at losing Robin, and the hatred that has always tarnished my soul?
I skim the other two sheets but my thoughts become jumbled and my eyes grow too heavy to concentrate. The last thing I read before drifting back to sleep is the title of the chapter.
Chapter 6: The Consequences of Unexpressed and Unrequited True Love
I'm in a sort of stone chamber, but it's nowhere that I recognise, nowhere that I've ever been before. The ground is mud, but that dry, dusty, kind that looks like it hasn't seen rainfall for years. The chamber is long, with large stone walls and tree roots coming in through cracks in the ceiling. I must be underground.
I follow the path ahead, uncertain how the room is so well lit with no natural or artificial light, until I reach a large door at the end of the chamber. The door is intricately carved. It looks like the gateway to some fantastical world, but unsurprisingly its closed, and presumably locked. In front of the door is a stone plinth with a set of empty, brass scales on top. There's some writing, carved into the stone underneath, but it's in a language I don't understand. For someone who has visited many worlds and walked many realms, I have no idea where I am.
As if by magic Emma suddenly appears at my side, materializing beside me like some haunting spectre. And that's when I realise that I'm dreaming again.
I assume the dream to be Emma's, as there is nothing about our surroundings that I recognise. Our unique connection must have pulled me here though for what purpose I don't know, but I'm in full control of my thoughts and I know that I'm asleep. This must be one of the lucid dreams my mother wrote of.
Emma doesn't acknowledge me, simply stares vacantly at the scales in front of us.
"Where are we?" I ask, curious as to what it is that she's unwittingly trying to show me.
"It's the entrance to the Ambrosia Temple," She replies, unaffected by my presence.
When I realise that she's unsurprised to find me stood by her side I can only assume that she has yet to reach the same level of our connection that I have. She is merely dreaming. She isn't aware that she's asleep and probably has no control over her actions.
Now I know exactly where we are. This is where she brought Hook when we were trapped in the Underworld. This is where she performed the test of true love.
"Why are we here, Emma?" I ask gently, suddenly reminded of her doubts about the validity of her test.
She shakes her head, refusing to look at me, she won't even turn to face me. I wonder if this is a reoccurring dream for her, a nightmare she relives every night. It might explain where her sudden doubts about her relationship have come from.
"It didn't work," She says, but the words are mumbled as though she's talking to herself rather than directly to me.
Finally, her eyes flick up to meet mine, that uncertain, almost shy look that she often gets when she's scared or unsure. "Have you ever just known something to be true?" She asks, "Something that you wished with all your heart, wasn't?"
My gaze drops to the scales, "Are you talking about the results of your test?"
She nods, looking away from me again, her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Hook was stood right there, where you are" She replies, pointing at me without turning to look, "And I put my heart on the scales and he burst into flames."
It sounds like a very strange way to test the love in someone's heart but since I'm hardly an expert on the subject of love, it's probably best to leave the mechanics of the test up to the God's that invented it.
I frown, confused, "And how do you know it didn't work?"
"Because they're scales Regina," She snaps, staring at me as though I'm stupid. An irony not lost on me considering her lineage. "They're designed to balance the weight of two separate things – to test the love in two separate hearts - but only my heart was tested."
I shrug, "Maybe your heart was all that was needed."
"No," Her response is so blunt, so abrupt, that anyone would think she invented the test herself. At my raised eyebrow she explains the logic behind her certainty, "I told myself that." she informs glumly, "I told Killian that. And I wanted to believe it so badly but I was wrong."
Though I'd never admit this aloud and certainly not to her, I find that I agree with her hypothesis. Something about the whole process just doesn't seem right.
"It doesn't mean he's not your true love," I reply, uncertain what else to say given the delicacy of the situation.
She scoffs, kicking at the dirt beneath her feet, "It means that there's doubt."
Despite agreeing with her theory, I fail to understand why it suddenly brings her whole relationship into question. So the scales tested her not them, does it matter? Surely, Emma knows if she truly loves her pirate or not.
"Why does it mean that?" I ask, giving voice to my doubt. She doesn't reply.
Several long, silent moments pass between us and I sigh heavily, wondering why she began such a conversation when she has no intention to finish it. But before I can cast my opinion on the matter, she does the last thing I expected. She reaches into her own chest and pulls out her heart.
I study the bright red organ in the palm of her hand and there's not a hint of blackness contained within it. If it was the purity of her heart that was tested instead, then it's plain to see why she passed.
Reaching out, she carefully places her heart on one side of the scales but when nothing happens, she quickly turns her angry glare on me. "Why aren't you bursting into flames?" She demands, as though the fault is somehow min, "Why aren't I being forced to save you?"
I find the question ridiculous and the answer blindingly obvious, "Because you're not in love with me!" I reply. "You must have been right all along. It was yours and Hook's true love test, and you passed."
But despite what she sees, she still doesn't believe it. Her green eyes are brimming with tears, her mouth pulled into a sad, thin line. One of her tears breaks free to run down her cheek and as it hangs from the bottom of her chin, the tiniest fracture line becomes visible on her heart. Her heart is literally breaking before my very eyes.
I open my mouth to say something, to offer words of comfort or support, but before I can say a single word, searing pain erupts from the centre of my chest. It's sudden, and breath taking, and complete and utter agony.
I drop to my knees in the dirt, rushing to remove the offending organ before it surely kills me. And when I do, it's to see that the tear already tearing down the centre is widening, almost ripping my heart completely in two.
Unaware why, I suddenly have the strongest inclination to place my heart on the opposite side of the scales to Emma's. It's an urge unlike any I've ever felt before, an instinct telling me that it's the only way to save my life. Unsure exactly what compels me to do so, I follow the emotional instruction and place it on the empty scale.
At first nothing happens, but then the scales start to wobble and shake, the vibrations throbbing through the ground beneath our feet. Suddenly fearful that the floor will split open beneath us, I hastily stand and we both take a few, cautious steps back. Our eyes meet briefly, a moment of shared concern, before the entire chamber erupts in a brilliant white and purple light. Its brightness is blinding, and I have to shield my eyes against it.
In a brief second the light has gone, absorbed by the hearts which remain untouched on the scales where we left them. When my vision finally clears, I step forward to see that both of our hearts have completely healed, and the door to the Ambrosia Temple has blown wide open.
Emma looks straight at me, her eyes wide in realisation. We have just been forced to take the test of true love, and we have passed.
I jolt awake, sucking in a deep breath as my hand flies to my chest. My mother's notes are still scattered all around me, but suddenly her life's work makes perfect sense.
God help me for my foolishness, but I think I'm in love with Emma Swan!
