Dear Mother:

Emma was watching Oprah (shocking, right?) and she had said to get over anger, you had to write a letter to the person that you couldn't really forgive, then light it on fire. She insisted that I give it a try. I thought the whole thing was silly and I dismissed it right away, but now here I am: locked up in my den, sitting at my desk and writing this letter. I don't expect to get over anything, to be honest.

You hurt me. You used me just to gain power. I was a pawn. I don't even know if I should think that all of the things you said to me when I was little were truths. That you loved me more than anything, that I was special, that I was destined for great things. Well, Mother, I was Queen, all because of you. I was married to someone three times my age. I was stuck in a marriage I didn't want just because you wanted me to be in a seat of power. Of course it seems so nice on paper, the title of Queen. I wished life was as nice as the words and false hopes you drilled into my brain.

I thought I was going to be in a position where no one could stop me. I wasn't even allowed to leave the kingdom without him. I could never have time to myself; I was always called away to meetings where I was treated as someone who didn't know her hands from her feet, balls where I was ridiculed because I was an outcast. He never loved me as much as he loved Snow's mother. I was just someone to warm his bed.

He took something I held so dear away from me: my innocence. I could never sleep, knowing that maybe one night, once I closed my eyes, I might open them to find him on top of me, his body pressing against mine in a way that made me feel so filthy and wrong. I took baths afterwards - scrubbing his smell, his hidden hand prints, his saliva, my own blood off my body. I cried in the bathtub, every single time he came to visit me, every time I was called to his room to service him. I thought if I just wrapped my arms around myself, everything would go away. I could be transported somewhere else, where I could have been happy.

This wasn't all, Mother. He would hit me, just like you did. His hands would grip my wrists so tightly, I could feel the blood slowly draining from my finger tips. He would throw me into walls, onto the bed, into doors. I had bruises I couldn't hide. Snow was always so curious, asking me about them. I always thought it would be such sweet justice to tell her that her father wasn't the loving man she always boasted about. Though I always told her the servants were clumsy while fitting me into my gowns, that I had a bout of clumsiness myself and ran into a bedpost or I fell off my horse.

Though all of this was different. Him hurting me wasn't like you hurting me. I was so much younger when you used your magic to force me into things. Riding lessons, dance lessons, piano lessons. I didn't want any of it. When I never wanted to go and you'd hit me with the leather strap, or you'd even dare use your own hands were the times I most wished I was dead. That if I wasn't born: I wouldn't have to go through all of this misery.

I tried to drown myself once. After you had beat me for not wanting to learn how to waltz, I took a bath. I had to rid myself of the blood on my back, the pain of the open sores and newly forming scars. I just kept thinking that this wasn't love. You never loved me. This was all some sort of illusion. Perhaps you really weren't my real mother. My parents had given me up long ago. I was sixteen, Mother. I was only sixteen when I ducked my head under the water and prayed to anyone that would listen that maybe.. just maybe if I took in a breath and let the water into my lungs that I'd go somewhere else. Somewhere where I could just be myself. I got scared that I couldn't breathe and I sat up as quick as I could. I couldn't do it. I couldn't just let go of my life so easily. Maybe something would change. Something had to change, right?

Once I pushed you into that mirror, once I killed Leopold, I thought everything was going to be better. Perhaps everything was going to be different and I could live my own life. I was still wrong. I hunted Snow down because she had betrayed my trust. I spent my life making sure her and her husband couldn't win. I cast a curse that I thought would give me happiness. That didn't happen either.

I had adopted Henry, I had a failed relationship, but.. you know what, Mother? I guess something good came out of all I had to go through. I don't let everyone step over me. I'm not a doormat. You could never force me into anything. I stand my ground and I can protect and fend for myself. I don't surrender easily. Guess what else: I even found someone to love me through all of this. Someone to love me even with my flaws.

Emma loves me. She whispers the words in my ear late at night when she thinks I'm sleeping. She wraps her arms around me when she knows I'm having a bad day. She listens to me when I need to talk and she's quiet when I don't even have words to say. She just holds me at night when I wake up from having nightmares about what you and Leopold had put me through. She presses her lips against my ear and I feel like everything is right. Emma never asks questions, she doesn't know about my past or what I had to deal with. I plan on telling her. I plan on telling her every single detail of my life and you know what's going to happen? She's going to love me no matter what. She's not going to consider me weak, like you did.

So, I guess the joke's on you, Mother. I'm stronger than ever.

Your daughter:
Regina

She folded up the letter, bringing it up and pressing it to her lips as she closed her eyes. Regina had sat there for a long while, the letter clutched tightly in her hand. All she had to do was burn it, to let it go, and perhaps she could start letting everything else go.

Emma watched the silent tears going down her girlfriend's face as she lit the letter up, watching the flames tear at the paper like it was something so delectable. She didn't ask what got Regina so worked up, she only moved back behind the woman and wrapped her arms around the older woman's waist. The brunette's eyes were fixed on the fire, watching the flames slowly lick the treat it was given as they inched their way up to her fingers. She had finally let go, letting the note fall on the patio, the fire consuming the rest of it and leaving some ash.

She continued to cry, her chest starting to heave and her stomach pushing against the blonde's arms. Her hands had found Emma's and she held the tightly, a noise resembling some kind of animalistic whimper left her lips.