AN: THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR ALL THE REVIEWS AND FAVES AND FOLLOWS! That meant much to me! I know, I had promised a happy Ending, but before that I had wanted to explore Regina's thoughts and emotions regarding their situation.

AN2: Happy Birthday Liv! I hope you won't hate me after this.

Please Review and tell me what you think! :)

Ghost before the Wall

My Life is like a Wound, I scratch so I can Bleed.

Regurgitate my Words, I write so I can Feed.

And Death grows like a Tree that's planted in my Chest.

Its Roots are at my Feet, I walk so it won't rest.

Oh, Baby I am Lost…

It won't take long, any moment now, the bed will dip, then silent movements will follow. Getting dressed without as much of a whisper isn't easy, but manageable. Then footsteps, quiet and yet they cut through the silence like the chime at midnight. The bedroom door remains open, and you're thankful it does. It allows your ears to follow her feet until they reach the red leather jacket and those hideous boots she had left by the front door earlier. Holding your breath, you wait for the noise that always seems so much louder in your memory.

The faint click of a door being closed.

She's gone now, down the street already without looking back. You know she doesn't spare as much of a glance back towards the house, towards you, because you've stood at the window often enough, watching how she disappeared into the night.

Eventually, you turn, still able to feel her warmth radiating off the sheets. That's when the breath you'd held breaks through your lips. The sob muffled by the pillow pressed against your face.

It's only logical, you think, with your tears still rolling down your cheeks. That of all people she was your downfall. The one to break your curse, to take Henry and the happiness you had with him from you, the one you had to lose your heart to.

Not just the Saviour. No, it had to be the daughter of Snow White.

Silence is your only friend these days. At first you had enjoyed it, no phone calls, annoying town meetings or pointless arguments. You hadn't missed those, at least not immediately. Henry's feet hitting the hardwood flooring as he tried to sneak around the house was what you had missed first. He wouldn't come back, you knew that. Under no circumstances would he want to live with you, let alone visit you again. It was your own fault, you accepted that much. After all, you had lied to him, sent him to therapy, made him feel like he was crazy when he had been right all along. But what would have changed, if you had been honest with him?

He would hate you no less. After all, you are the Evil Queen, the ultimate monster. Not a hero, unlike Snow fucking White. Henry would forever look up to them, idealize them, everything you had done for him already forgotten.

You had hoped in the first days after the curse broke that he eventually would come, that he would ask after the why, after your side of the story, but he never came. He wouldn't come back, not for a brief visit or to collect his belongings. He would stay with them, as far away from you as possible.

Seconds tick away; fade into minutes as you lay there, still feeling her with you, next to you, within you. Your tears have dried, when you get lost in the memories of the previous night. It was pointless, you knew that much by now, but it didn't change the fact that you allowed yourself to believe her words, to hope each time. Only to have your hopes crushed again.

It destroys you, more and more. You can feel how she tears you further apart, how she shatters the remains of your already broken heart. She doesn't mean to, you know she had intended to help. At first, you had thought that's why you let her and still don't stop, let her continue because she doesn't mean to hurt you, with her charming good intentions. But that's not why you still open the door for her, catch yourself waiting for her to knock each night. You welcome her into your house, into your life and heart because she is all you have left.

It'd destroy you completely, if you continue like this. She knows this as much as you do, and that's why you have to end it, find a way to finally stop. You drove her away once; perhaps you should find a way to do it again.

Before she can.

The hot water helps, washes off her scent that still lingers in your bedrooms air, replaces your skins memory of her touch with nothing but a stinging sensation. The monotone sound of water cascading down your showers' walls helps to calm your racing mind.

You know that there is only one solution. A solution that would be good for at least one of you. Your decision had been set, the moment you had left your bed.

Your body fights, fights your decision, your heart desperately trying to overthrow your well thought out plan; love trying to weaken you once again. You crave her, and what she gives you. Shallow promises and empty words are better than nothing, are better than anything else you have. You want to give in, want to continue like this, want to love her, but you can't. Not like this.

The house – not a home, anymore - seems colder than usual as you travel down the staircase. Perhaps it has something to do with your decision, the finality in it allowing you to see the mansion for what it was worth. A cold prestige object, almost like a golden cage. Briefly you remember a poem Henry had been tasked to learn once, something about a caged bird standing on a grave of dreams. How apt. No wonder Henry never truly liked it.

Henry.

You falter, briefly. Should you try to see him one last time? Try to explain yourself to him? It's not too late, he perhaps still could— but that's wishful thinking. Henry isn't yours anymore. You're not his "Mom" anymore, no. Now you are "The Evil Queen", or "Regina". It's over. He doesn't care, believes he knows who you are, who you'll always be. Evil wasn't made, it was born, and redemption non-existent. He isn't yours, not anymore. He wasn't since the day she had brought him back, but at least then you could pretend. Now? Now your son, the boy you had loved more than anything else, the boy you had raised alone, was probably sitting at a table with the Charmings, having a family breakfast together with Emma. The thought of it alone, the perfect gathering of the perfect family, made you sick. The rush of fury eased the stinging sensation forcing itself through your chest briefly.

Lost within your thoughts, you continue to travel through the house, from room to room. All those vivid memories you have held suddenly seeming distant. First your study, then the living room, followed by the kitchen and finally your dining room. You don't remember when you've last eaten here. It was with Emma, that's for sure. Most likely the last time she had picked you up on your offer, regarding food. Without her, you don't eat, not much. And if you do, then untypical for yourself, in front of the TV, your only talking companion. For silence, you still have your apple tree, just as you had with Leopold.

Your fingers fly along the polished wood of the chairs backs, you won't sit here again with her, whilst enjoying dinner or having an almost normal conversation. Even if you would continue, she wouldn't pick you up on your offer for dinner again.

It had been a while, since you'd properly cooked. It was pointless to cook a complete meal for one alone, especially with the stack of Granny's leftovers piling the fridge. But that night, you had decided, despite all of that, to cook.

A habit, something similar to a pattern had formed between you and Emma. A dance in which you both knew all the steps. She would appear at your doorstep, every two to three days. Perhaps, you had thought then, perhaps she would stop by today. It wouldn't be the first time that you offer her dinner, but it would be the first time it was freshly cooked. You had caught yourself glancing at the clock, while you had made lasagne — Henry's favourite - you had listened for her to knock at your door once the dish had disappeared inside the oven.

Relief had flooded your system, when the knock finally came.

A slight smile on your lips, you had opened the door, had welcomed her in. She had picked up your offer of dinner without any hesitation, the delicious smell flowing from the kitchen most likely supported that. With the smile growing on your lips, you had lead her towards the kitchen, where she had, oddly enough, I taken it upon herself to find the plates and set the table.

During dinner, an easy conversation had flowed between the two of you, you had talked about everything and nothing. Neither mentioning what it actually was, what the two of you did, neither daring to address the curse, your breakdown weeks ago, or Henry. Leading her to be relaxed enough to eventually meet your eyes, honesty written in bold letters within them.

She truly was sorry, and wanted to help you, wanted to make you feel better. The always irritating Emma Swan, the Saviour that had broken your curse, had caused half of the misery you had found yourself in, cared about you.

The two of you had moved from the dining room into the living room — not the study, you hadn't been in there since your breakdown, not since you had told the blonde your side of the story, neither of you knowing what was to come. The easy conversation quickly became flirty. Surprisingly lacking their usual dark demeanour, it had been an evening without promises, without false hopes or empty words. Nevertheless, you had hoped, the steady beat of your heart, drumming in your ears as you laughed along with her.

It had seemed normal, could have been seen as a date, and not like an attempt to fix something broken beyond repair.

You had sat next to her, on the comfortable white couch, had been facing her when your laugher had filled the surrounding air. Eventually — you don't remember how anymore, but then it didn't matter, it had been bound to happen after all - you had found yourself on her lap, straddling her, with your black skirt bunched around your hips.

Time had stood still, had frozen the moment your lips had found hers. It hadn't been different from the first time when your lips had moved against hers, your heart skipping a beat just the same. With your fingers woven through her gold tresses, and hers resting against your cheeks, just like then, you had thought you had found it, your piece of heaven.

This time, you had taken your sweet time, there had been no rush. Not when you had moaned against her lips, not when her teeth had sunken into kiss-bruised flesh, not when her tongue had disappeared between your still parted lips. Savouring the moment, you had lost yourself completely in her arms, your fingers had started to roam along her skin, had wandered from her neck, along her arms, eventually settling on her hips.

You had lost your blouse somewhere up the stairs, had been crushed against the walls and banisters, with your body pressed against hers. She had lost her tank top before you had reached your bedroom door.

She had pulled you towards the bed, had found your lips again once you'd reached it. With her hands, exploring every inch of skin they could reach, you had gently pushed her down, had straddled her thighs again. You could feel her smile against your lips, when your hands had reached her hips. Your fingers traveling along the waistline of her jeans, you had taken a moment to memorize the goose bumps they had left in their wake.

Eventually your fingers had found the silver button marking the only resistance between your fingertips and her soft skin. She had helped you to kick them off, had made sure you lost your skirt in the process. Your lips captured hers, considering for a moment to never let go again.

She had taken that decision from you, her had let her lips travel along your skin. Across your cheek, along your neck, settling briefly above your racing pulse. Your head had fallen back, with your chest arching off the bed, desperate for more contact from her lips against your sensitive skin. She had granted you your wish, had given you what you had craved, with her tongue brushing against an erect nipple. A moan had fallen from your lips; your fingers had tangled in blonde hair, when her fingers had found its twin.

You had felt her smirk against your skin, had sensed her breath hitch with your thigh traveling along hers, had heard a moan muffled against your chest when your skin came in contact with soak panties. You knew then that she had wanted you, just as much as you had needed her. With a soft tug on golden curls and slight pressure against her heat, you had asked her to meet your waiting lips.

Your fingertips had whispered along her skin, had mapped their way along her ribs, had danced towards her hips. She swallowed your moan when her fingers had travelled along your waist, had disappeared beneath black lace.

You had repaid the favour, when your fingers had found the place she had needed you the most, when you had matched her pace, with your thumb pressing against her clit.

Time had been stilled again, with nothing but her mattering, she had done it again, had given you a taste of heaven.

You had worked in sync, she had met your fingers trust for trust, your hips had arched off the mattress, desperate to seek as much from her as she did offer. You knew she was close, knew she would have you fall over the edge any moment yourself.

Her lips had left yours, hovering near your ear. Your cheeks had been pressed together, had given you the feeling of complete intimacy as you both had neared the end.

Wanting to see her fall, to come undone, you had circled your thumb, had curled your fingers, had found the right spot. Her muscles had massaged your fingers, her breath had hitched, before your name had fallen with a moan off her lips.

She had tripped you over, had pulled you with her over the edge. Your moans had been swallowed by her hungry lips.

The blonde had collapsed on top of you, her head placed over your rapidly beating heart. A content sigh left her lips as your fingers wove themselves into gold tresses, playing gently with them. You smiled up at the ceiling, feeling at ease with yourself. Content and happy. That's when you made it, that horrible mistake. Looking at it now, you never should have said those words. Perhaps without them, your relationship would look different today.

I love you.

Words she had often spoken, attempting to sooth your pain. The difference between you and her voicing those three little words, were that you, unlike her, meant them.

Silence had followed your words, causing you to regret them immediately.

Emma I didn't–

You had started, never getting the chance to completely speak your thoughts. She got up right away, not looking once at you as she collected her clothes. You had followed her lead, had left the bed, the sheet wrapped around your body.

Please. Please listen to me?

You had begged, watching her helplessly getting dressed. You had run after her, taking it back, promising her to never say it again, swearing that you hadn't meant it. She hadn't looked at you, not once. She had only slightly faltered when she reached the front door.

I'm sorry, I can't.

The words leaving her lips shattered what little she had managed to fix within you. Standing there, you had stared after her, a broken no leaving your lips. The ground was pulled from beneath your feet, your world upside down once again. Your knees had given up, suddenly unable to support your weight. Tears had clouded your vision before your skin had made contact with the cold hardwood floor. Wrapping yourself further into the thin sheet, you had inhaled the scent it had still carried. The scent of her.

It's over.

You had sobbed. She was gone and she wouldn't return. It had been too perfect, had been too good, something you can't have. Not ever. Early you had to learn that nothing good, nothing perfect would stay with you. Your mother had taught you that lesson well.

She had shown up eventually, the day you had given up on yourself she had come knocking at your door, causing the spark of hope to light again. Neither of you had addressed the issue, both ignoring what had happened. Still, there had been consequences: no more dinners, or drinks, or light-hearted conversation. You talked, still, but not about anything of import, since that one night, weeks ago, your nights together had become almost monotonous. She would show up, between ten and midnight, you would offer her a drink, or something to eat despite knowing that she wouldn't take you up on your offer, not anymore. You spoke, briefly. About the weather, the slowly, finally, rising temperatures, the two of you talked, without actually telling each other anything. Despite the rather sad demeanour of your evening's beginning, you would move with her towards the bedroom eventually, clinging to her promises, to her words of hope. You had loved her no less, had lost yourself more to her with each night, only to be left before dawn, more and more broken each time.

You had believed it would work, that you could live without fully having her. You had wanted it to be enough, to just call her yours every once in a while, but you couldn't endure it. Not anymore. You wouldn't survive another night of her leaving your side, without as much of a glance back, with her acting like it was the easiest thing to do.

You had played with the idea to just let it happen, to break once and for all, but you can't. She would feel guilty, would never forgive herself. Something you couldn't do. She deserved her happily ever after. A happily ever after she couldn't have with you constantly needing her affection in the picture, so you would let go. You would give up the little happiness you had left, in order for Emma to find hers.

Quickly, a bag was packed, stored in your black Mercedes' trunk among a small box filled with items you held dear. Drawings from Henry and crafts he had made for you, pictures of happier times, along with his favourite stuffed bear. The blouse your son had lend to his birthmother behind your back and the tank top she hadn't been able to find, one night before she had left.

They wouldn't miss you, not this town, not its inhabitants, not Henry or Emma. They all were better off without you, those you loved, especially.

It still was early, early enough for a Sunday to find the streets of Storybrooke empty, so you can take your time. This place had been supposed to be your happy ending; it had been supposed to give you what you craved the most. You thought you had found it, twice, only to see it slipping through your grasp. But that didn't matter now, not anymore. It was over, that much was for sure.

Your memories remain unaffected as you cross the town, as much as you wish they wouldn't, but there was no second identity or set of memories prepared for you. No, you would spend the remainder of your life filled with thoughts about those you wanted to love you so much.

You glance back once, through your rear-view mirror seeing Storybrooke's sign disappearing into the distance, before you turn your attention back towards the route in front of you. There was no plan, not this time. You would follow the roads and highways, wherever they would lead.

As far away as possible.

You mumble through the silence, briefly considering even leaving the States. Europe, or New Zealand perhaps. Nobody knew you there, you wouldn't be confronted with a state called Maine, or the city of Boston. There you could truly start fresh, or at least attempt to do so.

Once more, your glance shifts towards the rear-view mirror; you can't see Storybrooke's limits anymore. The godforsaken town, long left behind you.

Later on, miles after you had left Maine, you would think back, and swear to have seen a flash of a familiar yellow, disappearing with a growing distance, behind you.

I try to push the colours through a prism back to white.

To sync our different pulses into a blinding light.

And if love is not the key. If love is not the key.

I hope that I can find a place where it could be.

The Happy Ending WILL come. I Promise.

Please Review and tell me what you think :)