A/N: Dear readers, I am genuinely sorry for the belated chapter update. It should have been sooner but I had to travel and I didn't have my computer with me. But don't worry guys, I'm in this for the long haul and I really will try to update the story as soon as possible. And after my careful consideration, I feel like the new title is better than the old one so I decided to change it. One last thing, non-graphic violence warning for this chapter. Enjoy and please let me know what do you think about it : )

CHAPTER TWO – ALL ROSES HAVE THRONS

"We're all in our own private traps, clamped in them, and none of us can get out."

"Sometimes we deliberately step into those traps."

"I was born in mine, I don't mind it anymore."

"Oh but you should, you should mind it."

"Oh I do, but I say I don't."

-Alfred Hitchcock, Psycho (1960)

Work's a real gem. Emma and David have been answering calls and filling out paperwork all morning.

"For the fourth time of the day," She accents on the word "fourth" intentionally, hoping he will be self-conscious that patience is draining out of her, "I am telling you that the cost for reparation will be compensated."

"If you can't fix this, Sheriff Swan, I'm making Leroy come to the station to help me with this!" He yells at her in frustration.

"Don't be stupid," She says that intentionally because the last thing Doc wants to be called is being something less than intelligent. She can hear his tongue clicks too, and before he can respond by denying it, she cuts in. "I am a public servant for the law enforcement, and I would not be intimidated by or give in to any forces that try to pull me down! Besides, Leroy is so often drunk that I have to arrest him any other day, do you honestly think you have that leverage?"

"I don't care, my goddamn car is broken!" She can hear the deep frown on his face at the end of the other line. "I have waited for almost a month! I'm going to court for this if I don't get paid soon -" Well then you can wait one more month, she rolls her eyes as she says the words out loud in her mind.

"No, you're not going court for this!" She snaps, "Goddamn it, Doc, the Mayor's Office is responsible for the compensation of damaged property caused by Zelena, not the goddamn Police Department! You call the Mayor's Office, you hear me?"

"I have called like a million times, they kept saying that they will fix it but they never did! They are unimaginably inefficient, how can the Mayor allow this?"

Emma covers her face with her right hand, slides it slightly to her lips to muffle the grunt that comes out from them. She finally manages to squeeze out a response with a grumble, "Well in case you haven't noticed, the Mayor is in a coma!"

"Isn't there supposed to be an acting Mayor?"

"But we do we have an acting Mayor? We don't have an acting Mayor!" Emma growls under her breath, but soon finds her attitude too dismissive, that she can get herself a few reports of complaint. She softens her tone, not desired to earn herself more affliction than she already has caught herself in. "Just… just wait for a couple more days. As soon as the Mayor wakes up from her Sleeping Beauty rest, everything will be settled.

"Sheriff Swan, I need my car back! I live on the coast side of the town and every morning I have to take a bus then another bus to get to work."

"You think you're the only who needs their life back, huh? You think you're the only one who needs the Mayor back? I want my Mayor back too!" Emma yells at the phone, frightened of the words that have ran out of her mouth without consent. David turns her head to her, who is drawn by the attention of the loud volume from her room and shoots her a dazed expression. Emma waves it off; he turns around and goes on with his phones calls.

"What I am trying to say is," She clarifies without catching her breath, attempts to steady her voice, "The town needs the Mayor, yes, but temporarily there is nothing you and I can do but wait. But really, how bad is it? "

"How bad is it? Imagine, if you will, a car with a sunken front and no windows."

"Whoa, that's bad, I'm sorry for your car." She can't imagine her Bug in such a battered state.

"Well, I am too."

She sighs, as there's not much she can say, "In the meantime, the best I can promise you is that I'll help you to look into it. But no guarantees."

"Fine." She can feel his defeat, hearing his breathing.

"So I guess I'll fill out forms for you to tell the Town's Hall staff to look into it. So it's just Doc, right?"

"Yup, that's right."

"Okay then, Doctor. Have a good day, and don't call us for any time being that has to do with your car."

Hearing those beeps on the phone is like music to her ears. She slams the receiver on the phone, and mutters something unpleasant.

At lunch, Mary Margaret comes over to the station. Normally she doesn't do that because she has her lunch at the school her works at. However, these days she is taking maternity leave and busying herself with drenching herself in the joy of celebrating the arrival of new life.

Emma is not very sure about her feelings concerning this arrival of sibling.

Technically speaking, any family she had doesn't count anymore but it doesn't stop her from caring any less. This little brother of hers is lucky, she thinks, he is born with a family. Although she isn't certain of how Mary Margaret and Charming are going to raise him, (with their adventures perhaps), at least he has people to care him for. She didn't have that when she was born, and that has burdened her since then.

Jealousy is not quite the description because it really isn't in her position to be, and everything that has happened has nothing to do her parents' decision. But somehow, there is still a tiny teeny part of Emma that is furious at them. The way Emma thinks it is just making her lacerated by guilt as much as they are.

There was a choice, just like everything else is, and they would've been together. And after all these years, it is revealed in that dark, chilling cave in Neverland, her mother's secret condemns towards her actions turn out to be a wish to start fresh.

She had felt unwelcome again, just like she had been with her foster families, and that she didn't meet her own mother's expectations, that she's not even accepted by her own, real family. They have told her that's not the case, and that they're proud of her no matter what, but they do want a new child, to right all the wrongs, that this time we'll do it right.

She accepts that, she respects that. She has a child too, therefore she understands.

However, she cannot apologize for her heart – that stirring in her guts and her heart swelling up – when she sees Mary Margaret coming through the door, pushing the stroller into the station. And David spots her the second she gets in, holding up whatever he is doing, and rushes to press a sweet, soft kiss on the cheek of his wife in ecstasy.

If Regina were here, she would her eyes and mumbled "idiots" in return, Emma quietly muses. She quickly frowns at herself at having such a peculiar thought.

Mary Margaret catches the motion of eyebrows, and asks, "Hey Emma, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good," She feigns a smile, but her palm and forehead are sweating, "Better than ever."

"Do you want to have lunch with us? We can go to Granny's for lunch." Mary Margaret frowns with concern.

"Snow's right, why don't you come and join us? The more the merrier." David echoes.

The clean slate isn't entirely without advantage actually. At least now they are stripped of the family statues, and there's finally a chance for Emma to be best friends the way they used to be. And Snow/Mary Margaret doesn't need to worry about having an all grown-up daughter anymore. Emma doesn't think as it in a sarcastic way, but rather relieved in knowing so. Everything is so fucked up. And things before it started it all were fucked up then, too. But after the series of events that they have been through, they can't just wipe them away with the flick of a hand. They are like thrones, one by one, stabbing into her, goring that friendship to death. There was nothing to change it, until this happened. Now she can be spared of the occasionally condescending remarks from Mary Margaret. They are equals and on the same level. With that, Emma also learns being a parent is more than just giving advises when they see fit. It's so much care and love and effort to give, it's very draining but it's very rewarding. And sometimes still, Emma just doesn't feel like she's enough of a parent for Henry.

Mary Margaret is so much better as a friend than as a parent in that case. (Less annoying, more caring and friendly) They can tell, they sense something is not right, but it's nothing they can understand, and Emma also doesn't have the energy to make them do. But they are trying hard, like the way they always do. They are exerting themselves in cheering her up and being inclusive. She really, really wants to go with them. Her heart tells her to but she knows she can't. Watching them with oblivious, but genuinely happy smiles, all she feels is the excruciating pain in her chest.

The word 'yes' is one sip of air left to slip out, but she forces it down. So instead, Emma takes a deep breath and says, "Oh I'd love to come but ugh I've got plenty work to finish up. I'll just grab a burger or something then I gotta jet." She stops by the stroller and takes a good glance at her baby brother; he's got his father's eyes and his mother's lips, he's beautiful.

She slides a finger to his forehead, and makes a coo sound. He catches her finger lightly and squeaks in soft laughter. Emma chuckles and gives out a broad, warm smile.

"Didn't know you like kids much, Em," Mary Margaret raises an eyebrow.

"I've always had a soft spot for children," A smile makes its way to her contour.

"It's nice to see you smile again, Emma."

"Yea, it feels good to smile. I'm sorry, really, but I gotta go, I'll see you guys around." She waves her goodbye, and to her baby brother too. He returns with a beam. That's nice, he likes me too, Emma thinks.

She escapes the station with a sigh from her lips. There is a strange exhilaration that swells up in her whenever she goes to visit Regina, it's almost pleasant.

Mid-afternoon's blazing light descends from the cloudless sky into the ward. A piece of bright blue sky, with such heat, still won't warm Regina's features or Emma's heart. Emma arrives, bringing fresh flowers with her. She inserts the roses into the vase next to the iron-framed bed. So she could wake up to the fragrant smell of flowers, she thinks to herself quietly.

After settling the flowers, she comes in front the armchair and sits. Looking around the ward, despite the fact that she has been here more than a few times; she still isn't used to its excessive spaciousness. Shifting in her chair for a more comfortable position, she stares at the unconscious woman, and starts speaking in a soft voice.

"Hey, Regina. I've come to talk with you again." She licks her lips. It's like they were old friends.

A week has passed by since she has first walked into the isolated ward; it has become a sort of routine that Emma performs.

"Work is a totally crazy shit storm. There's this guy, whose car got broken by Zelena's showdown, he kept calling to ask me to fix his ride. He called like three or four times to my office, every time demanding me to compensate. I was so mad, I practically yelled at that dude. Okay, I know that you're gonna say that people will file complaints, but well not like I actually gone crazy. I told him that the Mayor's office is responsible for the compensation. That moron said he called like every single day but then the town hall's staff is just too hectic because –" She stutters as she realizes what she is going to say.

She chuckles wryly, trying to cover the sadness deep inside, "Well, because you're all passed out and you can't possibly do anything about it."

"You gotta wake up, sassy girl. The town needs you. Henry needs you. Mary Margaret needs you." And I need you. She leaves them out, fights her hardest to scratch them away.

Emma resumes, "She literally needs you. Motherhood is not her strong suit. She can't change a diaper without getting shitted in the face," She laughs lightly, knowing that if Regina was there, she wouldn't be able to contain herself. Then her mind wanders off to the second day they've met, how Regina defensively poured acid of words over her. How she "changed every diaper, soothed ever fever, endured every tantrum." In the past decade, Regina has been an eleven out of ten mother. She has raised her son well. And even Emma regrets giving up on Henry, she has never once regretted putting Henry into Regina's care. So this is how it feels, to have threats poofed out of nowhere, impolitely barging in her life. Emma practically knocked down her kingdom of cards, deprived her of her happiness, even if it's never meant to be permanent. It isn't so different from her own situation.

"I'm sorry," She apologizes, genuinely guilty, her eyes downcast.

But she is left in silence. It saturates the ward that it spills out to the cracks of walls and cracks of Emma's heart.

She sniffles, "Oh, give me a sign." Then she closes her eyes. In the mild dark, she sees everything, she can't see anything.

Suddenly she feels a tiny tingling sensation brushing her fingers. She looks down, and notices Regina's fingers' movement, the quivering against hers that are resting on the side of the bed. The edge of her lips curves a little, but still not enough to call it a smile. But then she hears the cardiac monitor starts beeping in erratically; Regina's heart rate is accelerating rapidly and the numbers on the screen are constantly rising.

Emma's heart flutters capriciously just like Regina's eyelids do. A shudder runs through her flesh and bones, but her head is on fire. Panic eats her up like a swarm of deadly creatures.

Emma hears herself shouting for help – a voice of dread and desperation.

This all too carries too much familiarity, Emma thinks. When Henry had eaten the poisoned apple turnover, he collapsed like a fragile tower of jenga, toppled over to the ground. With his eyes closed, he was one world away, his mind drifted to another realm. All she could think of was, language has a bad humor; he slept like the dead, how well said. And she remembers no matter how much she exerted herself in wrapping her hands around his, they were static and cold. The warmth of his body had left him just like the life that was blown out of him, and the dry, monotonous sound of his death sentence hung in the crisp air.

Their connected hands break off, a cut cord, its electrifying sensation still lingers. Emma turns her head to Regina. Her life is a plain, smooth line, leaving her in lethal silence.

"Don't die on me, Regina," Emma breathes, leaning in to shake Regina's hands, "Don't you dare."

There's no response.

"Regina," She slaps her cheeks, but they remain pale, then she shouts "REGINA!"

The medical crew starts rushing in, like angry tides of sea, diffuses her. A nurse pushes her out of the ward, and tells her to wait outside.

Air lifts out of her lungs, and surges the words forward. Her voice, like a bullet shot at the water, leaves her chest but is again inaudible.

From the ajar door, she sees the nurses draw the curtains above Regina's bed. The world swims before her, and her knees weak. Tears cascade down the curves of her contour, she blinks them away. Then a wave sweeps over, smothering her. Her eyes are in a haze, dots of hues and light beams shimmer. She covers them with both of her hands. Lazily and slowly, darkness gathers itself, closing her in.

We sat in the dining hall without a sound, waiting.

Her hands clasped closely together, and her knuckles were pale from the tension. But it was already pass dinnertime, and no one had shown up. Plates of exquisite cuisines were placed all over the dining table that stretched from one end of the hall to the other, but it was only her and I.

We had watched rows of servants entered with the food and served them, when it was still fresh and warm, when fine smoke of heat was smoldering and the hall was brimming with the delicious scent of it. It would've been nice. But we had waited, waited, and waited. It was already long pass dinnertime, but no one had shown up. From before sunset, to the point where shadows had fallen upon we were still as a stone in our chairs. I extended my hand for hers. It was not so hard to detect the apprehension of hers.

After the church bell rung, I said, "Does it usually take so long?"

She seemed to be in deep thought, and when she turned to me her features were arranged to a forcefully lighthearted smile. "What takes so long, dear?"

"The waiting."

I remembered hearing the gulping sound of her throat and her murmuring, but her voice was far too small to be audible. For a moment, an uncomfortable sensation settled on me. I felt embarrassed, not by her of course, but by myself. I was incompetent to soothe her. I had a sudden flash of revelation over my mind: no matter how hard my heart contracts, it's nothing compared to hers.

"How often do they come to dinner?"

She winced as my grasp contracted, her hand struggling, recoiling to the silver goblet. I noticed her hand's quivering as she grabbed it and took a nervous sip of the wine. It colored her lips with ripe red, the corner of it streaming the fluid. It was too bold of me, but it almost came out automatically, my hand had already lurched forward against my will, brushing the stain away. My fingers only rested for a fleeting moment because I withdrew them as something dark stirred inside me. I bet she felt that too. But she didn't seem to mind the momentary intimacy.

"Try the berry, it looks ripe." I said, my hand holding it out to her.

Her face formed a grimace, "I don't feel like eating, Sasha."

"What about a strawberry cake?"

"I really don't have an appetite to…"

"Ah! Apple pies, you love apple pies, a bite maybe?" I could tell her eyes shone, even just for a bit.

She leaned forward, taking a tiny bite of the pie, chewing it delicately. I smiled in return, despite my stomach was churning vigorously.

Finally, I managed to get the words out.

"They aren't coming, are they?" I tried my best to soften my sour tone; anger was coming over me.

She wore a wistful smile, shaking her head, muted.

First, it is the sound, sharp as a knife. Her eyes fly open. Then it is the darkness. And then there is a pleasant scent. It is the sweet smell of roses.

She sniffles; but she can't. She sniffles a bit harder. Still, the attempt of such simple action is feeble. Something is wrong. There's a slow burn heat in her abdomen, swarming up to her head. Panic. Regina Mills is sure that she kept no roses at her home. Why aren't I at my house?

She blinks a few times, trying very hard to rid of the intrusive thought that enters her mind.

Back in the days, the dark days – oh the age has a name; indeed it was the dark ages – etiquette was vital, and a woman's reputation was her everything. Mother had been insistent on that. There was so many to follow on her great list of the grand plan of pushing her up to the throne, it was beyond smothering. "You have to act like what you plan to be", she said. It was her other motto other than reminding one that heart was a liability in the pursuing of power. Mother had marked her, engraved her with endless, harsh teachings and expectations from the day she was born. She didn't even need to ask, she knew, she knew Queen was written in her name. And she had no trouble to be reminded in every waking moment that she was to be one, act like one. Mother's effort and energy to perfect her was forever unfailing. And every step she took was not easy. But the lessons – learning to walk wearing corset while having three books placed on her head, remember the crests of all the noble houses, being able to recite the sonnets – they weren't the hardest to take. It was the punishment that was pure suffering. As a young lady and a grown one, Regina can think of a million ways that she is disappointing Mother every morning she wakes up, that she is not ladylike enough, that she is not enough in every way imaginable, and that she is softhearted.

Sometimes, when Cora was not interested in doing it herself, (in truth, mostly, it was that she had other errands to run for) she'll simply had servants thrown her into the dungeons, or lock her in her chamber for self-reflection or something even worse: lock her up in the cupboard.

Usually when she was locked up in the dungeons or her chamber, Mother would have servants put mirrors all over the room. And before she was pushed into the room, she would tell her coldly to "take a good, hard look at yourself." But it was more than that, because the mirrors were also there for her to supervise her, to watch closely so she didn't run away. But why would she, how could she?

Mother would lock her in, and then let her out past dinnertime. Standing in the cupboard was what Regina would think of as a punishment in hell. In the tiny, uncomfortable cupboard, she could hear her surroundings very clearly, which included the clock. She could hear every clank of the clock, and also the church bell from afar. Sometimes the confinement would take an hour, sometimes two hours, sometimes maybe more, she lost count. Everything was up to Mother. Every decision was to fit her fury and her satisfaction.

In the cupboard, there was nothing, only blackness. In the layers of darkness, nothing is palpable. Absolutely nothing.

It clamped in her body, squeezing her tightly. And since the cupboard was so narrow, she couldn't move an inch for a better position, she couldn't cringe or squat. She was always wearing a corset, and moving was even more useless.

When the confinement was over, there was something even more dreadful waiting. Most of the times, at the point when the punishment was close to an end, there would be the scent of roses. Then she would know she would soon be let out. Later, the doors would open; the unforgiving light would sear her eyes that she had to squint, and Mother would be standing right there. There would be kettle of rose tea sitting on the table, drowning, choking the room with the smell of roses. It was such a sickly, sticky sweet taste. And not only there would be rose tea, Mother would be all loving and warm like a mother should be, with her arms wide open to welcome her. It was just awful, being wrapped in her arms. And so often, tears would just burst out her eyes and flow relentlessly. It wasn't only the barely endurable incarceration but the messy, overwhelming thoughts and feelings running her down. During that reflection, hateful, horrible thoughts would spite her mother's doings; they would speak to her like voices in a person's head. But there the hour was over, Mother was there, so affectionate, so caring. It was guilt that was drowning her. How could she bear such insensible, wicked, nasty thoughts? She loved me, she had said it. She was only headstrong in raising her to be good and presentable. But there was another perspective, there always is, if that was the truth, why being so cruel and harsh?

That war in her mind would never stop; it goes on and on, even now. It is an ugly contradiction. She still has the conviction that love is weakness deep inside, yet she is still convinced that she is deluded by the years of misplaced education.

Confused and falling apart, she could scarcely hold herself together. You can still fight it; you have the power to deny her kindness. She told she didn't listen and the only thing left to do was for her to be in her embrace, clutching tightly to her mother's arm, her eyes closed because the light was just too bright, crying and crying until her voice cracked. And she would stroke her hair so lightly like breezes, as if her touch was fire. She whispered so lightly like the way leaves fall to the ground, and her voice almost sounded… rueful underneath.

She hated this. It disgusted her; it sickened her to the bottom of her soul. Mother was right; she was just as weak, and soft, and fragile as she told her she was.

"It's all right now, sweet girl. You know I never want to hurt you." But you did it anyway.

She screams.

One morning, when she got back from the King's bedchamber, I suggested to her, "Why don't you go find yourself a sweetheart?"

Once in a while, she had to spend the night at his majesty's room. And until she got back, I would sit on the edge of the bed, wait until she gets back the other morning. As Queen, it was her duty to warm his bed. But most of the time, it was just nothing more than a routine that needs to be performed. He didn't love her that much was obvious, he was still clinging to his deceased wife. In the castle, the only people she knows are the King and the Princess. The King, she had just as little affection for him as he did for her. And the Princess, she resented the slightest mentioning of hers, let alone her presence. As for the court, it was nothing like a foreign country to her. They knew only her name, and her diaphanous sadness that she carries everywhere she goes, but they didn't know her intricate story, nor does their concern lie with her best interests. And the denizens of this country, they were just as clueless. They called her "The Young Queen", cold and fair, and the description of being stern and possessing a frigid nature would never fails to follow. Such injustice was in no position to be put into rest. They didn't know, they didn't understand, behind those fanciful gowns and dresses and jewelries, was a girl full of scars and sorrows. And in that big, empty castle, there was no one for her.

Her expression immediately tightened, eyes wild, and her hand sprawled over her stomach, very fretful. "What- what do you mean, Sasha? You don't...you don't want me anymore? "

I chuckled, she was still confused. I took a step forward to her, holding her hands. "No, what I mean is that you should find yourself a real friend."

"You're real enough to me." Her face was stubborn, my grin grew wider.

"Amice, a presentable person is what I am saying. A friend that you can introduce to the court, something of the sort."

"Oh." She raises an eyebrow timidly, "Like a... Lady friend? Or a... "

I arched an eyebrow, encouraging her, "Go on."

She opened her mouth, silent for a moment, then she murmured, with a slight reluctance, "- A knight."
I knew what she was thinking; her expression betrayed her, screaming her notions out loud. A shade of dismay smeared itself over her face, tinted with the color of darkness. A bad experience.

It still hadn't been a full week after the fairy with green wings had flown away.

"I'm not saying anything about fairy dust or true love. Just a friend." I dispelled her fears, dismissing her worries of having an affair, brushing her dark locks with the back of my hand.

I shifted my hands to her shoulders, her forehead resting against mine. "The one and only thing I wish and I'll ever wish is for you to be happy."

She started shaking her head, pulling away a bit. She spoke softly, almost like a whimper of a caged bird, "Alas, there's no more happiness that my suffering can make room for."

It seems quite destined that Emma Swan is not going to get some sleep tonight.

After reading another entry of the book she has found, she has clamped it shut and put it on the end table beside the bed. Reading has never been a frequent habit of hers. When you were a kid, everybody encourages you to read. But it's just not very much for Emma. She is more inclined to interact rather than just reading the words, it feels more solid and less monophonic. Therefore, when given paperwork to do at work, she's vexed. And that's also perhaps is why she's never quite good at school. Language subjects are just twits; she can't help but care less about the contemplation over the meaning of life. Maths is okay but it's just not very fun. Sciences however are nice. Emma likes to figure out how the world works, it's amazing, watching the mechanical of things. There is something fascinating about just staring, watching the operation of a factory, or a machine, or human body or just something. It's comforting, and there's something wonderful about it at the tip of her tongue that she can't explain it to anyone.

There are times, when she had ran away from detentions, or simply a normal day after school dismisses, she would find a bench in the street and sit down to watch. Watching busy people go, yet you are sitting in the middle of them, so lonely and secure, like the eye of a tornado gives Emma the strangest feeling in the world. It's lonesome and lost and out of things, but at the same time, it's soothing. In the way that as if she's invisible and fading and people just keep walking by, it's peaceful, it's like nothing bad can ever happen.

Sitting by Regina's side has that effect on her. Watching Regina is more than that, it's less lonesome and more peaceful. And she doesn't feel like fading anymore.

"Are you Miss Emma Swan?" The beeping of her phone wakes her up once again, she picks up promptly. The voice on the other line sounds urgent.

"Who's this?" She whines, propping herself on one elbow. "Do you know it's the middle of the night-"

"We're truly sorry that, but this is the hospital calling on behalf of the mayor. It's quite import-"

"I'll come now." That's all she said before she slips her feet on the floor to get ready.

Emma rushes to the ward as quick as she can. She arrives, seeing a nurse and a doctor standing outside the ward.

Panting from running, she asks, "So what's the situation? She's- she's not…" She can't finish the sentence. Her mind rewinds to the daytime she visited. The idea is just too horrifying to be spoken.

"No, no, she's not. She's fine." The doctor answers.

"Then what happened? And why am I the only one who is informed?" Emma scowls.

"She called for you." The nurse replies with a tight, sad smile. Emma's palms are sweating. Why on earth will Regina call for her?

"So she's up?"

"She was, temporarily."

"That's not vague at all." Her tone grows harsher.

"She was awake from comatose. She screamed, she cried out your name. But then her heartbeat was too irregular, we had to sedate her. You can go in and look at her if you like to."

Emma takes a peek at the glass window overlooking the ward, she walks in.

The ward is almost completely dark. The only light is the one over the desk next to the bed, illuminating the figures displaying on the screens of machines. Emma takes her seat, squinting at the unconscious Regina. She's exhausted, her eyes dry. Regina seems to be glowing in the rim of light.

Emma runs a hand through her locks, and then rests her chin on it. "They said you called for me."

There's no answer.

The only sounds are her soft breathings, beeps of machines, and the rain that starts dropping from the sky, landing on roofs and surfaces.

"I think you should say something, since you called for me." She says as she pours herself a cup of water. As she spins on her heels, she notices the mirror hung on the wall. She has been here for a week but never noticed it until now. The face is ashen, cheeks concave, and lips are pale. She looks disintegrated, she thinks. Emma gives them lick, just so to add a bit of color to her complexion.

Emma turns, her eyes light up with pleasant surprise. Regina's eyes are somewhat, slowly open. They blink exceptionally slow, the light in them glint. Her lips are part, and they make out what sounds like a sigh.

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to." She whispers. "Shush, now go back to sleep. I'll be right here, all night." Emma brushes her cheek with the back of her hand. It's smooth, like marble. It's like she understands Emma's words and she's found reassurance in them. Drowsily, Regina's heavy eyelids close.

And next, she doesn't know what possessed her, she starts to cry.

For the rest of the nights, the ones that she didn't need to go away, she spent them with me.

We nestled under the sheets. They wrapped around our heads like tents.

"Where did you get that?" My thumb caressed her upper lip. That's a scar that I'd noticed from the first day I met her but never had the chance to ask.

"That is a long story."

I'm not satisfied with that answer, because it sounds fairly evasive, so I ventured closer. She fully understands that there is nothing she needs to hide from me.

"And I have all the time in the world to hear your story." I smiled.

She beamed back; her face was glowing with joy and pride. "That's the one time that I stood up to my mother when I was a child and I am proud of doing so."

"I used to really hate the scar; it looked like such an ugly flaw to me. But then I grew to like it as I grew up. Here's the story of it. When I was about ten or eleven, my father and I went riding; we found a wolf pup in the woods. It was young and abandoned with a crippled leg. I begged my father to let me take him home and I would take good care of it. Eventually, he agreed. So, I did exactly what I promised him, I took good care of him, I walked with him, I loved him. My mother never approved of the wolf. And seeing how much I loved the wolf, she wanted to teach me a lesson. She always told me that love is weakness, and it's only a matter of time I learn. She told me to get rid of the wolf, or else she would. I didn't listen to her words. Instead, I trained the wolf. There's once, she tried to strike me because I wasn't being ladylike, the wolf stopped her. At that moment, I felt exhilarating, even knowing that'd follow by grief."

"It did. The next day, my wolf started snarling and growling at my presence. Then later, it attacked me. At first I didn't stop it from fighting back because I loved it and I couldn't bring myself to harm it. But then it was growing rabid and then it jumped on me and gave me a deep scratch across my upper lip. My mother was just in time to stop it from slashing out my throat. My wolf was reduced to ashes by her magic. And then she healed me, preached me how love was getting me killed, that it was a weakness. I didn't retort, the only thing on my mind was that I was convinced she arranged all of it. She healed all my injuries but that scar remained. And that's a mark I'm proud to bear."

"I like your scar. I think it's beautiful." I leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her scar.

"You don't have to say that to please me." She stroked my hair, a sad smile on her face.

"No, I'm saying this because I think you're beautiful. The scar makes you special, and being special makes you beautiful. And I want to tell you that I'm proud of you, I'm proud of you being so brave."

"Thank you." She whispered, her voice shaking a bit.

Emma stops, and her eyes land on Regina. This Amice in the journal is actually Regina! It is truly terrible, reading all sorts of misfortune of this woman had to encounter, but it is nothing as terrible as the knowledge of actually knowing this kind of things has happened to someone she knows. It's like watching the news report, you see all these unlucky folks that fall into traps of reality, traps of the evil in the world, and you think to yourself that those things will never happen to you that this would only happen to "the others". Sometimes you would even joke about them, because you are so certain it's not going to happen, that you're not going to be scammed, that you're not going to be robbed, that you're not going to be murdered for no reason at all, that you're not going to be orphaned, that you're not going to suffer like everyone else does, because it's always "the others". In fact, that's what everybody thinks, that's very likely what the ones who were unfortunate to encounter the tragedies thought too. Because that's what people do, that's exactly how people are so naïve to convince themselves readily, as if they wish hard enough, these stuff won't happen to them.

Oh, but they do, they do happen to them. They eventually will understand.