A/N: I had this idea for a new story, and I thought it might be interesting to see how it plays out. You guys'll have to let me know what you think of the story and if it should be continued. Enjoy! :)
"Mommy?"
"Yes, Emma?" Regina replied, coming up behind the child and gently twisting a lock of the girl's blonde hair between her fingers. She slowly raised her coffee mug to her lips, relishing the bitter burn of the fluid as it slid down her throat.
The little girl swiveled in her chair and tilted her head back so she could make eye contact with Regina. "How come I don't look like you?"
"Well… Um…" Regina looked away from Emma, struggling for an explanation.
Of course, she didn't want to tell the child that she'd cursed a realm and stolen her from her real parents via that curse to get revenge on them. But she really did love the child, for all it was worth.
She glanced back at the girl, who was fidgeting in her seat.
"You don't have to look like me to be my daughter," Regina said finally, but the five-year-old had already moved on to something else and wasn't listening anymore.
Ten Years Later
Fifteen-year-old Emma stood in front of the mirror, comparing herself against a picture of her mother. She looked at her mom's dark hair and dark eyes, and her blonde hair and green eyes. Her mom's tanned skin and her pale skin. Regina's sculpted face and Emma's rounder, smoother one. Nothing about them seemed to match up.
Even their mannerisms were fairly different for two people who lived in the same household. One drank coffee habitually and ate like a rabbit, the other coated her hot chocolate in cinnamon and shoveled down greasy grilled cheeses like her life depended on it. One was strict and stiff, the other shy and withdrawn; one had the tendency to light her words on fire, the other had the tendency to say nothing at all.
Emma padded over to where her mom slept, snoring loudly yet soundly. Regina had always told her, over and over, that she was no doubt her mom, but Emma needed to know.
Clean Q-Tip and picture in hand, Emma gently turned her mother over and swabbed the inside of her already-opened cheek. She dropped the sample inside of a plastic baggie and sealed it shut, praying silently that the test would confirm once and for all that Regina was, indeed, her birthmother. She wasn't prepared otherwise.
She headed downstairs.
For a long time, Emma stood, listening to the wind whistling outside her window as if it were taking a stroll through the trees. Branches assaulted the sides of the house, begging to be let in. If only they knew what inside was actually like. She watched the sunset paint everything in gold and shadows, wondering how something could be so beautifully sad.
Then, there was a gentle knock at the door, and Emma opened it, handing the labeled Ziplocs to her friend so he could take them to the hospital for her.
Three Days Later
An envelope. It sat on the counter like road kill, pitied but untouched. Emma could only stand to tear a small part of it open every once in a while. The entire process took about forty minutes, as she had to repeatedly get up and get away from the letter. The letter was a fire, and the sparks kept trying to reach out and burn her.
When she finally held the fresh piece of paper in her hands, she stared at it for what felt like forever.
Everything started turning white. The room spun and tilted on its sides like a dreidel.
Regina entered the kitchen then, carrying her usual cappuccino in her hands. She noticed Emma. "Everything okay, Em?"
Emma quickly shoved the paper into her pocket and nodded, but the action made her incredibly dizzy. She rushed to the sink and vomited.
Regina stood behind her and twisted her daughter's hair into a bun, rubbing the girl's back soothingly as she did so.
The Next Day
When Emma awoke the next morning, her mouth tasted like acid, and her stomach flipped and twisted like a gymnast.
0.00%.
That was what the paper had said.
Emma could see the number wherever she looked, whenever she blinked, as if it were etched on her irises and engraved into her eyelids.
There was absolutely no chance that her mother was her mother.
Emma had always known, but she'd never really known. She was different, but she'd thought maybe she was just a screw-up. A freak of nature. The dog raised by monkeys. That was one luxury that being the odd-one-out everywhere afforded her.
There was a cautious knock on her bedroom door, and Regina entered, carrying a small glass of water. She slowly made her way to the bed and offered it to Emma, but the girl refused.
"You never… You told me…" Emma struggled.
Regina's brow dipped in concern. "What? Is something wrong, Em?"
"You lied to me," Emma spat out like poison. "You're not my real mom."
Regina gently brushed back a stray strand of Emma's matted hair. "Why would you say that? Of course I'm your mother."
Emma reached into her pocket, pulled out the wadded sheet of paper, and tossed it onto the bed, next to Regina.
"What's this?" Regina asked.
Emma didn't answer, so Regina carefully un-balled the paper. Her heart rocketed in her chest as she spotted the same terrifying fact of science that Emma had:
0.00%.
And, suddenly, Regina knew that they had entered dangerous territory.
