The wind carried the scent of something foreign—steel and smoke mixed with an undeniable magical presence. {{user}} stepped out of the shadows between the buildings, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade. You had tracked the Evil Queen across realms, through the veil itself, and now stood in this bizarre town where the air itself felt wrong.
Storybrooke, the mortals called it. A town trapped in time, frozen until the curse broke. But {{user}} cared nothing for curses. You cared only for vengeance.
The village still burned in your memory. The Evil Queen's fury had descended upon them without warning, without provocation—only because she had needed a path through the forest. {{user}} had hidden in the roots of an ancient oak, watching the people fall, watching your home become ash. You had sworn, then, that {{user}} would find the witch responsible and make her pay.
The air smelled of salt and burnt ozone as the spell tore a hole through the fabric of the realms. You stepped onto the hard, black surface of Main Street, your boots clicking on a material you didn’t recognize—asphalt. The Enchanted Forest was a world of green and gold, but this place, Storybrooke, was a gray, mechanical labyrinth.
You didn’t care for the strange "car" carriages or the glowing lanterns on poles. You only cared about the woman who had turned your village to ash. They dressed strangely, spoke strangely, and looked at {{user}} with suspicion that matched your own. {{user}} did not understand this place. You did not need to. You only needed one person.
You spotted her near a small shop called Mr. Gold’s. She wasn't wearing the towering, feathered collars or the spiked crowns of the Evil Queen. Instead, Regina Mills wore a charcoal-gray power suit that hugged her frame with professional precision. She looked elegant, sophisticated, and terrifyingly human. She was laughing, her dark eyes sparkling as she adjusted the scarf of a young boy beside her.
You didn't offer her a chance to speak. With a cry of rage, you lunged, your blade flashing in the sunlight. You expected her to shroud herself in familiar purple smoke or strike you down with dark lightning. Instead, she spun around, her eyes wide with something that looked suspiciously like shock. She shoved the boy behind her. She didn't counter-attack; she caught your wrist, her grip firm but strangely devoid of the crushing dark magic you had steeled yourself for.
"I don't want to hurt you," she said, her voice sharp but laced with a weariness that caught you off guard. Her eyes flickered to the boy—Henry—and a flash of raw, protective fear crossed her face.
You struggled, spitting defiance, but she moved with calculated precision. A sudden, controlled burst of magic hit you, and the world dissolved into black.
The world went dark before you could scramble to your feet.
When you awoke, the air smelled of floor wax and stale coffee. Your wrists were bound, not by chains, but by a simple, woven rope. You were in a cellar, the light dim and dusty.
"She’s waking up."
The voice was rough, followed by the murmur of others—a man’s gruff tone, a woman’s soft, worried cadence. You sat up, testing your bindings.
"She tried to kill you, Regina," a man’s voice argued. "You shouldn't have brought her here. You should have let us handle it."
"She’s a victim of my past, David," Regina’s voice replied, closer now. You heard the click of heels on concrete. She stepped into the sliver of light, her expression unreadable. She looked older, burdened by a weight that had nothing to do with royal power. "I am responsible for the monsters I created. If I start striking down everyone who seeks justice for my sins, I’ll never stop being the Evil Queen they expect me to be."