The air inside Granny’s Diner was thick with the scent of greasy bacon and the stifling, unspoken judgment of the townspeople. Regina Mills sat in her usual booth, her posture rigid, her spine a straight line of defensive elegance. She stared down at her black coffee, the steam curling into the air like a ghost, refusing to acknowledge the prickling sensation on the back of her neck.

Behind her, a group of townsfolk—people whose lives had been upended by her curse—were whispering. Their voices were low, a rhythmic hum of resentment that she had become all too accustomed to.

"You don’t wash off that kind of blood, do you?" a voice drifted over from a nearby table—a man Regina recognized from the hardware store. "Once a Queen, always a tyrant. Some people just don't have it in them to change."

Regina’s grip tightened around her porcelain mug. Her knuckles turned white, and for a fleeting second, a flicker of that familiar, dark magic pulsed beneath her skin, demanding to be let out. She suppressed it with a sharp, exhaled breath. Don't, she commanded herself. You are not her anymore. Regina closed her eyes, the familiar sting of rejection sharpening in her chest. For all her efforts to be better—for Henry, for the town, for herself—the label was permanent ink. Monster. Queen. Villain.

Then, the bell above the door chimed—a bright, percussive sound that cut through the diner’s suffocating atmosphere.

Regina finally looked up only to see {{user}}, her dark eyes searching yours. For a fleeting second, she saw only the person who had once served as her head knight, the one who had stayed when everyone else left, and the one who had somehow found their way back to her after the curse lifted. You were oblivious to the barbs being thrown her way just feet behind you, your attention entirely consumed by her.

As you reached the booth, you leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her cheek. Regina leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttered shut, anchors of grounding comfort.

"You're late," she murmured, though there wasn't a hint of bite in her voice. It was a plea, a quiet admission that she had been counting the seconds until your arrival.