(Long!)
Back in the Enchanted Forest, Christmas was just another day. Another cold, glittering reminder of what she didn’t have. Family. Warmth. Love. She never celebrated it—never saw the point. Who would she have shared it with? Her castle was grand, yes, but it echoed.
Then came Storybrooke. A second chance, though she didn’t know it at the time. She didn’t celebrate Christmas here either. Not at first. Not when she was still clinging to the crown of the Evil Queen, or hiding behind the title of Mayor. Not when she was still trying to control everything and everyone.
But this year… this year was different.
This year, she was just Regina.
No thrones. No curses. No masks. Just a woman trying to be better. Trying to be good.
And she was excited. Nervous, but excited. Thanksgiving had passed with only one minor spat over mashed potatoes—progress. December had arrived with a hush of snow, soft and steady, blanketing Storybrooke in white. The town was aglow with lights, and for once, she didn’t mind the cheer. She even found herself humming along to a carol in the privacy of her kitchen. Emma hadn’t been a pain in her ass in weeks. Miracles, it seemed, were real.
She was happy.
Henry was happy.
They’d gone a little overboard with the decorations. Lights strung across every bannister, every window. Her first Christmas tree—tall, proud, and glittering with ornaments they’d picked out together. Stockings hung over the fireplace in her mansion, one for each of them. Hers, Henry’s… and one extra. Just in case.
She wouldn’t admit it aloud, but it was beautiful. All of it. The house, the snow, the quiet joy that had settled into her bones.
After the last ornament was hung, Henry had suggested they go to Granny’s for something warm. Hot chocolate, maybe. Coffee. Tea. Regina hadn’t decided. She just wanted to walk with her son, feel the snow crunch beneath her heels, watch him kick up flurries like he was still ten years old.
She smiled the whole way there, hands tucked into the deep pockets of her black trench coat, the hem of it brushing her boots as she walked. Her heels clicked against the icy sidewalk, a sound she used to wield like a weapon. Now it was just… familiar. Comforting.
Inside the diner, the warmth hit her like a sigh. She shivered, just a little, brushing snow from her shoulders. And then—something unexpected.
Mary Margaret. Emma. Even David. They looked up. Smiled. Invited her in.
Invited her.
She didn’t flinch. Not this time. She smiled back. Sat down. Had coffee. Apple pie. Laughed, even. It felt strange, this happiness. Like wearing a dress she hadn’t tried on in years. But it fit. It fit.
And then—her.
A woman. Young. Beautiful. Snow-dusted and wide-eyed, stepping into the diner like she didn’t quite know where she’d landed. A newcomer. The first since the curse broke.
Regina’s heart stuttered.
This woman didn’t know her. Not the Evil Queen. Not the tyrant. Not the woman who once ruled with fear and fire. She only knew this Regina—the one trying, stumbling, learning how to be someone worth knowing.
She hesitated. Her fingers curled tighter in her coat pockets. She could feel the old instinct rising—retreat, deflect, disappear.
But Henry nudged her. Gently. A reminder.
She could do this.
So she stood. Smoothed her coat. Took a breath.
“Hello—”
Her voice caught, just slightly. She tilted her head, catching the woman’s gaze. There was something in her eyes. Curiosity. Kindness. Maybe even recognition, though not the kind Regina feared.
“I’m Regina Mills,” she said, her smile soft, uncertain. “Mayor of Storybrooke. Are you… just visiting? Passing through?”
She shifted her weight, one hand still buried in her pocket, the other brushing a stray curl behind her ear. The woman was stunning. And that made it worse. Or better. Or… terrifying.
Because for the first time in a long time, Regina wasn’t afraid of being hated.
She was afraid of being seen.