Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Regina

The mirror never lied. That was the cruelest thing about it.

Regina Mills stood in her bathroom at 6:47 AM, thirteen minutes before her alarm was set to ring, because sleep had become a stranger who visited less and less these days. The woman staring back at her from the glass looked tired. Not the kind of tired that a good night's rest could fix—the kind that had seeped into bone and marrow over years of trying to be enough for someone who had decided she never would be.

She traced the faint lines at the corners of her eyes. When had those appeared? Somewhere between saving this town for the dozenth time and being told, again, that she was the villain of someone else's story. Somewhere between "I hate you" and "you're not my real mother" and the silence that had become louder than any words.

The house was quiet. It was always quiet now.

She remembered when mornings meant small feet thundering down the hallway, a little voice demanding pancakes, sticky fingers reaching for her hand. She remembered when Henry used to crawl into her bed after nightmares, when he believed she could chase away any monster, when he looked at her like she hung the moon itself.

That boy was gone. In his place was a sixteen-year-old stranger who wore righteousness like armor and wielded his words like weapons he'd learned were sharper than any sword.

Regina turned away from the mirror and began her morning ritual. Shower—exactly seven minutes, hot enough to scald away the hollow feeling in her chest. Hair—blown dry, styled impeccably, because armor came in many forms. Makeup—subtle but flawless, because she refused to let this town see her cracks. Clothes—a charcoal blazer over a burgundy blouse, heels that added three inches to her height and decades to her authority.

By the time she descended the stairs, she was no longer the tired woman from the mirror. She was Mayor Mills. Madam Mayor. The Evil Queen reformed, if never quite forgiven.

Henry was already in the kitchen.

He didn't look up when she entered. His eyes stayed fixed on his phone, thumbs moving in that constant rhythm teenagers seemed to share, as if the device held more interest than anything in the physical world. His breakfast—the breakfast she'd woken early to prepare, eggs and toast and fresh orange juice—sat untouched beside him.

"Good morning," Regina said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. The words felt like stones in her mouth, heavy and unwelcome.

"Mm."

Not even a word. Just a sound. An acknowledgment that she existed, barely, in his peripheral awareness.

She tried again. "I made breakfast."

"Not hungry."

"You need to eat something before school."

Finally, he looked up. Sixteen years old, with guarded eyes and a jaw that was starting to square into manhood, and an expression that made her feel like something scraped off the bottom of a shoe. "I'll grab something at Granny's."

Of course. Granny's. Where the Charmings held court like the royalty they believed themselves to be. Where Snow White would smile her insipid smile and offer Henry pancakes shaped like animals as if he were still six years old and not a teenager who had learned cruelty at the feet of heroes.

"I'd prefer you eat here," Regina said, and hated how the words came out—soft, almost pleading. When had she started pleading with her own son?

Henry's laugh was short and sharp. "Yeah, well, I'd prefer a lot of things." He stood, grabbing his backpack from the chair. "Like a family that wasn't built on lies and dark magic."

The words hit like a physical blow. She'd heard variations of them a hundred times—a thousand—and still they found new places to wound.

"Henry—"

"I'm gonna be late." He was already moving toward the door. "Don't wait up. I'm having dinner with Grandma and Grandpa."

Grandma and Grandpa. Snow and David. The heroes of every story, the parents who had abandoned their child to a wardrobe and a prayer and somehow emerged from it all smelling like roses while Regina—who had raised that child, loved that child, sat up through fevers and nightmares and first heartbreaks—remained forever the villain.

The door slammed. The house settled back into its silence.

Regina stood in her kitchen, surrounded by a breakfast no one would eat, and did not cry. She had forgotten how to cry somewhere around the hundredth time Henry had told her she wasn't his real mother. The tears had simply... stopped coming. In their place was something harder. Something that felt like acceptance but tasted like surrender.

You deserve this.

The thought was so familiar it barely registered anymore. A constant companion, whispering in the voice of her mother, her sister, her son, everyone who had ever looked at the Evil Queen and seen only the evil.

You cursed an entire realm. You tore apart families. You—

She set down her coffee cup with more force than necessary. The sound echoed through the empty house.

She had a town to run. A council meeting at nine. A budget proposal that needed revising. A hundred small tasks that kept her hands busy and her mind occupied and her heart safely locked away where Henry's words couldn't reach it.

The eggs went into the trash. The juice went down the drain. The toast went to the birds who had learned to gather on her back porch, the only creatures in Storybrooke who seemed to appreciate anything she offered.

Twenty minutes later, Regina Mills walked into Town Hall with her head high and her shoulders straight and her armor firmly in place.

No one saw the cracks.

No one ever did.

* * *

The council meeting was interminable.

Leroy complained about the mining permits. Again. Archie advocated for a community mental health initiative. Again. Granny demanded expanded parking for the diner, as if the entire town didn't already congregate there to worship at the altar of the Charming family.

Regina listened, nodded, made notes, and approved reasonable requests while denying unreasonable ones. It was mechanical work, the kind she could do in her sleep, which was fortunate because part of her mind was elsewhere entirely.

The part that kept replaying Henry's expression. The contempt. The dismissal. The absolute certainty that she was beneath his consideration.

"Madam Mayor?"

She blinked. The council was looking at her expectantly. She had no idea what they'd asked.

"Could you repeat the question?"

Leroy snorted. "I asked if we're gonna do anything about the pothole situation on Maple Street or if you're too busy thinking about ways to curse us all again."

A few people shifted uncomfortably. Others—too many others—smirked or nodded or looked at Regina with that particular expression she'd come to know so well. The one that said they were thinking exactly what Leroy had voiced but lacked the courage to say it themselves.

Once, she would have incinerated him where he stood. Or at least made him believe she might.

Now she simply said, "The pothole situation has already been addressed. The public works department began repairs yesterday morning. If you'd bothered to read the weekly infrastructure report I send to all council members, you would know that."

Leroy's face reddened. "Yeah, well, some of us have actual jobs—"

"As do I." Regina gathered her papers. "Which is why I suggest we conclude this meeting before any more time is wasted on topics already resolved. All in favor?"

The vote was quick. The meeting adjourned. Council members filed out, most avoiding Regina's eyes, a few offering tight nods of acknowledgment that might have passed for respect if you squinted hard enough.

She waited until they were gone before allowing her shoulders to drop an inch. Just an inch. Just for a moment.

"Tough crowd."

Regina's spine snapped straight. She turned to find Emma Swan leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, that perpetually guarded expression on her face.

"Miss Swan. I didn't realize you attended council meetings."

"I don't." Emma pushed off the frame and walked into the room, her boots loud on the marble floor. "I was dropping off some paperwork and heard Leroy being... Leroy."

"Charming man."

"That's my parents' name, not his personality."

The joke startled a small breath from Regina that might have been a laugh in another life. "Was there something you needed, Sheriff?"

Emma was quiet for a moment, studying her with those green eyes that saw too much. Regina had always hated that about Emma Swan—the way she looked at people like she was reading chapters they'd never intended to share.

"You okay?"

Three syllables. Such a small question to carry so much weight.

"I'm fine."

"You're doing that thing with your jaw. The clenching thing. You only do that when something's wrong."

"I wasn't aware you'd made such a study of my facial expressions."

Emma shrugged. "Hard not to notice after five years."

Five years. Had it really been that long since Emma Swan had rolled into Storybrooke in that yellow deathtrap of a car and upended everything Regina had built? Five years of curses broken and villains defeated and family drama that would make daytime television look subtle.

Five years of watching Emma become the Savior, the daughter, the hero—while Regina remained forever the cautionary tale.

"I appreciate your concern," Regina said, in a tone that suggested she appreciated nothing of the sort. "But I assure you, I'm perfectly fine. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

She gathered her things and walked toward the door, toward escape, toward the solitude of her office where she could let her armor slip for just a few minutes before rebuilding it again.

"Regina."

She stopped. Didn't turn around.

"If you ever want to talk..." Emma's voice was awkward, uncertain, so different from her usual bravado. "About Henry or... anything. I'm around."

Something cracked in Regina's chest. A tiny fissure in walls she'd spent years building.

"Thank you, Miss Swan."

She walked away before Emma could see that the crack had reached her eyes.

Chapter Text

Emma

Emma Swan had learned many things in her thirty-four years of life. How to pick a lock. How to spot a liar. How to survive on ramen and optimism when the bail bonds business was slow. How to break a curse, apparently, though that one still seemed like a fluke.

But she had never learned how to feel at home in her own skin.

The Sheriff's station was quiet, which should have been peaceful but instead felt suffocating. She sat at her desk, staring at paperwork she'd already completed, because going home meant going to the loft, and going to the loft meant performing the role of Daughter with a capital D.

It wasn't that she didn't love her parents. She did. She thought she did. She was pretty sure she did.

The problem was that love was supposed to feel like something, wasn't it? Like warmth and belonging and that moment in movies where the music swelled and everyone cried happy tears. Love was supposed to feel like coming home.

Instead, Emma felt like a stranger who'd been handed a script and told to improvise.

Snow and David were wonderful. Kind, generous, heroic, everything a daughter should want in parents. They'd fought realms to find her. They'd sacrificed and struggled and never stopped believing they'd be reunited.

And Emma appreciated that. She did.

But when Snow hugged her, Emma had to remind herself to hug back. When David called her "princess," something in her flinched. When they gathered as a family—Snow, David, Henry, Emma—she felt like she was watching from outside the frame, never quite fitting into the picture.

What's wrong with me?

It was a question she'd asked herself a thousand times. These were her parents. This was her family. She should feel complete. Instead, she felt like a puzzle piece that had been jammed into the wrong space—close enough to pass at a glance, but never quite right.

Her phone buzzed. Snow.

Dinner tonight? Dad's making his famous shepherd's pie!

Emma's thumb hovered over the keyboard. She should say yes. It would make Snow happy, and making Snow happy was part of the Daughter script, right there on page one.

But the thought of sitting at that table, smiling the right smiles, saying the right things, pretending she felt the connection everyone expected...

Rain check? Caught a late case.

The lie came easily. Too easily. She'd been telling variations of it for months now, finding excuses to miss dinners and brunches and family game nights that made her feel more alone than actual solitude ever had.

Snow's response was immediate, peppered with sad-face emojis and promises to save leftovers and reminders that they loved her.

Emma stared at the words on her screen.

Love you too.

She typed it. Sent it. Wondered why it felt like reading from a teleprompter.

* * *

The knock on her office door came at half past five, just as Emma was considering whether she could justify sleeping at the station again.

Henry walked in without waiting for a response. Sixteen years old and so certain of his welcome everywhere he went. That was a Charming trait, Emma had noticed. That absolute confidence that the world would arrange itself around their needs.

"Hey kid."

"Hey." He dropped into the chair across from her desk with the boneless grace of teenagers everywhere. "You coming to dinner tonight?"

"Can't. Working."

His eyes swept the empty station, the completed paperwork, the conspicuous lack of any actual emergency. "Right."

"It's administrative stuff. Boring but necessary."

"Whatever." He pulled out his phone, already losing interest in her excuse. "Grandma and Grandpa wanted me to ask. I told them you probably wouldn't come."

Something about his tone pricked at her. "Why would you tell them that?"

"Because you never come anymore." He said it without looking up, without any particular emotion. A simple statement of fact. "Not since you started getting weird about family stuff."

"I'm not weird about family stuff."

Now he looked up. Met her eyes with that particular brand of teenage judgment that could make grown adults feel like they'd failed some test they hadn't known they were taking.

"You don't hug Grandma back properly. You flinch when Grandpa calls you princess. You make excuses to leave early whenever we're all together. And you look at us sometimes like..." He shrugged. "Like you're trying to figure out who we are."

The accuracy of his observations hit like cold water. She hadn't realized she'd been so obvious. Hadn't realized anyone was watching closely enough to notice.

"Henry—"

"It's fine." He was back to his phone again, dismissing her. "Not everyone can have what we have. I get it. You spent too long alone. You don't know how to be part of a family."

The words were meant to be understanding, maybe even kind. Instead, they landed like a verdict.

You don't know how to be part of a family.

Maybe that was it. Maybe she was just broken in some fundamental way. Too many years in the system, too many foster homes, too many times she'd let herself hope only to be returned like a defective product. Maybe the capacity for family had simply been beaten out of her somewhere along the way.

"You know what I don't get?" Henry continued, still scrolling through his phone. "How you can be so weird with your own family but you'll defend Regina to anyone who says anything bad about her."

Emma blinked at the subject change. "What?"

"Last week. At Granny's. Leroy was talking about how the curse probably affected the water supply or something, and you told him to shut up."

"Because it was stupid."

"It was about Regina."

"It was stupid AND about Regina."

Henry's eyes narrowed. "See, that's what I mean. She's the Evil Queen, Emma. She cursed everyone. She tried to kill Grandma like a hundred times. She literally raised me as a weapon against you. And you defend her more than you defend your own family."

Emma opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Because Henry was right—not about Regina being evil, that was his own black-and-white interpretation—but about Emma defending her. She did. Automatically, without thinking about it. Something about the way people talked about Regina made Emma want to push back, to complicate the simple narrative everyone seemed so comfortable with.

Maybe because Emma understood what it felt like to be judged for your past. To be defined by your worst moments while everyone else got credit for their best.

"Regina's not what you think she is," Emma finally said. "People are more complicated than heroes and villains, Henry."

"That's what she wants you to think." He stood, pocketing his phone. "That's what she does, Emma. She manipulates people. Makes them feel sorry for her. Gets them to defend her. And then she hurts them." He paused at the door. "She raised me, remember? I know exactly what she is."

"Do you?"

The question slipped out before Emma could stop it. Henry turned, something flickering in his expression.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." Everything. "Just... never mind. Go have dinner with your grandparents."

He stared at her for a long moment, and Emma saw something in his face that reminded her uncomfortably of Snow—that particular brand of disappointment reserved for people who failed to see the world in proper black and white.

"You know what your problem is?" Henry said. "You've got darkness in you. You've always had it. And instead of fighting it, you keep making excuses for people like Regina who want to drag you down to their level."

He left before she could respond. The door closed behind him with a soft click that felt louder than any slam.

Emma sat alone in the empty station, Henry's words echoing in her head.

You've got darkness in you.

He wasn't wrong. She'd felt it her whole life—this undercurrent of anger, of walls, of something sharp and dangerous lurking beneath the surface. She'd always assumed it was a product of her upbringing. The foster homes. The abandonment. The years of learning that letting people in only gave them more effective weapons.

But lately, she'd started to wonder if it was something else. Something deeper. Something that had nothing to do with how she was raised and everything to do with who she was.

You've always had it.

The darkness didn't feel learned. It felt... native. Like it had been there from the beginning, woven into her DNA, as much a part of her as her blonde hair or her green eyes or her inability to trust.

She thought about her parents. About their relentless optimism, their unshakeable belief in happy endings, their almost aggressive goodness. She thought about how different she was from them. How she'd never quite fit the mold of Charming family values.

And she wondered, not for the first time, if something had gone wrong somewhere. If some part of her had gotten twisted or broken or lost.

If maybe, just maybe, she wasn't really theirs at all.

The thought was ridiculous. She knew that. The curse, the wardrobe, the prophecy—it was all documented, verified, proven.

But knowing something and feeling something were two very different things.

And Emma Swan had never, not once in five years, felt like Snow White's daughter.

Chapter Text

Regina & Emma

The cruelties were never large enough to name.

That was the insidious thing about them—they were small, scattered, easily dismissed as teenage thoughtlessness or justified anger or simple truth-telling. Death by a thousand cuts, each one too minor to treat but devastating in accumulation.

Regina catalogued them the way a scientist might catalogue symptoms. Not because she enjoyed the pain, but because naming things gave them less power. If she could see the pattern, she could prepare for it. Could brace herself before each impact.

It didn't help. But it gave her the illusion of control, and sometimes illusion was all that stood between her and despair.

* * *

Tuesday. The grocery store.

Regina was comparing apple varieties—a mundane task she'd once found soothing—when she heard Henry's voice from the next aisle.

"—and then she tried to claim credit for breaking the curse. Like, seriously. She literally cast the curse in the first place, and now she acts like she's some kind of hero because she helped undo it."

A murmur of agreement from whoever he was talking to. One of his friends, probably. The Mills-Swan family drama was well-known among Storybrooke's teenage population.

"My mom—my real mom, Emma—she's the one who broke the curse. Regina just... got in the way, mostly. She's always getting in the way."

"Why do you even still live with her?"

"I don't, really. I mean, technically I'm supposed to split time, but I'm at my grandparents' place most nights. It's actually peaceful there, you know? No one walking on eggshells waiting for the Evil Queen to snap."

Laughter. Casual and cruel.

Regina set down the apple she'd been holding. Set it down gently, carefully, because her hands wanted to shake and she refused to let them.

She left her cart in the aisle. Left the store entirely. Drove home in silence, made it to the kitchen before the first dry sob escaped, and spent an hour staring at nothing while the afternoon light crawled across the floor.

* * *

Thursday. Town Hall.

A council member—one of the newer residents who'd arrived after the curse broke—approached Regina after a meeting.

"Mayor Mills, I was wondering about the urban renewal project. Henry mentioned—"

"You spoke with Henry about city business?"

"Oh, we were just chatting at Granny's. He's such a bright kid. He was explaining how the project actually started as one of his ideas, back when he was trying to prove the curse was real. Said you kind of... appropriated it? After everything came out?"

The urban renewal project was Regina's. She'd conceived it, planned it, fought the council for funding. Henry had been eleven when it started and hadn't shown the slightest interest in city planning before or since.

But she couldn't say that. Couldn't correct the narrative without looking petty, defensive, exactly like the villain everyone expected her to be.

"Henry has many ideas," she said carefully. "The project has evolved significantly since its inception."

The council member nodded knowingly, clearly believing none of it, and walked away.

Regina added the incident to her mental catalogue and said nothing.

* * *

Saturday. The weekend Emma was supposed to have Henry.

Regina came downstairs to find him packing an overnight bag.

"Going somewhere?"

"Grandma and Grandpa's."

"It's Emma's weekend."

"Emma said it was fine." He didn't look at her. "She's got work stuff anyway."

"I wasn't aware."

"Yeah, well." He zipped his bag with more force than necessary. "Not everything's about you, Regina."

Not Mom. Regina. The name felt like a demotion every time he used it.

"I could make dinner," she offered, hating how small her voice sounded. "That lasagna you used to like—"

"I'm good." He was already at the door. "Grandma's making pot roast."

"Henry—"

"What?" He turned, finally meeting her eyes. The look there was worse than anger. It was exhaustion. Impatience. The expression of someone dealing with an obligation they couldn't wait to be free of. "What do you want, Regina?"

I want my son back. I want you to look at me like you used to. I want to understand what I did that was so unforgivable that you had to take every good memory we made and twist it into something ugly.

"Nothing," she said. "Have a good time."

He left without saying goodbye.

* * *

The following Wednesday, Emma witnessed one herself.

She was at Granny's—despite her earlier avoidance, she still needed coffee, and Granny's was the only place in town that made it strong enough—when she overheard Henry in the corner booth.

He was with David, heads bent together over what looked like a photo album. Snow's doing, probably. She was always documenting, scrapbooking, creating physical proof of the family happiness they were supposed to share.

"—and this was when Grandpa taught me to sword fight," Henry was saying, pointing at a picture. "Way better than anything Regina ever taught me."

David's response was a warm rumble Emma couldn't quite make out.

"She tried to teach me magic once." Henry's voice carried that particular teenage scorn that could make any adult accomplishment sound pathetic. "Dark magic, obviously. She called it 'practical skills' but really she just wanted someone to practice with since no one else would work with her."

Emma's coffee cup stopped halfway to her mouth.

She knew about the magic lessons. Regina had offered to help Emma with her own powers, and Emma had seen the curriculum—light magic, defensive spells, control techniques. Nothing dark. Nothing sinister. Just practical skills for living in a world where magic was real and sometimes dangerous.

"The Charmings are my real family," Henry continued, and Emma could hear the capital letters in his voice, the declaration of allegiance. "Regina raised me, I guess, but that was just... proximity. It's not the same as blood. As legacy. As actually being wanted."

Emma set down her coffee.

She should let it go. It wasn't her place to intervene in Henry's relationship with Regina. Their complicated history predated Emma's involvement by a decade, and whatever Henry felt—however unfair it might seem—was his to feel.

But the words stuck in her throat. Actually being wanted.

Regina had chosen Henry. Had searched for a child to adopt, had selected him specifically, had built her entire life around being his mother. Whatever else could be said about Regina Mills, she had wanted Henry with every fiber of her being.

The Charmings, meanwhile, had put their newborn daughter in a magic wardrobe and hoped for the best.

And somehow, in Henry's moral accounting, wanting was redefined to match wherever he'd decided to place his loyalty.

"Emma!"

David had spotted her. He waved her over with that guileless smile that always made Emma feel like she was disappointing him just by existing in a less-than-perfect way.

She considered pretending she hadn't heard. Considered making an excuse and leaving.

Instead, she found herself walking toward the booth, coffee in hand, watching the way Henry's expression flickered when he saw her—annoyance, quickly suppressed, replaced by the public face he wore when performing Family.

"Hey," she said, sliding in next to David because the alternative was sitting next to Henry, and she didn't trust herself not to say something she'd regret. "What are you guys up to?"

"Looking at photos." David beamed, turning the album toward her. "Snow made this for Henry's birthday. Family history."

Emma looked at the pages. Saw pictures of Snow and David in their Enchanted Forest glory. Saw their wedding, their castle, their thrones. Saw baby pictures that must have been recovered from somewhere because Emma certainly hadn't had any.

Nowhere in the album was there a single picture of Regina.

Ten years of Henry's life, erased. Birthday parties, Christmas mornings, first days of school—all the moments Regina had been there for, documented, photographed—and not one of them made the cut for Family History.

"It's... thorough," Emma managed.

"Grandma wanted to make sure I knew where I came from," Henry said. "My real heritage."

There it was again. Real. As if the alternative was fake, counterfeit, a cheap imitation.

"Regina's part of your heritage too," Emma heard herself say. "She raised you."

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.

Henry's expression hardened. David's smile flickered, uncertain. And Emma felt the familiar sensation of having stepped wrong, of failing some test of loyalty she hadn't known she was taking.

"Regina," Henry said, "is the woman who lied to me for ten years, tried to poison my birth mother, and cursed my entire family to forget who they were. She's not heritage. She's history I survived."

"That's not—"

"Why do you always do this?" Henry's voice rose. Other diners were looking now, witnesses to another chapter in the Mills-Swan-Charming drama. "Why do you always take her side?"

"I'm not taking sides—"

"You are. You always are. It's like you care more about her feelings than your own family's."

"Henry." David's hand on his grandson's arm, calming, mediating. "Emma's just trying to be fair."

"Fair would be acknowledging what Regina did. What she's done. But Emma can't do that because—" He stopped, shaking his head. "Never mind. I don't even know why I try."

He gathered the album and slid out of the booth, brushing past Emma without another word. The door swung shut behind him, bell jangling in the aftermath.

David sighed. "He's just... it's complicated for him. The Regina thing."

"The Regina thing."

"You know what I mean. She was his mother for ten years. Finding out it was all based on lies... that's not easy to get over."

Emma thought about lies. About the lie of her own happy childhood, projected onto parents who'd chosen a wardrobe over keeping her. About the lie of family connection she performed every day without feeling.

"Was it all lies?" she asked. "Every bedtime story? Every scraped knee she bandaged? Every nightmare she chased away?"

David looked uncomfortable. "That's not... Emma, you know it's more complicated than that."

"I know." She stood, leaving her coffee untouched. "Everything's always more complicated when it comes to Regina. But somehow, the complications always end up making her the villain, don't they?"

She left before David could respond.

Outside, the air was cool and sharp, a relief after the closeness of the diner. Emma stood on the sidewalk and breathed, trying to understand why her heart was racing, why her hands wanted to shake, why Henry's words had affected her more than they should.

Why do you always take her side?

She didn't know. That was the honest answer. She didn't know why Regina Mills, of all people, made her want to push back against the easy narratives. Didn't know why she felt more kinship with the Evil Queen than with her own heroic parents.

Maybe Henry was right. Maybe it was the darkness in her, recognizing its own kind.

Or maybe—just maybe—Emma Swan had spent too many years as the outsider not to recognize when someone else was being pushed out.

Chapter Text

Snow & David

Snow White had always known she was destined for a happy ending.

It wasn't arrogance—not exactly. It was faith. Faith in the goodness of the universe, in the triumph of love over darkness, in the fundamental rightness of her place in the story. She was the princess who'd lost everything and fought to get it back. The queen who'd defeated evil. The mother who'd been reunited with her lost child against all odds.

If that wasn't proof of a just universe, what was?

She stood at the loft's kitchen window, watching the morning light spill across Storybrooke, and felt the familiar warmth of gratitude settle in her chest. They'd made it. Against every villain, every curse, every obstacle, the Charming family had prevailed.

Well. Most of them had.

"You're doing that thing again."

David's arms slipped around her waist from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder. Even after all these years, his touch made her feel safe. Centered. Exactly where she was supposed to be.

"What thing?"

"The worried-about-Emma thing. You get a little crinkle right here." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "What is it this time?"

Snow sighed. "She canceled dinner again last night. Third time this month."

"She's the sheriff. She has responsibilities."

"She's avoiding us, David. She's been avoiding us for months. Haven't you noticed?"

He was quiet for a moment. "I've noticed she seems... distant. I assumed it was stress. Or maybe something with Henry."

"It's not Henry. Henry's wonderful." Snow smiled at the thought of her grandson, so bright and brave and certain of his place in the world. Just like his grandparents. "He was here for dinner last night. We looked through family photos."

"The album you made?"

"He loved it. He said it helped him understand his real heritage." The word glowed in Snow's memory. Real. As if the previous ten years had been some kind of dream Henry was finally waking from. "He's really come so far, processing everything with Regina."

"He still struggles with it."

"Of course he does. Anyone would. Finding out your entire childhood was built on lies..." Snow shook her head. "I can't imagine how hard that must be for him."

"Regina did love him," David said carefully. "In her way."

"Love isn't about 'ways,' David. Love is about truth. Honesty. Regina lied to Henry every day for ten years. She let him believe she was his mother—"

"She was his mother. Legally, emotionally—"

"By deception." Snow turned in his arms, meeting his eyes. "If Emma had known Henry existed, do you think for one second she would have let Regina raise him? Do you think we would have?"

David's jaw tightened. "That's not fair. Emma chose to give him up for adoption."

"She was a child herself. Alone, scared, in prison—" Snow's voice caught. The thought of her daughter in such circumstances still brought tears to her eyes, even years later. "She didn't have a choice. Not a real one. But Regina... Regina chose to take advantage of that. To build her happiness on our family's tragedy."

It was an old argument, well-worn and comfortable. They'd had it a hundred times in the early days, when everything was raw and confused and no one knew what shape their family would take. Now it served as a touchstone, a reminder of the narrative they'd settled on.

Regina: the villain. The Charmings: the victims. Henry: the innocent caught between.

Simple. Clean. True.

"I just think," David said slowly, "that maybe we shouldn't encourage Henry to cut Regina out entirely. Whatever she is, she was his mother for a decade. That has to count for something."

"Of course it counts. That's exactly why he's so hurt." Snow reached up to touch her husband's face, this man who always wanted to see the best in people. It was one of the things she loved most about him. "Regina didn't just lie to Henry. She made him love her. Made him depend on her. And then he found out none of it was real."

"It was real to him."

"Which makes it worse, don't you see? The memories are real, but the foundation was rotten. Every bedtime story she told him was colored by the curse she'd cast. Every comfort she offered came from the woman who'd torn our family apart." Snow's eyes grew bright with unshed tears. "He has to process that, David. He has to understand that love built on lies isn't really love at all."

David pulled her close, and she let herself be held, let herself sink into the comfort of his embrace. This was where she belonged. In his arms, in their home, in the life they'd built from the ashes of everything Regina had tried to destroy.

"What about Emma?" David asked finally. "You said she's been distant."

"I don't know." Snow pulled back, wiping her eyes. "She's always been... guarded. You know that. Those years in the system damaged her in ways we're still discovering."

"Maybe we should—"

"Give her space? I've been giving her space for five years, David. Every time I try to connect, she pulls away. Every time I reach out, she's got an excuse. It's like..." Snow struggled to find the words. "It's like she doesn't want to be our daughter."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" Snow moved away, busying herself with dishes that didn't need doing. "Have you seen the way she tenses when you call her princess? The way she looks at us sometimes, like she's trying to figure out who we are?"

"She grew up without us. It's natural that she'd have some adjustment—"

"It's been five years." Snow's voice cracked. "Five years, and she still doesn't feel like ours. And yesterday, at Granny's, she defended Regina. Right there in front of Henry. Like Regina's feelings matter more than her own family's."

David was quiet for a long moment. "Emma has a complicated relationship with Regina. They share Henry, they've fought together, they've—"

"Regina manipulates everyone around her. That's what she does." Snow set a cup down harder than necessary. "She makes people feel sorry for her. Gets them to defend her. And then she uses that compassion against them."

"You think she's manipulating Emma?"

"I think Emma has a blind spot when it comes to people with dark pasts. She identifies with them. Sees herself in them." Snow's expression softened with pity. "Our daughter spent so many years alone, David. She learned to survive by trusting the wrong people. And now Regina's exploiting that."

"That seems like a stretch."

"Does it? Regina lost Henry's love, so now she's working on the next available target. Our daughter." Snow shook her head. "I won't let her take Emma too. Not after everything."

David crossed to her, taking her hands. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying we need to try harder. Make Emma understand what we went through. What Regina did to our family." Snow squeezed his fingers. "She needs to see that we're the ones who've always loved her. Not Regina. Not anyone else. Us."

"And if she still feels...disconnected?"

"Then we keep trying." Snow's chin lifted with familiar determination. "We fought through realms to find her, David. We can fight through this too."

He kissed her forehead, and she let herself believe it would be that simple. They were the heroes, after all. The good guys. And good guys always won in the end.

That was how the story worked.

* * *

Later that night, after David had fallen asleep, Snow lay awake staring at the ceiling.

She thought about Emma. About the walls behind her daughter's eyes. About the way she flinched from connection, deflected affection, kept herself apart even when surrounded by family.

She thought about Henry. About his anger, his pain, his righteous rejection of the woman who'd raised him. Snow encouraged that anger—not cruelly, not overtly, but in a thousand small ways. A sympathetic nod when he complained about Regina. A pat on the hand when he said something cutting. A careful silence when perhaps she should have spoken up.

She thought about Regina. About the look on her face sometimes, when she thought no one was watching. The exhaustion. The despair. The slow erosion of someone who'd been fighting a losing battle for so long she'd forgotten there was any other kind.

And she thought about—

No.

Snow pushed the thought away. Buried it deep where she kept all the things that didn't fit the story she needed to believe.

There were some memories that had no place in a happy ending.

Some choices that couldn't be examined in daylight.

Some truths that, if faced directly, would shatter everything she'd built.

She rolled over, pressing closer to David's warmth, and willed herself to sleep.

Tomorrow she would call Emma. Make plans. Try again to bridge the gap between them.

Tomorrow she would smile at Henry and tell him his anger was valid, his feelings were justified, his rejection of Regina was healthy and good.

Tomorrow she would continue being exactly who she'd always been: Snow White, the hero, the victim, the mother who loved her family more than anything in all the realms.

The alternative was unthinkable.

And Snow White had become very good at not thinking about unthinkable things.

Chapter Text

Emma

Magic, Emma had discovered, was nothing like the movies made it seem.

There were no wands, no Latin incantations, no dramatic swirling capes or mystical hand gestures that summoned lightning from clear skies. Real magic was quieter than that. More intimate. It lived in the breath between intention and action, in the space where emotion became will and will became reality. It required vulnerability in a way that made Emma profoundly uncomfortable, because vulnerability had never been something she could afford.

And yet here she was, in Regina's vault for the third time this week, trying to master skills that required her to feel things she'd spent thirty-four years learning to suppress.

"You're holding back again."

Regina's voice cut through Emma's concentration, scattering the fragile threads of power she'd been trying to weave into something useful. The small flame hovering above her palm—meant to be a controlled sphere, stable and bright—sputtered and died, leaving behind only the faint scent of smoke and another failed attempt.

"I'm trying," Emma said through gritted teeth.

"Trying isn't the same as doing, Miss Swan." Regina circled her slowly, heels clicking against the stone floor of the vault. "Magic requires commitment. Complete, unguarded commitment to the emotion driving the spell. You can't hold pieces of yourself back and expect the power to flow freely."

"Maybe I'm just not built for this."

"You broke my curse with a kiss. You've manifested magic under pressure more times than I can count. You are absolutely built for this." Regina stopped in front of her, dark eyes assessing. "The question is why you won't let yourself access what's already there."

Emma didn't have an answer for that. Or rather, she had too many answers, all of them uncomfortable. Because accessing her magic meant accessing her emotions, and accessing her emotions meant confronting all the things she'd carefully locked away in boxes labeled "do not open."

Things like the hollow feeling when Snow hugged her. The disconnect when David called her princess. The growing certainty that something fundamental was wrong with her ability to feel what she was supposed to feel for her own family.

"Let's try something different." Regina moved to a nearby shelf and selected a small crystal that pulsed with inner light. "This is a resonance stone. It responds to magical signatures, amplifying and reflecting them back to the user. Think of it as a mirror for your power."

"What am I supposed to do with it?"

"Hold it. Let your magic flow into it without trying to shape or control the output. Just... let it be what it is. The stone will show us what we're working with."

Emma took the crystal carefully. It was warm in her palm, almost uncomfortably so, and she could feel something inside it—a vibration, a hum, like a tuning fork waiting for a response.

She closed her eyes. Breathed. Tried to find that place inside her where the magic lived, that strange wild thing that had awakened when she broke the curse and had been growing stronger ever since. It was there—she could feel it—but it was tangled up with everything else. The fear. The walls. The desperate need to control everything because control was the only thing that had ever kept her safe.

"Don't reach for it," Regina's voice came, softer now. "Let it reach for you."

Emma tried to relax. Tried to stop grasping and just... be. It went against every instinct she had, every survival mechanism she'd developed over three decades of protecting herself.

But she thought about Regina. About the way Regina looked at her sometimes, like she was seeing something no one else bothered to notice. About the quiet moments between them that felt more real than any of the performed family dinners at the loft. About how, despite everything, Regina was the one person in Storybrooke who had never expected Emma to be anything other than what she was.

Something shifted.

The magic didn't just flow into the stone—it leaped. Surged. Rushed out of her with a force that made Emma gasp, seeking something beyond the crystal, beyond the vault, beyond anything she could consciously perceive.

The stone blazed white-hot. Emma cried out, tried to drop it, but her fingers wouldn't obey. The magic had locked her grip, was using her as a conduit for something she didn't understand, something that felt ancient and primal and desperately searching.

"Emma!" Regina's hands closed over hers, and Emma felt the other woman's magic join the chaos—not fighting it, but channeling it, giving it somewhere to go that wasn't tearing Emma apart from the inside.

The light faded. The heat diminished. Emma's hand finally released the stone, which clattered to the floor with its inner glow now a fraction of what it had been.

"What the hell was that?" Emma panted.

Regina was staring at her with an expression Emma had never seen before. Something between fascination and alarm, curiosity and genuine concern.

"I don't know," Regina said slowly. "Your magic was... reaching for something. Searching. Like it was trying to find something it had lost."

"Searching for what?"

"I couldn't tell." Regina picked up the crystal, examining it with narrowed eyes. "But whatever it was, the pull was strong enough to nearly drain this stone completely. These are designed to absorb enormous amounts of magical energy without overloading."

Emma looked at her hands. They seemed normal. She felt normal—tired, a little shaky, but normal. But something had changed. Something had shifted inside her, like a door opening onto a room she hadn't known existed.

"Has that ever happened before?" Regina asked. "Your magic reaching out like that, on its own?"

"No. Never." Emma hesitated. "But lately, I've been feeling... something. A pull. Like there's something out there I'm supposed to find, only I have no idea what it is or where to look."

"How long?"

"A few weeks? Maybe longer? It comes and goes. Gets stronger sometimes, usually at night when I'm trying to sleep."

"And you didn't think to mention this?"

"I thought it was stress. Insomnia. The general existential crisis of being the Savior in a town full of fairy tale characters." Emma shrugged, but the gesture felt hollow. "I've never exactly had a baseline for what 'normal magic feelings' are supposed to be."

Regina set down the crystal and moved closer, studying Emma with an intensity that made her want to squirm. "May I?" She raised a hand, hovering near Emma's temple.

"May you what?"

"Sense your magic more directly. I won't intrude on your thoughts—just your power. I want to see if I can identify what's causing this... reaching."

Emma should have said no. Should have maintained boundaries, kept her walls intact, protected the last scraps of privacy she had left in this fishbowl of a town.

Instead, she nodded.

Regina's fingers brushed her temple, feather-light, and Emma felt magic slide against magic. Regina's power was dark and rich and complex, layers of shadow and fire built up over decades of practice. Emma's own magic rose to meet it, and instead of clashing, they... fit. Complemented each other in ways that shouldn't have been possible, given everything they'd been through.

Regina's eyes widened. She withdrew her hand, but her gaze remained fixed on Emma's face.

"What?" Emma asked. "What did you feel?"

"Your magic isn't just light magic. It's not just product-of-true-love magic." Regina's voice was careful, measured in a way that suggested she was choosing her words very deliberately. "There's something else in there. Something I've only ever felt once before."

"That's ominous. What kind of something?"

"I'm not sure yet. I need to do more research before I say anything definitive." Regina turned away, moving toward her bookshelves with an urgency that belied her calm tone. "But Emma... whatever this is, whatever your magic is trying to find—I don't think you should ignore it. I think it might be important."

Before Emma could press for more details, the vault door banged open.

Henry stood at the top of the stairs, backpack over one shoulder, face twisted with a familiar expression of righteous disappointment.

"I knew it," he said. "I knew you were down here with her."

* * *

Emma felt the shift in atmosphere like a physical pressure—the warm complexity of her connection with Regina replaced by the cold weight of Henry's judgment.

"Kid, it's not—"

"Not what?" He descended the stairs with the confidence of someone who'd already decided he was right about everything. "Not secret magic lessons with the Evil Queen? Not you choosing her over your actual family? Not exactly what Grandma said was happening?"

"Snow sent you here?" Regina's voice was carefully neutral, but Emma caught the flicker of hurt beneath the mask.

"She was worried about Emma. Said you've been spending a lot of time together lately. I said I'd check the sheriff's station, but Emma wasn't there. So I tracked her phone." Henry's jaw set in a way that reminded Emma uncomfortably of David. "Should've known you'd be hiding down here."

"I asked Regina to help me with my magic," Emma said, stepping forward. "That's all this is. Training."

"Training." Henry laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Is that what she calls it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like manipulation. Like she's getting her hooks into you the same way she got them into me."

"Henry—" Regina started.

"Don't." He rounded on her with a ferocity that made Emma's stomach clench. "Don't say my name like you have any right to it. You're not my mother. You were never really my mother. You were just the person who kept me prisoner while you waited for your curse to work."

The words landed with brutal precision. Emma watched Regina absorb them, watched her face go carefully blank in that particular way she had when she was refusing to show pain.

"That's enough," Emma said sharply.

Henry blinked, surprised. "What?"

"I said that's enough. What you just said to Regina was cruel and untrue, and I won't stand here and let you—"

"Untrue?" Henry's voice rose. "She cursed an entire realm, Emma. She tried to kill my grandmother. She raised me as a pawn in her revenge scheme. Which part of that is untrue?"

"The part where she was never your mother." Emma held his gaze, refusing to back down. "She raised you for ten years. Fed you. Sat up with you when you were sick. Loved you in every way that actually matters. Whatever else she did before you were born, that was real."

"Love built on lies isn't real love. Grandma says—"

"I don't care what Grandma says." The words came out harder than Emma intended, but she didn't take them back. "Snow White doesn't get to define what love is or isn't. Not when she put her newborn in a wardrobe and hoped for the best."

The silence that followed was absolute.

Henry stared at her like she'd grown a second head. Regina's carefully blank expression had cracked into something like shock. And Emma felt something shift inside her—some wall finally crumbling under the weight of years of pretending she felt things she didn't feel, believed things she didn't believe.

"You're comparing what my grandparents did to what she did?" Henry's voice was quiet now, more dangerous than his shouting. "They were trying to save you. To give you your best chance."

"By sending me away."

"By protecting you from the curse!"

"And Regina raised you by herself for a decade. Alone. Without any help, without any support, with everyone in this town looking at her like she was a monster." Emma shook her head. "I'm not saying what she did in the past was right. I'm saying it's more complicated than heroes and villains. It's always more complicated than that."

Henry stared at her for a long moment. Then he turned and walked toward the stairs.

"Henry, wait—"

"You know what your problem is, Emma?" He paused at the threshold, not looking back. "You've got so much darkness in you that you can't recognize good when it's standing right in front of you. Grandma and Grandpa are good. I'm trying to be good. And Regina..." He finally turned, his gaze sliding past Emma to fix on Regina with cold contempt. "Regina will never be anything but the Evil Queen. And if you can't see that, then maybe you're more like her than any of us realized."

He left. His footsteps echoed up the stairs, followed by the distant slam of a door.

Emma stood frozen in the aftermath, heart pounding, hands shaking with the effort of not doing something she'd regret.

"Emma." Regina's voice was soft. "You didn't have to—"

"Yes, I did." Emma turned to face her. "Someone needed to say it. Someone needed to tell him that treating you like garbage isn't heroic behavior. It's just cruelty dressed up in righteousness."

Regina's eyes were bright—not quite tears, but close. "He's your son too."

"And you were his mother first. For ten years, you were everything to him. That should matter. It should count for something."

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down on both of them.

"Thank you," Regina finally said. "For defending me. No one ever..." She stopped, shook her head. "No one ever does that."

"Well, they should." Emma reached out, squeezed Regina's hand briefly before letting go. "And Regina? Whatever you sensed in my magic, whatever you're researching—I want to know. Even if it's bad. Even if it changes everything. I'm tired of not understanding what's happening inside my own head."

Regina nodded slowly. "I'll tell you everything I find. I promise."

It was a promise that would change both their lives.

Neither of them knew how much.

Chapter Text

Regina

The house was quiet when Regina returned from the vault.

It was always quiet now—had been for years—but tonight the silence felt different. Heavier. Like it was waiting for something to fill it, some sound or presence that would never come.

She moved through the foyer without turning on the lights, letting the darkness wrap around her like a familiar friend. This mansion had been built for entertaining, for parties and political macherings and all the social machinations of a mayor's life. Now it felt like a mausoleum, each room a monument to a family that had crumbled into dust.

Regina climbed the stairs slowly, her hand trailing along the banister. She could remember Henry's small fingers gripping this same railing, his feet struggling to reach each step, his voice calling out "Mommy, look! I'm climbing!" as if scaling Everest instead of a domestic staircase.

She could remember carrying him up these stairs when he fell asleep on the couch, his body warm and heavy against her chest, his breath soft against her neck. She could remember tiptoeing past his door at night, just to check, just to reassure herself that he was real, that he was hers, that the impossible gift of a child had actually been granted to the Evil Queen.

The door to his room stood open.

Regina paused on the threshold, knowing she shouldn't enter, knowing it would only hurt. But the pull was irresistible—had always been irresistible when it came to Henry.

The room was neat now. Impersonal. He'd taken most of his things to the Charmings' loft piece by piece over the years, each removed item a small declaration of where his loyalty lay. What remained were the bones of a childhood: a bed he no longer slept in, a desk he no longer used, walls stripped of the posters and drawings that had once made this space unmistakably his.

She sank onto the edge of the bed, running her hand over the comforter she'd chosen when he was eight—blue with silver stars, because he'd been obsessed with astronomy that year. He'd wanted to be an astronaut. Then a firefighter. Then a knight, after she'd told him stories of the Enchanted Forest disguised as fairy tales.

She'd thought she was being so clever. Sharing her history without sharing her sins. Giving him magic without giving him the dark truth of where it came from.

And then that book had appeared, and everything had changed.

"I was going to tell you," she whispered to the empty room. "When you were older. When you could understand. I was going to explain everything."

But older had come too fast, and understanding had never followed. Instead, there had been that damned book, appearing out of nowhere, filling Henry's head with a version of their story that cast her as monster and his birth mother as savior.

Regina had watched him transform. Had watched the son who used to crawl into her bed during thunderstorms become a stranger who looked at her with suspicion, then contempt, then something worse than either—indifference punctuated by cruelty.

She'd tried everything. Therapy that he refused to engage with. Patience that he interpreted as weakness. Space that he filled with the Charmings. Closeness that he rejected as manipulation. She'd apologized for things she'd done and things she hadn't, had bent herself into shapes she barely recognized trying to earn back something that felt further away with every passing year.

Nothing worked. Nothing could compete with the simple, seductive narrative of heroes and villains, of good blood and bad.

"You used to love me," Regina said to the silence. "Do you even remember that? Do you remember any of it the way it actually was? The way I held you when you had nightmares? The way you used to run to me when you scraped your knee? The way you looked at me like I was the whole world?"

The room offered no answers. Rooms never did.

She reached into her pocket and withdrew a photograph—creased and worn from handling, though she tried to be careful. Henry at four years old, frosting smeared across his grinning face, a lopsided birthday cake in front of him. She was in the picture too, visible at the edge of the frame, looking at him with an expression of such naked adoration that it hurt to see now.

That woman had believed in happy endings. Had believed that love could redeem anything, that the child she'd chosen could love her back forever, that the Evil Queen could become simply... a mother.

That woman had been a fool.

Regina slipped the photograph back into her pocket and pressed her palms against her eyes, refusing to cry. Tears were a luxury she couldn't afford. If she started now, she might never stop, and there was no one left to put her back together afterward. No one who cared enough to try.

"You've got so much darkness in you that you can't recognize good when it's standing right in front of you."

Henry's words, echoing in her memory. He'd been talking about Emma, technically, but Regina heard the deeper message. The real accusation beneath the surface one.

You're the darkness. You're the reason I can't see good. You poisoned me just by existing.

And maybe he was right. Maybe she had poisoned him—not through magic or malice, but through the simple fact of who she was. The Evil Queen's son. What chance had he ever had of growing up normal, of seeing the world in anything other than black and white, when his mother was the blackest thing in everyone's story?

She'd tried so hard to be different for him. To be soft where her mother had been hard. To be present where her mother had been distant. To give him the childhood she'd never had, full of love and warmth and the absolute certainty that he was wanted.

And somehow she'd failed anyway. Somehow, despite everything, she'd raised a child who could look at the woman who'd devoted her life to him and wish her dead.

* * *

The knock on her bedroom door came just past midnight.

Regina started awake, disoriented. She'd fallen asleep in Henry's room, curled on the too-small bed like she was the child waiting for comfort that would never come. The knock came again, more insistent.

She rose, straightened her clothes, and made her way downstairs. No one knocked on her door anymore. Henry had a key he never used. Any emergency would come through official channels. And uninvited visitors at midnight were never good news.

She opened the door to find Emma Swan standing on her porch, hands stuffed in the pockets of her leather jacket, expression somewhere between determined and uncertain.

"It's midnight," Regina said, though the observation felt unnecessary.

"I know. I'm sorry. I just couldn't..." Emma shifted her weight, looking anywhere but at Regina's face. "After what happened in the vault. What Henry said. I couldn't stop thinking about it."

"About how your son wishes I was dead?"

"About how wrong that is. How wrong all of it is." Emma finally met her eyes. "Can I come in?"

Regina stepped aside without a word.

They ended up in the kitchen, because the kitchen had always been Regina's sanctuary. She made tea on autopilot while Emma perched on a stool at the island, looking around like she was seeing the space for the first time.

"I've been thinking," Emma said when the silence had stretched long enough. "About what you said. About families and belonging and... and why I've never felt like I fit with the Charmings."

"I said that?"

"Not in so many words. But it's what you were getting at, wasn't it? In the vault, before Henry showed up. You were trying to tell me something about my magic. About how it doesn't match what everyone expects."

Regina set down the teapot, considering how much to reveal. She'd been researching since she got home, pulling books from shelves she hadn't touched in years, searching for answers to questions she was afraid to ask out loud.

"I sensed something in your magic," she admitted. "A signature I didn't expect. Something that doesn't fit the narrative of who you're supposed to be."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know yet. It could be nothing—a quirk of how your power developed, an echo of dark magic from one of our many adventures." Regina poured the tea, using the ritual to buy herself time. "Or it could be something more significant."

"More significant how?"

"Emma..." Regina handed her a cup, then took one for herself. "I need you to understand that I'm not trying to cause problems. I'm not trying to drive a wedge between you and your parents or undermine your family."

"But?"

"But I've learned to trust what magic tells me. And your magic is telling me a story that doesn't quite match the one you've been told about yourself."

Emma was quiet for a long moment, staring into her tea like it held answers. When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I've never felt like their daughter."

The confession hung in the air between them, heavy with implication.

"I keep waiting for it to click," Emma continued. "For that feeling everyone talks about—coming home, finding where you belong, being complete. Snow looks at me like I'm supposed to be her whole world, and I just feel... empty. David calls me princess and something inside me wants to crawl out of my skin. And I keep telling myself it's because of how I grew up, because of the foster system, because I never learned how to accept love properly."

"But?"

"But what if that's not it?" Emma looked up, and Regina saw something in her eyes that she recognized—the dawning horror of a truth you've been running from finally catching up. "What if I don't feel connected to them because I'm not actually theirs?"

"Emma—"

"I know how that sounds. I know there are prophecies and curses and a whole mythology built around me being the product of their true love. But prophecies can be manipulated, right? Curses can be twisted?"

"In theory, yes."

"Then what if someone manipulated this one? What if the Savior story isn't what everyone thinks it is?"

Regina wanted to dismiss the idea. Wanted to tell Emma she was overthinking things, that trauma and disconnection didn't mean anything sinister, that sometimes people just struggled to bond with their families.

But she couldn't. Because she'd felt what was in Emma's magic. She'd sensed that searching, reaching quality—power looking for something it had lost. And she'd recognized the signature, even if she wasn't ready to name it out loud.

"I think," Regina said carefully, "that we should find out. One way or another. I think you deserve to know the truth about who you are, even if that truth is uncomfortable."

"And if the truth destroys everything?"

"Then we'll deal with the aftermath together." Regina reached across the counter and took Emma's hand. The gesture was impulsive, intimate in a way that surprised them both. "Whatever you find out, whatever happens—you won't be alone. I promise you that."

Emma's fingers tightened around hers. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you care? After everything—the curse, the fighting, all the times we've been on opposite sides—why does it matter to you what happens to me?"

It was a fair question. One Regina had been asking herself for years without finding a satisfactory answer.

"Because you're the only person who's ever looked at me and seen something other than the Evil Queen," she said finally. "Because when everyone else was ready to write me off, you gave me chances I didn't deserve. Because..." She hesitated, then pushed through. "Because I think we might be more alike than either of us wants to admit. Two people who never quite fit the stories we were given."

Emma was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, she smiled—small and tentative, but real.

"So what do we do now?"

"Now we research. We dig into the history of the curse, the prophecies, everything that was supposed to be true about you. And we see if the story holds up to scrutiny."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then we find out what the real story is." Regina squeezed her hand once, then let go. "But that's tomorrow. Tonight, you need sleep. We both do."

"I should go home."

"You could stay. I have guest rooms that never get used anymore."

Emma hesitated, clearly torn. "I don't want to impose."

"You're not imposing. You're..." Regina searched for the right word. "You're welcome here, Emma. Whatever else is true, that much I know for certain. You're welcome in my home."

It was more vulnerability than she'd shown anyone in years. More than she'd intended to offer. But Emma was looking at her with something like wonder, like she'd never heard those words before and wasn't quite sure how to process them.

"Okay," Emma said softly. "I'll stay."

And for the first time in longer than Regina could remember, her house didn't feel quite so empty.

Chapter Text

Ruby & Regina

Ruby Lucas had excellent hearing.

It was the wolf thing—senses that operated on a different level than normal humans, picking up conversations from across crowded rooms, detecting lies in the uptick of heartbeats, smelling emotions before people even knew they were feeling them. Most of the time she kept it tamped down, because knowing too much about other people's business was a fast track to madness in a town this small.

But some conversations demanded attention. Some conversations crawled into her ears whether she wanted them there or not, and once heard, couldn't be unheard.

Like the one happening right now in the corner booth.

"—just don't understand why she has to ruin everything." Henry's voice was pitched low, meant only for his grandmother's ears, but Ruby caught every syllable from her position behind the counter. "Emma's supposed to be part of our family, and instead she's spending all her time with Regina. Learning magic from her. Defending her. It's like she's been brainwashed or something."

Snow leaned forward, patting Henry's hand with that particular combination of sympathy and encouragement that Ruby had come to recognize over the years. The expression that said 'I understand your pain and validate your feelings, even when those feelings are terrible.'

"Emma's always had a soft spot for Regina," Snow said. "It's her nature—she sees the good in everyone, even when there isn't any good to see."

"But there isn't any good in Regina. That's what I keep trying to tell her. Regina's the Evil Queen. She cursed everyone. She tried to kill you. And Emma acts like none of that matters."

"It matters. It will always matter." Snow's voice dropped, becoming more intimate, more conspiratorial. "But we have to be patient, Henry. Emma will see the truth eventually. She'll realize that Regina's been manipulating her all along."

"What if she doesn't? What if Regina turns her against us permanently?"

"She won't. Emma's our daughter. She has our blood, our values, our capacity for seeing right from wrong. Eventually, that will win out over whatever spell Regina's put her under."

Ruby's hands had stilled on the coffee pot she was refilling. She could feel her heartbeat accelerating, her wolf instincts rising in response to the casual cruelty being discussed two tables away.

"You know what I keep thinking about?" Henry's voice had taken on a contemplative quality that made Ruby's skin prickle with warning. "I keep thinking about how different things would be if Regina just... wasn't here."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, if she'd died. During one of the battles, or when the curse broke, or whenever." Henry shrugged, a gesture Ruby could hear in the shifting of his clothes. "I know it sounds bad. But if Regina was dead, Emma wouldn't have anyone to defend. She'd have to be part of our family. She'd have to choose us."

The coffee pot trembled in Ruby's grip. She set it down carefully, afraid she might shatter it.

"And I think about my dad," Henry continued. "Neal died being a hero. Trying to save everyone. And Regina's still here, still walking around, still acting like she deserves to be forgiven. How is that fair? How is it fair that the Evil Queen gets to live while my father is dead?"

Ruby waited for Snow to correct him. To point out that wishing death on anyone was wrong, that Regina was still a person deserving of basic human decency, that the hatred consuming him would only poison his own soul.

Instead, Snow's voice came soft and sympathetic: "Life isn't always fair, sweetheart. We have to trust that in the end, goodness wins out over evil."

"I wish it had been her." Henry's voice cracked slightly. "I wish Regina had died instead of my dad. Then everything would be different. Emma would be with us. We'd be a real family. Without the Evil Queen ruining everything."

Snow made a small sound of comfort—not agreement exactly, but certainly not disagreement. More like she was acknowledging his pain as valid, his wishes as understandable, his hatred as natural.

Ruby looked across the diner to where Granny stood behind the register, and their eyes met. From Granny's expression—hard and furious in a way Ruby rarely saw—it was clear she'd heard every word too.

The bell over the door chimed.

Regina Mills walked in.

* * *

Regina knew immediately that something was wrong.

The usual reactions to her presence—the subtle stiffening of shoulders, the carefully averted gazes, the whispered comments she'd long since learned to ignore—were different today. Charged with something beyond the ordinary discomfort of townspeople who'd never quite forgiven her for the curse.

She spotted Henry and Snow in their corner booth, their heads turning toward her with expressions that shifted too quickly through guilt, defiance, and something that looked almost like satisfaction.

They'd been talking about her. Obviously. The question was what had been said this time.

Regina considered turning around and leaving. She'd only come for coffee—the supply at her office had run out, and she'd been putting off a trip to the store. But retreat was weakness, and she refused to give them the satisfaction of driving her away from a public space.

She walked to the counter, spine straight, chin lifted, armor firmly in place.

"Black coffee," she said to Ruby. "To go."

Ruby didn't move. Her eyes were fixed on something over Regina's shoulder—the booth where Henry and Snow sat—and her expression was complicated in ways Regina couldn't read.

"Ruby?"

"Regina." Ruby's voice was strange—tight with some emotion Regina couldn't identify. "There's something you should know."

"Miss Lucas, I really don't have time for—"

"Henry wants you dead."

The words landed like a physical blow. Regina felt them in her chest, in her throat, in the hollow place where her heart used to be before her son had carved it out piece by piece over six years.

"I'm sorry?"

"I heard him. Just now. Telling Snow he wishes you had died instead of Neal. Wishes you were dead so Emma would stop defending you." Ruby's jaw was tight, her eyes bright with anger. "And Snow just sat there. Nodded along. Validated his feelings like wishing someone dead is just a normal thing to express over breakfast."

Regina's vision narrowed to a single point. The booth. Henry's face, now watching her with an expression she couldn't—wouldn't—try to interpret. Snow's hand still resting on his arm, protective and supportive.

Something shifted inside Regina. Something that had been holding on by a thread for years, enduring abuse and rejection and constant small cruelties, hoping that someday—someday—things might change.

The thread snapped.

She was moving before she consciously decided to. Crossing the diner in measured steps, heels clicking against the linoleum, aware of every eye in the place tracking her progress.

She stopped at the booth. Looked down at the boy she'd raised, the boy she'd loved more than anything in any realm, the boy who'd just wished her dead.

"Regina—" Snow started.

"Don't." The word came out sharp enough to cut. "Don't speak. Don't defend. Don't explain. I heard what he said. Ruby told me."

Henry's expression shifted—a flicker of something that might have been fear before hardening back into defiance. "So? It's true. Everything would be better if you were gone."

"Henry!" Snow's voice was shocked, but too late. Much too late.

Regina studied her son—this stranger wearing her little boy's face—and felt something fundamental give way inside her. Not her heart breaking; that had happened so many times it barely registered anymore. Something else. Something that had been keeping her chained to hope, to effort, to the endless exhausting work of trying to earn back love that had been freely given once and couldn't be forced now.

"You want me dead," she said, and her voice was eerily calm. "Fine. Then I'm dead to you."

"What?"

"You heard me." Regina straightened to her full height, feeling the Evil Queen stir inside her—not with rage, but with a cold, clean clarity she hadn't experienced in years. "From this moment forward, I am no longer your mother. I am nothing to you. A stranger you pass on the street. You got your wish, Henry. The woman who raised you, who loved you, who would have died for you—she's gone. Congratulations."

Henry's face went pale. "You can't just—"

"I can. I am." Regina turned to Snow, who was staring at her with wide eyes. "Take your grandson. Raise him however you see fit. You've been doing it anyway; now it's official. But don't ever expect me to fight for him again. Don't expect me to show up when he's in trouble, to sacrifice for him, to put myself in harm's way for a child who dreams of my death."

"Regina, you're overreacting—" Snow began.

"No. For once in my life, I'm reacting exactly appropriately." Regina's smile was sharp as a blade. "I've spent six years being told I'm not his real mother, that my love doesn't count, that nothing I did for him matters. Well, message received. I'm done trying to prove otherwise. I'm done begging for scraps of affection from someone who looks at me with contempt. I'm done."

The diner had gone completely silent. Every patron was watching now, forks frozen halfway to mouths, conversations abandoned mid-sentence.

Then someone started clapping.

It was Leroy, of all people. Grumpy, cantankerous Leroy, who had never had a kind word for Regina in his life. But he was on his feet, clapping slowly, deliberately, his expression grim but approving.

Another person joined in. Then another. Then half the diner was applauding, not with joy but with something like relief. Like they'd been waiting years for someone to finally say what needed to be said.

Granny stepped out from behind the counter, crossbow not in sight but her posture suggesting it could appear at any moment.

"You two," she said, pointing at Henry and Snow. "Out. You're banned from my establishment."

"Granny, you can't—" Snow sputtered.

"I can and I am. I heard what that boy said. Heard you sit there and let him say it, nodding along like he was talking about the weather instead of wishing a woman dead." Granny's voice was iron. "I've run this diner for decades, served heroes and villains alike because everyone needs to eat. But I will not serve people who sit in my establishment and wish death on someone whose only crime today was ordering coffee."

"This is ridiculous—"

"What's ridiculous is that boy's behavior, and your failure to correct it. Get out. Both of you. And don't come back until you've learned that being a hero doesn't give you permission to be a monster."

The murmur that went through the diner was distinctly approving. Regina saw faces she recognized—people who'd suffered under her curse, people she'd wronged, people who had every reason to hate her—nodding in agreement.

She turned to leave, suddenly desperate to be anywhere but here, to process what had just happened in private.

And stopped.

Emma was standing near the door.

She must have come in during the confrontation, must have witnessed the whole thing. Her expression was complicated—shock, anger, grief, determination all cycling through in rapid succession.

Their eyes met.

Emma nodded once, slightly. Then she turned and walked out the door, leaving it open behind her.

An invitation. A choice.

Regina followed.

Behind her, Henry's cry of "Emma!" echoed through the diner, unanswered.

Chapter Text

Regina & Emma

The air outside Granny's was sharp and cold, the kind of Maine autumn that cut through clothing and settled into bone. Regina barely felt it. She was too busy trying to process what had just happened, what she'd just done, what it all meant.

Emma was leaning against the yellow bug, arms crossed, watching her with those too-perceptive eyes that always seemed to see more than Regina wanted to show.

"That was something," Emma said.

"That was overdue." Regina's voice came out steadier than she expected. "Years overdue, probably."

"You meant it? Everything you said to him?"

"Every word." And she had. That was the strange thing—she'd expected to feel devastated, shattered, destroyed by the finality of what she'd done. Instead, she felt... lighter. Like she'd been carrying a weight she'd grown so accustomed to that she'd forgotten it was there, and now that it was gone, she could finally stand up straight.

"Good." Emma pushed off the car and moved toward her. "Because you're right. You've spent years trying to earn back something that was never going to be given freely. And he's spent those same years being told by everyone around him that you don't deserve his love, that your sacrifices don't count, that you're the villain no matter what you do."

"Emma—"

"I should have said something sooner. I should have pushed back harder when Snow made comments about you, when David looked at you like you were dirt, when Henry treated you like garbage and everyone just... accepted it. I was so busy trying to fit in, trying to be the daughter they wanted, that I didn't see what they were doing to you."

"You saw it."

"I saw it and I didn't act. That's almost worse." Emma was close now, close enough that Regina could see the tears she was fighting to hold back. "I'm sorry, Regina. I'm so sorry it took this long."

"You're here now." Regina reached out, touched Emma's arm gently. "That's what matters."

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the confrontation settling around them like dust after an earthquake. Inside the diner, Regina could hear raised voices—Snow's protests, Granny's firm refusals, Henry's increasingly desperate pleas that were met with stony silence from the other patrons.

"Where do you want to go?" Emma asked. "My place? Yours?"

"Yours is compromised—Snow has a key, and she'll probably come looking for you after this." Regina surprised herself with a small, bitter laugh. "My house is empty. Quiet. Probably too quiet right now."

"Then we'll go somewhere else. Somewhere neither of them will think to look." Emma's jaw set with determination. "Somewhere we can actually talk without worrying about interruptions."

"Where did you have in mind?"

"The vault. Your vault. It's warded against pretty much everyone, right?"

"It is."

"Then let's go there. You can tell me what you found in your research. I can tell you about the dreams I've been having. And we can figure out together what the hell is actually going on."

It was a reasonable plan. A logical next step. But something about Emma's intensity suggested there was more to it than practicality.

"Dreams?" Regina asked. "What dreams?"

"Later. When we're somewhere safe." Emma's hand found Regina's and squeezed briefly. "Just... trust me?"

And Regina did. That was perhaps the strangest part of all of this—after years of suspicion and conflict and grudging alliance, she trusted Emma Swan more than she trusted almost anyone else in the world.

"Let's go," she said.

They got into the bug together, Emma behind the wheel, Regina in the passenger seat she'd occupied more times than she could count over the years. The engine coughed to life, and they pulled away from the curb just as the diner door opened and Snow emerged, Henry behind her, both of them scanning the street with desperate eyes.

Regina didn't look back.

* * *

The vault was cool and dim, lit by candles that sprang to life at Regina's gesture. Emma had been here many times before, but tonight the space felt different—charged with possibility, with the weight of secrets about to be revealed.

"Tell me," Regina said without preamble. "Tell me about the dreams."

Emma sank onto the stone bench near the wall, looking suddenly exhausted. "They started a few weeks ago. Around the same time as the... the reaching feeling. The sense that there's something out there I'm supposed to find."

"What happens in the dreams?"

"I'm flying. Or... not flying exactly. More like I'm something that flies. Something with wings and fire and..." Emma shook her head. "It sounds crazy when I say it out loud."

"Nothing sounds crazy in Storybrooke. You know that."

"In the dreams, there's a woman. Tall, blonde, with eyes that are... gold. Not like normal gold. Like liquid fire gold. And she's calling to me. Speaking in a language I shouldn't understand, but somehow I do. She keeps saying 'come home, come home, my daughter, come home.'"

Regina's heart stuttered. "Blonde hair. Golden eyes. A language you shouldn't understand."

"Does that mean something to you?"

"It might." Regina moved to her bookshelves, pulling down a volume she'd been studying for the past two days. "When I sensed your magic in our last training session, I felt something I didn't expect. A signature I'd only encountered once before, years ago."

"What kind of signature?"

"Dragon magic."

Emma stared at her. "Dragon magic. As in, magic from dragons."

"As in magic that runs in dragon blood. Magic that can only be inherited, never learned." Regina opened the book, turning to a page marked with a ribbon. "There's only one dragon I know of who matches the description in your dreams. Blonde hair. Golden eyes. A power so ancient it predates human language."

"Who?"

"Maleficent."

The name hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Emma knew who Maleficent was—everyone in Storybrooke knew the story of the dragon who'd terrorized kingdoms before the curse, who'd been one of the most feared villains of the Enchanted Forest.

"You think Maleficent is calling to me? In my dreams?"

"I think your magic has a dragon signature it shouldn't have. I think you've been dreaming about a woman who matches Maleficent's description. And I think..." Regina hesitated, aware that what she was about to say would change everything. "I think there might be a reason you've never felt like the Charmings' daughter."

Emma went very still. "You think I'm not. You think I'm... what? Maleficent's kid?"

"I think it's possible. The timing would work—Maleficent lost a child around the same time you were supposedly born. The magic would make sense—you've always had abilities that don't quite fit the product-of-true-love narrative. And your lack of connection to Snow and David..."

"Could be because they're not actually my parents." Emma's voice was barely a whisper. "Oh god. Oh god, Regina. If that's true..."

"If it's true, then the entire story of the Savior is built on a lie. And the Charmings have known all along."

"They couldn't. They wouldn't." But even as she said it, Emma's expression suggested she wasn't sure. Suggested she was thinking about five years of performed affection, of hollow connections, of a family bond that had never quite felt real.

"I don't know what they knew or when they knew it," Regina admitted. "I only know what I sensed in your magic, and what your dreams seem to be telling you. The rest... we'll have to find out together."

Emma was quiet for a long moment. Then she stood up abruptly, pacing the length of the vault with restless energy.

"I need proof," she said. "Before I can believe any of this, I need actual proof. Not guesses or theories or magical signatures—real, undeniable evidence of who I am and where I came from."

"I've been researching magical tests," Regina offered. "There are ways to trace lineage, to confirm or deny biological connections. But they require samples from both parties, and getting anything from Maleficent would be..."

"Complicated."

"To say the least. She's been missing for years—decades. No one knows where she is or even if she's still alive."

"But if she's calling to me in my dreams, she must be alive somewhere. She must be..." Emma stopped pacing, turning to face Regina with an expression of dawning realization. "She's looking for me. That's what the dreams are—she's trying to find me the same way my magic has been trying to find her."

"It's possible."

"Then we need to help her. We need to... I don't know, send a signal or something. Let her know where I am."

"That's incredibly dangerous. We don't know what state she's in, what her intentions are—"

"I don't care." Emma's voice was fierce. "If there's even a chance that she's my mother—my real mother—I need to know. I need to meet her. I need to understand why I've spent thirty-four years feeling like I don't belong anywhere."

Regina looked at her—this woman who'd been her enemy, her ally, her co-parent, her... something she didn't have words for. This woman who was brave enough to burn down her whole identity in search of the truth.

"Then we'll find her," Regina said. "Whatever it takes."

"You'll help me? Even if it means going against the Charmings? Even if it turns this whole town upside down?"

"Emma." Regina crossed the distance between them, taking Emma's hands in hers. "I just publicly disowned my son. I'm already committed to burning things down. Might as well do it thoroughly."

Emma's laugh was watery but real. "We're really doing this."

"We're really doing this."

They stood there in the candlelit vault, hands clasped, surrounded by centuries of magical knowledge and the weight of secrets about to be unearthed.

Regina didn't know what they would find. Didn't know if Maleficent was really Emma's mother, if the Charmings had known all along, if everything they thought they understood about the curse and the Savior and the last thirty-four years was about to crumble into dust.

But she knew one thing with absolute certainty: whatever came next, she wouldn't face it alone.

And neither would Emma.

That would have to be enough.

Chapter Text

Emma & Regina

Regina's mansion felt different at night.

During the day, it was impressive but cold—a showpiece designed to intimidate, every room a testament to the Mayor's power and taste. But now, with the confrontation at Granny's still echoing in Emma's mind and the two of them sitting in Regina's kitchen with cups of tea neither had touched, the house felt like something else entirely. A sanctuary. A place where the masks could finally come off.

The kitchen itself was warm and surprisingly inviting—nothing like the formal sitting rooms or the imposing foyer. This was clearly where Regina actually lived, with coffee cups left casually by the sink and a stack of mail on the counter that hadn't been sorted yet. Real life, happening in small domestic details that made the Evil Queen seem startlingly human.

"You should eat something," Regina said, breaking the silence that had stretched between them. "You haven't had anything since breakfast."

"Neither have you."

"I'm not the one who just watched her son wish me dead and then walked out on her entire family."

Emma laughed despite herself—a harsh, surprised sound that scraped against her throat. "When you put it like that, it sounds almost heroic."

"It was heroic." Regina's voice was soft but certain, and something in the way she said it made Emma's chest tighten. "What you did at Granny's—standing up for me, choosing to leave with me—that took courage, Emma. More courage than most people in this town have ever shown."

"It wasn't courage. It was just... I couldn't stand there anymore. Couldn't keep pretending that everything was fine, that Henry's behavior was normal teenage angst, that I felt the things I was supposed to feel." Emma stared into her untouched tea, watching the steam curl upward and dissipate into nothing. "Do you know what the worst part is? I don't even feel sad about walking away. I feel relieved. Like I've been holding my breath for five years and I can finally exhale."

"That's not something to feel guilty about."

"Isn't it? A normal mother would be devastated. A normal daughter would be desperate to fix things with her parents, would be crying and apologizing and begging for forgiveness." Emma looked up, meeting Regina's eyes across the table. "But I just feel... free. What does that say about me?"

Regina was quiet for a moment, considering the question with the seriousness it deserved rather than offering empty reassurance. It was one of the things Emma had come to appreciate about her—that willingness to engage with difficult questions instead of papering over them with platitudes.

"It says that you've been trying to force yourself into a shape that doesn't fit," Regina said finally. "That you've been performing a role instead of living a life. Playing the dutiful daughter, the grateful mother, the reformed savior who fits perfectly into the Charming family narrative." She reached across the table, her fingers brushing Emma's wrist with unexpected gentleness. "It says that maybe—just maybe—you're finally ready to find out who you really are."

The touch was electric. Emma felt it spark through her skin, travel up her arm, settle somewhere in her chest where it pulsed with warmth she didn't want to examine too closely. She and Regina had touched before—countless times, in battle and in argument and in grudging cooperation—but this felt different. More deliberate. More intimate.

"The things you mentioned in the vault," Emma said, not pulling away from Regina's touch. "About my magic. About sensing something that didn't fit. You said you needed to do more research before you could say anything definitive."

"I did. And I found some things. Nothing conclusive, but... suggestive." Regina withdrew her hand, and Emma immediately missed the contact. "Your magical signature has elements I didn't expect. Elements that don't match what the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming should have."

"What kind of elements?"

"I'm not entirely sure yet. But there's something in your magic that feels... older. More primal. Like it comes from a different source entirely." Regina turned to face her, and the expression in her dark eyes was complicated—worry and fascination and something that looked almost like fear. "Emma, I don't want to make accusations I can't prove. But I think we need to seriously consider the possibility that you're not—"

Something shifted inside Emma. A pull. A tug on her magic so sudden and strong that it stole her breath, made her gasp and press a hand to her chest.

"What the hell—" she managed.

"Something just crossed the town line." Regina was already on her feet, moving toward a mirror on the kitchen wall. She passed her hand over the glass, murmuring words in a language Emma didn't recognize, and the surface shimmered to reveal a map of Storybrooke. A pulsing red dot glowed at the northern border. "My wards are going off. Something powerful just entered town."

"Something powerful like what?"

"I don't know. The signature is unusual. Ancient." Regina turned to face her, and Emma saw her own growing unease reflected in dark eyes. "Whatever it is, it's not human."

The pull in Emma's chest intensified. It wasn't fear—that was the strange thing. It felt more like recognition. Like hearing a voice she'd forgotten calling her name across an impossible distance.

"I need to see," Emma said, standing on legs that felt unsteady. "I need to know what it is."

"Emma, we don't know what we're dealing with—"

"I know. But something about this feels important. Like whatever just arrived is connected to me somehow."

Regina studied her for a long moment. "The dreams you mentioned. The ones about flying, about fire. When did those start?"

"A few weeks ago. Maybe longer. Why?"

"Because I think whatever crossed that town line might be what your magic has been reaching for." Regina grabbed her keys from the counter. "We'll go together. But carefully."

* * *

They drove through the dark streets of Storybrooke in silence, the tension in the car thick enough to taste. Emma kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead, but her attention was elsewhere—focused inward on the pull that grew stronger with every mile.

It was like being tugged by an invisible string attached to something deep in her chest. Not painful, but insistent. Demanding. The sensation grew more powerful as they approached the town line until Emma could barely think about anything else.

"It's getting stronger," she said. "Whatever it is, we're close."

"I can feel it too." Regina's voice was tight. "The magical signature is massive. I've only felt power like this a handful of times in my life."

"From what?"

Regina didn't answer immediately. When she did, her voice was careful. "Dragons. I've felt power like this from dragons."

Before Emma could respond, they rounded a curve and Regina slammed on the brakes.

A woman stood in the middle of the highway.

She was tall and blonde, dressed in dark clothing that seemed to drink the headlight beams rather than reflect them. Even from inside the car, Emma could see there was something wrong with her eyes—they were too bright, too gold, glowing with an inner fire that had no business existing in a human face.

But she wasn't human. Emma knew that with a certainty that bypassed logic entirely.

This woman was something else. Something ancient. Something powerful. Something that made Emma's magic sing like it had never sung before.

Emma was out of the car before she consciously decided to move, walking toward the stranger with steps that felt inevitable. She was dimly aware of Regina calling her name, of footsteps following—but nothing mattered except closing the distance between herself and this golden-eyed woman.

They stopped a few feet apart. The pull in Emma's chest was almost unbearable now, her magic straining toward the stranger like a plant reaching for sunlight.

"I felt you," the woman said, and her voice was low and rich and resonant with power. "When I crossed the town line, I felt magic reaching back toward me. Magic that felt familiar."

"Who are you?" Emma's voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

"My name is Maleficent." The woman's golden eyes narrowed, studying Emma with an intensity that felt like being x-rayed. "I've been searching for someone for a very long time. Someone who was taken from me thirty-four years ago."

Emma's heart stuttered. Thirty-four years. Her age exactly.

"The Apprentice told me my child was here," Maleficent continued. "In Storybrooke. He didn't tell me who, or where exactly. Just that my daughter had been hidden in this town all along."

Daughter. The word hit Emma like a physical blow. Behind her, she heard Regina's sharp intake of breath.

"And you think—" Emma started.

"I don't know what I think yet." Maleficent's gaze was piercing. "But your magic reached for mine the moment I crossed the border. That's not something that happens between strangers."

Her phone rang.

The sound was jarring in the weight of the moment. Emma wanted to ignore it, but habit made her glance at the screen.

Snow White. Calling.

She rejected the call. It immediately rang again.

"You should answer that," Maleficent said quietly.

The phone buzzed with text messages in rapid succession.

HENRY IN HOSPITAL

ACCIDENT AT GOLD'S SHOP

COME NOW PLEASE EMMA HE'S HURT

The world tilted. Emma stared at the messages, her mind refusing to process them.

"Emma?" Regina moved to stand beside her. "What is it?"

"Henry. There was an accident. He's at the hospital."

She looked up at Maleficent—at this woman who might be searching for her, who had felt her magic across the town line.

"I have to go," Emma said. "I'm sorry—he's just a kid—"

"Go." Maleficent's expression was unreadable. "The child needs you. But Emma—" She paused. "I'll be here. I've waited thirty-four years. I can wait a little longer to find out if you're who I'm looking for."

"Regina," Emma said. "Can you—"

"I'll stay. Find out what's happening. Go."

Emma ran.

Chapter Text

Maleficent

Maleficent watched Emma's taillights disappear around the curve and felt thirty-four years of desperate hope crystallize into something sharp and dangerous.

The magic that had reached for hers—that had called to her across the town line like a beacon in the darkness—it had come from that woman. Emma, the dark-haired one had called her. Emma, whose magic sang with a frequency Maleficent would have recognized anywhere, in any realm, across any distance.

It could be coincidence. It could be something else entirely—a magical anomaly, a trick, a trap laid by enemies she'd made over the centuries. Maleficent had lived long enough to know that hope was a dangerous thing, that wanting something badly enough could make you see patterns that weren't there.

But she had spent thirty-four years learning to trust her instincts. Thirty-four years searching every realm she could reach, following every lead no matter how thin, refusing to give up even when the universe seemed determined to prove that giving up was the only sane response.

And her instincts were screaming that she might have finally found what she'd been searching for.

"You have questions." The former Evil Queen's voice cut through her thoughts. Regina Mills stood a few feet away, arms crossed. "So do I."

"I imagine you do." Maleficent turned to face her. "It's been a long time, Regina."

"Not long enough, some might say." But there was no real heat in the words. "What are you doing here? And don't give me the speech you gave Emma—I want the full story."

Maleficent considered her options. Regina was the only source of information she had about this town and the woman whose magic had reached for hers.

"The Apprentice found me," she said. "Three months ago, in another realm. He told me my child had been in Storybrooke all along—hidden here behind the curse while I searched everywhere else."

"The Apprentice." Regina's eyes narrowed. "He's been dead for years."

"He found me before his death. Left me with just enough information to drive me mad—that my daughter was here, that she'd grown up believing herself to be someone else, that the answers I'd sought for over three decades were in this one small town."

"And you think Emma might be your child."

"I think her magic reached for mine the moment I crossed the border. I think that doesn't happen between strangers." Maleficent's voice hardened. "I think I've searched too long and come too far to ignore something like that."

Regina was quiet for a moment. "I've been training Emma. Helping her develop her magic. And I've noticed things that don't add up."

"What kind of things?"

"Her magical signature has elements that shouldn't be there. Elements that don't match what the child of Snow White and Prince Charming should produce." Regina met her eyes. "I sensed dragon magic in her, Maleficent. Before tonight—I sensed something in Emma that felt like dragon fire."

Dragon magic. The words hit Maleficent like a blow. Her magic, passed through blood and bone, surviving even when the child who carried it didn't know what she was.

"Tell me about her," Maleficent said. "Tell me everything you know."

"Not here." Regina glanced around at the dark road. "Come back to my house. We have a lot to discuss."

* * *

They sat in Regina's study, and Regina told Maleficent about Emma Swan.

She told her about the curse and how it had been broken—about Emma arriving in Storybrooke with her son in tow, about the slow unraveling of twenty-eight years of frozen time, about the kiss of true love that had shattered everything Regina had built.

She told her about the years since then. The battles and alliances, the truces and betrayals, the complicated history between them that had eventually settled into something like friendship.

And she told her about the Charmings.

"They claim Emma as their daughter," Regina said carefully. "Their savior. The product of their true love, destined to break the curse."

"But you don't believe it."

"I believe they believe it. But I've watched Emma try to connect with them for five years. It never quite works. There's always something missing, some piece that doesn't fit."

"And you think that piece might be me."

"I think there are too many coincidences." Regina leaned forward. "Emma is thirty-four—the same age your child would be. Her magic has a dragon signature it shouldn't have. The moment you crossed the town line, her power reached for yours like it recognized you."

"But we don't have proof."

"No. We have suspicions and magical resonance. That's not enough to accuse Snow White of stealing a child." Regina's voice turned bitter. "Trust me, I know how that would go."

Maleficent rose and moved to the window. "Thirty-four years ago, the Charmings came to my lair with the Apprentice. They took something from me—my egg, my child who hadn't even hatched yet. I came back from hunting to find my nest empty."

"And Emma is thirty-four years old," Regina finished. "The timing fits."

"The timing fits. The magic fits. But we need more than that."

"There are ways to confirm it. Magical tests that can verify biological relationships." Regina moved toward her bookshelves. "I've been researching them since I first noticed the anomalies in Emma's power. A lineage spell that requires blood from both parties."

"Then we do the test."

"We need Emma for that. And she's at the hospital."

Maleficent's jaw tightened. "Then we wait. And we prepare."

"Because if that test confirms what we suspect—if Emma is truly your daughter—then the Charmings have been lying to everyone for thirty-four years. And they're going to have to answer for it."

Chapter Text

Emma

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and fear.

Emma moved through the sterile corridors on autopilot, her body carrying her toward Henry's room while her mind remained stuck on that dark road. Golden eyes. Magic that reached for hers like a missing piece finding its puzzle. A woman searching for a child stolen thirty-four years ago.

Thirty-four years. Her age exactly.

It couldn't mean what she thought it meant. Could it?

She pushed open the door to Henry's room and found chaos.

Dr. Whale was barking orders at nurses. Snow was crying in the corner, David's arm around her shoulders. Henry lay unconscious on the bed, paler than Emma had ever seen him, monitors beeping frantically.

"What's happening?" Emma demanded. "I thought he was stable."

"Complications." Whale didn't look up. "The artifact he touched—it wasn't just cursed, it was contaminated with magical toxin. It's in his bloodstream now. We need a complete transfusion."

"Then do it."

"We need compatible blood. His type is rare." Whale finally met her eyes. "You're his biological mother. You should be a match."

Emma didn't hesitate. "Take whatever you need."

* * *

They set her up in a chair next to Henry's bed, a needle in her arm and a bag slowly filling with blood. Emma watched the red liquid flow through the tube and tried not to think about Maleficent, about golden eyes, about the pull in her chest that hadn't faded.

Snow hovered nearby. David stood by the door like a sentinel. The tension was thick enough to choke on.

"The test results should be back soon," Whale said. "Once we confirm compatibility, we can start the transfusion."

"Confirm compatibility?" Emma frowned. "I thought you said I'd be a match because I'm his mother."

"Standard protocol. We always run a full panel, especially with magical contamination." Whale made a note on his clipboard. "It'll just take a few minutes."

The minutes stretched into an eternity.

She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, Whale was shaking her shoulder, his face pale and confused.

"Miss Swan. We need to talk."

Emma blinked awake. "What is it? Is there a problem with the blood?"

"You could say that." Whale glanced at Snow and David. "Perhaps we should discuss this privately."

"Whatever you have to say, you can say it here." Emma's stomach tightened with dread. "What's wrong?"

Whale hesitated. Then he spoke the words that would shatter Emma's world.

"Your blood isn't compatible with Henry's. According to the genetic markers, you can't possibly be his biological mother."

The room went silent.

"That's impossible," Emma heard herself say. "I gave birth to him. There must be a mistake."

"I ran it three times." Whale's voice was gentle but firm. "Your DNA and Henry's don't share the markers between a biological mother and child. You're not related to him at all."

"But that doesn't—" Emma's voice cracked.

"There's more." Whale looked deeply uncomfortable. "When your blood came back as incompatible, I tested Mr. and Mrs. Nolan as potential donors."

"And?"

"Their blood is compatible. The genetic markers confirm that David and Mary Margaret are Henry's biological grandparents." Whale paused. "Which means their biological daughter is Henry's mother. But Miss Swan... that daughter isn't you."

Emma felt the floor drop out from under her.

She turned slowly to face Snow and David. They were standing frozen, their faces masks of horror. Snow's hand was pressed over her mouth. David had gone white as a sheet.

"Tell me he's wrong," Emma said, her voice flat and distant. "Tell me I'm your daughter. Tell me there's been some kind of mistake."

Snow made a small, broken sound. Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. No words came out.

"Tell me!" Emma was on her feet, ripping the needle from her arm. "Tell me you didn't steal me from someone else. Tell me everything I've ever believed about my life isn't a lie!"

"Emma—" David stepped forward, reaching for her. "Please, let us explain—"

"Don't touch me." Emma yanked her arm away. "Don't you dare touch me."

"It's not what you think," Snow finally managed. "We did it to protect you. To save you. You have to understand—"

"Understand what? That you've been lying to me for five years? That everything—the curse, the savior prophecy, our whole family—it was all built on a lie?" Emma was shaking now. "Who am I? If I'm not your daughter, then who the hell am I?"

"Who is your real daughter?" Emma's voice was ice. "The one whose blood matches Henry's. Where is she?"

"We don't know." David's voice was hollow. "We haven't seen her since she was an infant."

"There's a woman at the town line right now who's been searching for her stolen child for thirty-four years. And I'm starting to think she might have found her."

Snow's face crumpled. "Maleficent. Oh god, she's here—"

"So you do know." Emma felt something cold settle in her chest. "You know exactly who I am and where I came from."

"We can explain everything," David said desperately.

"No." Emma was already moving toward the door. "I'm done listening to your explanations. I'm done pretending to be part of your perfect family. And I'm done being your lie."

She walked out without looking back.

Chapter Text

Henry, Snow, David

Henry Mills woke to the sound of his grandmother crying.

His head felt fuzzy, stuffed with cotton, and his hands throbbed with a dull persistent ache. For a moment he couldn't remember where he was.

Then it all came rushing back. Gold's shop. The cursed box. The burning pain before everything went dark.

He turned his head and saw Snow huddled in a chair by the window, her shoulders shaking with sobs. David stood beside her, his expression hollow and devastated.

"Grandma?" Henry's voice came out rough. "What's wrong? Where's Emma?"

Snow's head snapped up. Her eyes were red and swollen. "Henry. You're awake."

"Where's Emma?"

"Emma's gone," David said quietly. "She left."

"Left where? What do you mean she left?"

"There was a complication." David's voice was careful. "With the blood test. Some results that were unexpected."

"What kind of results?"

Snow and David exchanged a look—that look Henry had noticed before, the one that always made him feel like he was missing something.

"Something happened," Snow said finally. "Emma found out we've been keeping secrets from her. Important secrets about who she is."

"What kind of secrets?"

"It's about family," Snow's voice cracked. "About what happens when the family you thought you had turns out to be a lie."

Henry stared at them. "Is Emma not your daughter? Is that what you're saying?"

Snow's sob was answer enough.

Henry felt the world tilt sideways. If Emma wasn't the Charmings' daughter, then she wasn't the savior. And if she wasn't the savior, then everything he'd believed since he was ten years old—the storybook, the curse, the destiny that had made him special—all of it was built on lies.

"Then who is she?" he demanded.

"Maleficent." Snow spoke the name like a curse. "The dragon. She's been searching for her stolen child for thirty-four years. And now she's here."

"Emma might be Maleficent's daughter?" Henry's voice rose with disbelief. "That's insane. Emma's the savior. She's good. How could she be the daughter of a villain?"

"Because sometimes the story isn't what we think it is," David said quietly.

"This is Regina's fault," Henry said. "She did something to Emma. Corrupted her."

"This isn't about Regina. This is about choices we made a long time ago. Choices that are finally catching up with us."

"What choices? What did you do?"

And in his grandparents' faces, Henry saw something he'd never seen before: guilt.

"We did what we thought was right," Snow whispered. "We did what we thought we had to do to save our daughter—our real daughter. But the cost was higher than we ever imagined."

Henry stared at them—these people he'd idolized his whole life. The heroes of the story.

And for the first time, he wondered if he'd ever really known them at all.

* * *

After Henry fell back asleep, Snow and David retreated to the hallway.

"It's over." Snow's voice was hollow. "Everything we built—it's all falling apart."

"Emma's angry. She has every right to be. But once she calms down—"

"Explain what, David? That we stole her from her real mother? That we used an innocent child to protect our own daughter?" Snow's laugh was bitter. "There's no explanation that makes that okay."

"We did what we had to do."

"Did we?" Snow pulled away. "I've spent thirty-four years telling myself we made the right choice. But looking at Emma's face tonight—I'm not sure I believe that anymore."

"If Maleficent gets to her first—"

"She's probably already with her. At Regina's mansion."

"We need to find Emma. Talk to her before Maleficent poisons her against us."

"And say what? 'Sorry we lied to you your whole life'?" Snow shook her head. "She's not going to listen. Not now. Maybe not ever."

"Then we tell her the whole truth—why we did what we did."

"The whole truth. Including what we did to Maleficent's child? What we let the Apprentice do?"

David's silence was answer enough.

"We can't tell her the whole truth," Snow said. "Because the whole truth would destroy any chance we have of getting her back."

"We've lost her, David. We lost her the moment Whale read those test results."

She walked back toward Henry's room, leaving David standing alone in the hallway.

He stood there for a long time, staring at nothing, trying to figure out how to salvage the wreckage of the life they'd built on lies.

He couldn't think of a single thing.

Chapter Text

Emma

Emma didn't remember the drive to Regina's mansion.

She must have gotten in her car, must have turned the key, must have navigated the dark streets of Storybrooke—but none of it registered. Her mind was a white-noise static of shock, playing Whale's words on an endless loop.

You can't possibly be his biological mother.

The Charmings are Henry's biological grandparents.

Their daughter is Henry's mother. But that daughter isn't you.

She was parked in Regina's driveway. She didn't remember stopping. The engine was still running, her hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, and she was shaking—full-body tremors that made her teeth chatter.

The front door opened. Regina appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the warm light of the house. Behind her, Emma could see Maleficent rising from a chair in the living room.

Emma turned off the engine. Got out of the car. Walked toward the house on legs that didn't feel like they belonged to her.

"Emma?" Regina's voice was sharp with concern. "What happened? Is Henry—"

"Henry's fine." The words came out flat. Dead. "They found a donor. He's going to be fine."

"Then what—"

"I'm not his mother."

The words hung in the air. Regina's expression shifted from concern to confusion. Behind her, Maleficent had gone very still.

"What do you mean?" Regina asked slowly.

"I mean the blood test came back and I'm not Henry's biological mother. My DNA doesn't match his. At all." Emma heard her own voice like it was coming from somewhere far away. "But Snow and David's does. They're his biological grandparents. Which means their real daughter is his mother."

She looked at Maleficent. Those golden eyes were burning with something that looked like hope and fury and grief all tangled together.

"And I'm not their daughter," Emma finished. "I never was."

The silence stretched for three heartbeats. Then Regina stepped forward and pulled Emma into the house, guiding her toward the living room with gentle hands.

"Sit down," Regina said. "Tell us everything."

* * *

Emma sat on Regina's couch and told them.

About Henry's complications, about the blood transfusion, about Whale's confusion when the tests came back wrong. About the genetic markers that proved beyond any doubt that she wasn't related to Henry—and that the Charmings were.

About Snow's face when Emma confronted her. The way her mouth had opened and closed without words. The guilt written in every line of her body.

"She knew," Emma said. "They both knew. When I mentioned Maleficent—when I said there was a woman at the town line looking for her stolen child—Snow's face just... crumpled. She said 'Maleficent. Oh god, she's here.' Like she knew exactly what that meant."

Maleficent had been pacing by the fireplace, her movements tight and controlled. Now she stopped.

"They knew," she said, and her voice was ice. "All this time, they knew what they'd done. Who they'd taken. And they let you believe—let everyone believe—"

"That I was their daughter." Emma's laugh was hollow. "The savior. The product of true love. The one destined to break the curse." She pressed her palms against her eyes. "My whole life is a lie. Everything I thought I knew about myself—it's all built on something they made up."

"Not everything." Regina's voice was quiet but firm. She sat down next to Emma, close enough that their shoulders touched. "Your experiences are real. Your feelings are real. The person you've become—that's not a lie. That's you."

"But who am I?" The question came out broken. "If I'm not Emma Swan, daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, then who am I?"

Maleficent crossed the room and knelt in front of Emma. Her golden eyes were bright with tears.

"You might be mine," she said softly. "My magic recognized you the moment I crossed the town line. Your magic reached for me like it knew me. And now we know you're not theirs." Her voice caught. "Emma, I've been searching for my daughter for thirty-four years. And everything—the magic, the timing, the way the Charmings reacted—it all points to you."

Emma stared at her. This woman with the golden eyes and the dragon fire and the decades of desperate searching. This woman who might be her mother.

"We need to know for certain," Emma said. "I can't—I can't do this again. I can't believe something about myself and have it turn out to be another lie."

"There's a way." Regina stood. "A magical lineage test. I've been researching it since I first noticed the anomalies in your power. It requires blood from both parties, but it can confirm biological relationships beyond any doubt."

"Then let's do it." Emma's voice was steady despite the trembling in her hands. "Tonight. Right now. I need to know."

Regina and Maleficent exchanged a look. Then Regina nodded.

"I'll get the supplies from my vault."

Chapter Text

Emma, Regina, Maleficent

Regina returned within the hour, carrying an ancient leather satchel that clinked with glass vials and smelled faintly of herbs and something older. Something that made Emma's magic stir in recognition.

"The spell is straightforward," Regina said, setting out the components on her dining room table. "Blood from both parties in a silver bowl filled with purified water. If there's a biological connection, the blood will merge. If not, it will remain separate."

"That simple?" Emma asked.

"Magic usually is, at its core. It's the intent that matters, not the complexity." Regina produced a silver bowl etched with symbols Emma didn't recognize and filled it with water from a crystal vial. "This water was collected from a sacred spring in the Enchanted Forest. It enhances magical bonds and reveals truth."

Maleficent moved to stand beside the table, her expression a carefully controlled mask that couldn't quite hide the desperate hope underneath.

"Who goes first?" Emma asked.

"I will." Maleficent picked up a small silver knife from Regina's supplies. Without hesitation, she drew the blade across her palm. Her blood welled up—and Emma gasped.

It wasn't red. It was gold. Liquid gold, shimmering in the candlelight like molten metal.

"Dragon blood," Regina said quietly. "I've only seen it once before, when Mal was injured during one of our... earlier encounters."

Maleficent held her hand over the bowl and let three drops fall into the water. Where the golden blood touched the surface, it spread like liquid fire, swirling through the water until the entire bowl glowed with soft amber light.

"Now you," Regina said to Emma.

Emma took the knife. Her hands were shaking, but she forced them steady as she pressed the blade to her palm. The cut stung. Her blood welled up—

Red. Ordinary red. Human red.

Something sank in Emma's chest. Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe the magical resonance had been something else, something that didn't mean what they'd hoped—

"Let it fall," Regina said gently.

Emma held her hand over the bowl. Three drops of red blood fell into the glowing golden water.

For a moment, nothing happened. The red drops hung suspended in the amber glow, separate and distinct.

Then the water began to swirl.

The red and gold spiraled together, twisting and dancing in patterns that seemed almost alive. Emma watched, barely breathing, as the two colors merged and blended and became something new—a deep, rich amber that pulsed with light.

"Oh," Maleficent breathed. Her hand was pressed to her mouth, tears streaming down her face. "Oh, my baby."

"It merged," Regina said, and her voice was thick with emotion. "Emma, the blood merged. That only happens with direct biological connection. Parent and child."

Emma stared at the glowing bowl. At the proof that everything she'd suspected was true. That she wasn't a Charming. That she never had been.

That Maleficent was her mother.

"I found you," Maleficent whispered. She reached out with trembling hands, cupping Emma's face like she was something precious and fragile. "Thirty-four years. Thirty-four years I've been searching, and you were here all along. My daughter. My Emma."

Emma didn't know she was crying until she felt the tears on her cheeks. "I don't—I don't know what to—"

"You don't have to know anything right now." Maleficent pulled her into an embrace, and Emma felt something click into place inside her chest. Like a key turning in a lock she hadn't known existed. "You just have to let me hold you. I've been waiting so long to hold you."

Emma broke.

All the years of not belonging, of feeling wrong in her own skin, of performing a role she'd never quite believed—it all came flooding out in great, heaving sobs against Maleficent's shoulder. And Maleficent held her through every one, murmuring words Emma couldn't quite make out but felt in her bones.

I've got you. I found you. I'm never letting you go again.

Regina stood apart, watching with tears in her own eyes. When Emma finally lifted her head, exhausted and wrung out and somehow lighter than she'd ever felt, she found Regina's gaze and held it.

"Thank you," Emma said. "For believing something was wrong. For researching. For—all of it."

"You're welcome." Regina's voice was soft. "I'm just glad you finally know the truth."

The truth. Emma turned the word over in her mind. She was Maleficent's daughter. The Charmings had stolen her, raised her as their own, built an entire mythology around her being their savior. And somewhere out there was their real daughter—the one whose blood matched Henry's.

"There's still so much we don't know," Emma said slowly. "Why they took me. Who their real daughter is. Why they did any of this."

"We'll find out," Maleficent said fiercely. "Every secret they've buried, every lie they've told—we'll drag it all into the light. And they'll answer for what they did to us."

Emma nodded slowly. But even as rage began to kindle in her chest, another thought surfaced.

"Their daughter," she said. "Whoever she is—she was a victim too. They sent her through the wardrobe same as they sent me. She grew up in the same system I did, probably. Alone. Abandoned."

"You want to find her," Regina said. It wasn't a question.

"She deserves to know the truth. And maybe—" Emma hesitated. "Maybe she knows something. Something that explains why they did this. What they were really trying to accomplish."

Maleficent's expression was complicated. "You want to find the Charmings' real daughter."

"I want to find answers. And she might have them." Emma met her mother's golden eyes. "Will you help me?"

Maleficent was quiet for a long moment. Then she nodded.

"I spent thirty-four years searching for my daughter. I'll spend however long it takes to help her find her answers." She squeezed Emma's hands. "Together."

Chapter Text

Emma

Emma didn't sleep that night.

She lay in the guest room Regina had insisted she use, staring at the ceiling, her mind racing through everything she'd learned. Maleficent was her mother. The Charmings had stolen her. Henry wasn't her son. Everything she'd believed about herself was wrong.

But underneath the shock and the grief and the rage, something else was growing. A sense of clarity she'd never felt before. All those years of not quite fitting, of performing emotions she didn't feel, of wondering why the connection everyone expected just wasn't there—it made sense now. She'd been trying to be someone she wasn't. Trying to force herself into a role that had never belonged to her.

She wasn't broken. She'd just been lied to.

Around four in the morning, she gave up on sleep and went downstairs. She found Maleficent in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a cup of tea that had long gone cold.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Emma asked.

Maleficent looked up. In the dim light, her golden eyes seemed to glow. "I've spent thirty-four years not sleeping. Searching. Wondering if you were alive, if you were safe, if you remembered anything about where you came from." She smiled faintly. "Old habits."

Emma sat down across from her. "Tell me about it. The searching."

And Maleficent did. She told Emma about the decades of realm-hopping, of following leads that went nowhere, of trading favors and treasures for magic beans that could open portals to new worlds. She told her about the hope that had sustained her through all of it—the bone-deep certainty that her child was alive somewhere, waiting to be found.

"The Apprentice found me three months ago," Maleficent said. "He was dying. He said he had information about my daughter—that she was in a place called Storybrooke, hidden behind a curse I couldn't break. He gave me a magic bean and told me to wait for the curse to weaken enough for me to cross."

"He didn't tell you who I was? That I was living as the Charmings' daughter?"

"He said he'd already revealed too much. That the full truth wasn't his to tell." Maleficent's expression darkened. "I think he felt guilty. About whatever part he played in what happened to you."

Emma filed that away. The Apprentice had been involved somehow. Another piece of the puzzle.

"I want to find out everything," Emma said. "Not just who the Charmings' real daughter is, but why they did this. What they were trying to accomplish by stealing me and pretending I was theirs."

"Where do we start?"

Emma had been thinking about this. "The Charmings' real daughter would have gone through the wardrobe just like I did. She would have grown up in the foster system—same as me." Something clicked in her mind. "Same timing. Same circumstances. If she was born around the same time as the curse..."

She trailed off, a memory surfacing. A girl in one of her foster homes. Fierce and angry and protective. Someone who'd understood Emma in a way no one else ever had.

"Ava," Emma breathed.

"Who?"

"My foster sister. We were in the same home when I was twelve. She was the closest thing I ever had to family before—" Emma stopped. Before the Charmings. Before the lie. "She ran away when she was fifteen. Said she'd learned something that changed everything, but she wouldn't tell me what."

The pieces were falling into place. The timing. The circumstances. The way Ava had always seemed to carry a weight she wouldn't explain.

"You think this Ava might be the Charmings' daughter," Maleficent said slowly.

"I think it's possible. And I think I need to find her."

* * *

Regina found them in the kitchen as dawn was breaking, two cups of coffee between them and Emma's laptop open on the table.

"You're already working," Regina observed, moving to pour herself a cup.

"Emma has a theory," Maleficent said. "About who the Charmings' real daughter might be."

Emma explained about Ava—the foster sister who'd disappeared, the timing that matched, the mysterious revelation that had driven her away. As she talked, she was pulling up old records, searching through databases she'd learned to navigate during her years as a bail bondsperson.

"Her last known address was in Boston," Emma said. "But that was fifteen years ago. She could be anywhere by now."

"Then we track her." Regina sat down beside her. "You have the skills. I have magic that can help. And Maleficent—"

"Has spent decades hunting across realms," Maleficent finished. "Finding one woman in one world should be simple by comparison."

Emma looked between them—her mother and her... whatever Regina was becoming. Friend. Ally. Something more she wasn't ready to name.

"Thank you," she said. "Both of you. For believing me. For helping."

"You're family," Maleficent said simply.

"And I protect my family," Regina added, her dark eyes meeting Emma's.

Something warm bloomed in Emma's chest. Not the hollow performance of family she'd felt with the Charmings. Something real. Something earned.

She turned back to the laptop. "Then let's find Ava."

Chapter Text

Emma, Regina

Emma sat at Regina's dining table, laptop open, coffee growing cold beside her. The search for Ava was proving more difficult than she'd anticipated—the woman had clearly learned how to disappear.

"I'm going to find her," Emma said, more to herself than anyone else. "However long it takes. I need to talk to her in person."

"I'll come with you," Maleficent said immediately from her spot by the window. "When you find her location, I'll—"

"No." Emma shook her head firmly. "Ava was skittish even as a kid. If I show up with a dragon in tow, she'll bolt before I can say a word."

Maleficent's jaw tightened. "I've waited thirty-four years to find you. I'm not going to sit here while you—"

"You're not sitting here doing nothing. You're giving me space to do this right." Emma met her mother's golden eyes. "Ava and I have history. She trusted me once. If there's any chance of getting through to her, it has to be me. Alone. At least at first."

"She's right," Regina said quietly. She'd been watching the exchange from the doorway. "If Ava is the Charmings' daughter, she's been running from something her whole life. Showing up with reinforcements will only confirm whatever fears made her run in the first place."

Maleficent was silent for a long moment, her expression a war between protectiveness and reason. Finally, she nodded.

"You know her," Maleficent conceded. "I trust your judgment." Her golden eyes softened. "But the moment you need me—"

"You'll be the first person I call," Emma promised.

"And if she won't talk to you?"

"Then I'll camp outside her door until she does." Emma's voice hardened. "I spent twenty-eight years believing I was abandoned. Unwanted. Alone. I'm not leaving until I understand why."

* * *

While Emma continued her research, Regina slipped out of the mansion.

She had business to attend to. Business she'd been putting off for far too long.

The town clerk's office was quiet at this hour. Patricia, the nervous woman who had worked for Regina for years, looked up in surprise when she walked through the door.

"Madam Mayor? I wasn't expecting—"

"I need to file some paperwork." Regina set a folder on the counter. "Effective immediately."

Patricia opened the folder and her eyes went wide. "Madam Mayor, this is... are you sure about this?"

"I'm sure." Regina's voice was ice, but steady. "Henry Daniel Mills no longer exists. From this moment forward, his legal name is Henry Daniel White. And my adoption of him is officially dissolved."

Patricia's mouth opened and closed. "But he's your son—"

"No. He's not." Regina's jaw tightened. "He made that very clear when he told an entire diner full of people that he wished I was dead and that the Charmings are his real family. I'm simply honoring his request."

"The Charmings will need to file for legal guardianship—"

"That's their problem, not mine. He's sixteen—old enough for the court to consider his preferences." Regina straightened. "Process the paperwork."

"And the name change?" Patricia asked weakly.

"He doesn't deserve my name." Regina's voice was hard. "Mills means something. It's my mother's family name, passed down through generations. I gave it to him when I thought he was my son—when I believed he would honor it. But he's spent years spitting on everything that name represents. Everything I represented." She gathered her copy of the documents. "Let him be Henry White. Let him be a Charming. Let him be their problem."

Patricia nodded slowly, still looking shell-shocked. "It'll be official by tomorrow morning."

"Good. And Patricia?" Regina paused at the door. "Make sure a copy of these documents is delivered to the Charmings' apartment. I want them to know exactly what's happened."

She walked out into the afternoon sun, feeling lighter than she had in years.

Henry had wanted her out of his life. Now she was. Completely.

She had a real family to get home to.

* * *

That night, Emma sat on the porch of Regina's mansion, watching the stars wheel overhead. The door opened behind her, and Regina emerged with two glasses of cider.

"Thought you might want some company," Regina said, settling into the chair beside her.

"Thanks." Emma took the glass, but didn't drink. "Maleficent told me what you did today. The adoption. The name change."

Regina was quiet for a moment. "Do you think I was wrong?"

"No." Emma was surprised by how certain she sounded. "He wanted you out of his life. He made that clear in front of everyone. You just made it official."

"He's going to be furious when he finds out."

"Probably. But that's not your problem anymore."

Regina let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in her chest for years. "No. It's not."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, shoulders almost touching, watching the stars.

"Can I ask you something?" Emma said finally.

"Of course."

"When did you know? That something was wrong with me—with my magic, with who I was supposed to be?"

Regina was quiet for a moment, considering the question. "I'm not sure I ever thought something was wrong with you. But I noticed... discrepancies. Your magic never felt like it should. It was too old, too primal, too—" She searched for the word. "Wild. Snow's magic with animals was always controlled, precise. David has no magic at all. But yours... yours felt like something else entirely."

"Dragon magic."

"I didn't know that at first. But I knew it wasn't what the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming should have." Regina took a sip of her cider. "I started researching quietly. I didn't want to say anything until I had something concrete."

"Why?" Emma asked. "Why did you care? Back then, we weren't—we weren't whatever we are now."

Regina was quiet for a long time. When she spoke, her voice was softer than Emma had ever heard it.

"Because I know what it's like to not fit. To perform a role that doesn't belong to you because everyone expects it. To feel wrong in your own skin and not understand why." She turned to meet Emma's eyes. "I saw myself in you, Emma. And I couldn't stand the thought of you suffering the way I did."

Something shifted in Emma's chest. Something that had been building for months—maybe years—crystallizing into something she couldn't ignore anymore.

"Regina—"

"Don't." Regina held up a hand. "Not tonight. You have enough to deal with without adding—whatever this is—to the pile." But her voice was gentle, not dismissive. "Find Ava. Get your answers. And when you come back—" She paused. "When you come back, we can talk about everything else."

Emma nodded slowly. Regina was right. There was too much happening, too many revelations to process. But the knowledge that there would be a conversation—that Regina felt it too, whatever "it" was—settled something in her chest.

"Okay," she said. "When I come back."

They sat together in comfortable silence, watching the stars, as the night stretched on toward morning.

Tomorrow, Emma would continue her search. She would find Ava—her foster sister, possibly the Charmings' real daughter, definitely someone who held pieces of a puzzle Emma needed to complete.

But tonight, she sat with Regina in the darkness, and for the first time in her life, she felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Chapter Text

Emma

Emma had spent years as a bail bondsperson, tracking down people who didn't want to be found. She knew how to dig through records, follow paper trails, connect dots that others missed.

Finding Ava took her three days.

She sat at Regina's dining table with her laptop, piecing together fragments of information. Foster care records. School transfers. Employment history. A trail of a girl who'd been running since she was fifteen, until five years ago when she'd finally stopped in New York.

"You found her." Regina set a fresh cup of coffee beside Emma's elbow, looking at the address on the screen.

"Ava Blanchard." Emma laughed bitterly at the surname. "She's been using their name this whole time. I don't know if that's ironic or tragic."

"Perhaps she didn't know she had a choice." Maleficent stood by the window, her golden eyes fixed on something in the distance. "When you don't know who you really are, you cling to whatever pieces of identity you can find."

Emma thought about that. About the years she'd spent being Emma Swan, daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. About how wrong that identity had always felt, like wearing clothes that didn't fit.

"There's something else," Emma said quietly. She pulled up another window on her laptop. "While I was searching for Ava, I started thinking. If I'm not Henry's biological mother, then who is? And if I gave birth to someone, where is that child?"

Regina went very still. "Emma..."

"His name is Elliott." Emma's voice caught. "Elliott James. He's sixteen—the same age as Henry. He's been in the foster system his entire life." She looked up, tears burning in her eyes. "My real son has been in foster care this whole time. While I was raising Henry—while I thought Henry was mine—my actual child was alone in the system."

The silence in the room was deafening.

"The Charmings," Maleficent said, and her voice was ice. "They didn't just steal you from me. They stole your son from you."

"I don't understand how," Emma said. "I remember giving birth. I remember holding him before I signed the adoption papers. But somehow, they switched things. Made me think I was giving up Henry when I was actually giving up Elliott."

"Magic," Regina said grimly. "Memory spells. Glamours. There are dozens of ways they could have done it."

Emma stared at the photo on her screen. A boy with blonde hair and golden-brown eyes that looked almost amber in certain light. Her son. Her real son.

"He's still in foster care," she said. "He's sixteen years old and he's still waiting for someone to want him." Her jaw tightened. "I'm going to New York. I'm finding Ava, and I'm bringing my son home."

Maleficent's jaw tightened, but she didn't protest. They'd already had this conversation—Emma needed to approach Ava alone, without a dragon scaring her off.

"While you're gone," Regina said, and there was something sharp and dangerous in her voice, "I have some unfinished business to attend to."

Emma looked at her. "Henry?"

"The adoption is dissolved. His name is legally White now." Regina's smile was sharp as a blade. "But that's just paperwork. He still has everything I ever gave him—every piece of clothing, every game, every comic book, every phone. All bought with my money. All given with my love." Her eyes glittered. "I think it's time I took it all back."

"What are you going to do?"

"If I'm not his mother, then he's not my son. And if he's not my son, then nothing I ever gave him belongs to him." Regina's voice was ice. "The Charmings wanted him so badly. Let them pay for him."

Emma should have felt something—guilt, maybe, or sympathy for the boy she'd thought was her son. But all she felt was a grim satisfaction.

"Make sure he never gets the last word," she said.

Regina's smile widened. "Oh, I intend to."

Chapter Text

Regina

Regina waited until Emma's yellow bug disappeared down the road before she made her move.

The Charmings' apartment was in the same building it had always been—that cramped little space above the closed shop, where Snow White played at being a schoolteacher and Prince Charming pretended to be a sheriff. Regina had been there countless times over the years, always biting her tongue, always playing nice for Henry's sake.

No more.

She didn't bother knocking. A wave of her hand and the door swung open, revealing the cozy domestic scene inside. Snow at the kitchen counter, David on the couch, and Henry—freshly released from the hospital with his hands still bandaged—sprawled in an armchair with his phone.

Her phone. The one she'd bought him for his fourteenth birthday.

"Regina!" Snow's hand flew to her chest. "What are you—you can't just barge in here!"

"Can't I?" Regina stepped inside, her heels clicking against the floor. "I've been letting you dictate the terms of our interactions for far too long. That ends today."

David stood, positioning himself between Regina and Henry. "Whatever you're here for, you can leave. Henry doesn't want to see you."

"Oh, I'm well aware of what Henry wants." Regina's gaze fixed on the boy who'd once been her son. "He made that very clear at Granny's. He wants me dead. He wants his 'real family.'" She smiled, and it was all teeth. "I'm here to give him exactly what he asked for."

Henry looked up from his phone, his expression shifting from surprise to wariness. "What are you talking about?"

"You said I'm not your mother. You said you wished I was dead. You told everyone at Granny's that the Charmings are your real family and I'm nothing but the Evil Queen who ruined your life." Regina tilted her head. "Did I miss anything?"

"I was just telling the truth—"

"I'm not finished." Regina's voice cracked like a whip, and Henry's mouth snapped shut. "You don't get to speak. You don't get the last word. Not anymore. Not ever again."

"Now wait just a minute—" David started.

"Sit down." Regina didn't even look at him. Magic pulsed through the room, and David found himself back on the couch, frozen in place. Snow gasped, but a flick of Regina's fingers silenced her as well.

"This is between me and the boy who threw away sixteen years of my love like it was garbage."

Henry's face was pale, but he jutted his chin out defiantly. "You can't do anything to me. I'm not afraid of you."

"No?" Regina stepped closer. "You should be. But I'm not here to hurt you, Henry. I'm here to honor your wishes. You said I'm not your mother. Fine. I accept that. And if I'm not your mother, then you're not my son."

"Good. I don't want to be your—"

"Which means," Regina continued as if he hadn't spoken, "that everything I ever gave you—every single thing I paid for with my money and my love—none of it belongs to you."

She snapped her fingers.

Purple smoke swirled through the room. When it cleared, Henry was sitting in the armchair in nothing but his underwear, his bandaged hands empty, everything he'd owned vanished.

"What the—" Henry scrambled to cover himself, face flushing red with humiliation. "You can't do this!"

"I can and I did. The clothes on your back? I bought them. The phone you were just using? I bought that too. The video games, the comic books, the laptop, the shoes, the jacket you love so much—" Regina spread her hands. "All mine. And since you're not my son, you have no right to any of it."

"This is insane! This is abuse!"

"This is consequences." Regina leaned down until they were eye to eye. "Something you've never had to face before. You spent years treating me like dirt. You manipulated everyone around you. You took credit for my ideas to make yourself look good."

"I never—"

"The town improvement proposals," Regina said flatly. "The park renovations. The new crosswalks by the school. The community garden initiative. You presented all of those to the town council as your ideas. But I have every draft, every note, every piece of research—all in my handwriting. You stole my work and took the credit while publicly wishing I was dead."

Henry's face went pale.

"The whole town praised you for being such a smart, civic-minded young man," Regina continued. "They talked about what a credit you were to your family. And the whole time, you hadn't done a single thing except lie."

"That's not—I was trying to help—"

"You were trying to make yourself look like a hero while making me look like a villain. You manipulated everyone—including Emma—into believing you were special." Regina straightened. "But you're not special, Henry. You never were. You're just a spoiled, entitled, manipulative brat who's never had to work for anything in his life."

"You can't talk to me like that!"

"I can talk to you however I want. I'm not your mother anymore, remember? I'm just the Evil Queen." Regina smiled coldly. "And the Evil Queen doesn't owe you kindness, or patience, or love. The Evil Queen tells the truth."

She turned to leave, then paused at the door.

"Oh, and Henry? The Charmings are your family now. That means they get to pay for everything you need. Clothes. Food. School supplies. All of it." She glanced at Snow and David, still frozen on the couch. "I hope you can afford it. I certainly won't be contributing a single cent."

She released the spell holding them as she walked out. Behind her, she could hear Snow's shocked gasp, David's angry voice, Henry's humiliated protests.

But not a single word from Henry that could qualify as the last word.

Regina smiled all the way home.

* * *

The aftermath was chaos.

Snow scrambled to find something—anything—for Henry to wear, eventually producing an old bathrobe from the back of a closet. David paced the apartment, alternating between furious rants about Regina and frantic calls to the sheriff's station that went nowhere. Henry sat on the couch wrapped in the bathrobe, his face a mask of humiliation and rage.

"She can't do this," Henry kept saying. "She can't just take everything. That's theft. That's—"

"She bought all of it," David said grimly, ending another useless call. "Legally, it was hers to take."

"But I'm her son!"

"You told her you weren't." Snow's voice was quiet, exhausted. "At Granny's. You told everyone she wasn't your mother."

"I didn't think she'd actually—" Henry stopped, his face reddening.

"You didn't think there would be consequences," David finished. "You never do."

Before Henry could respond, there was a knock at the door.

David opened it to find a nervous-looking courier holding a large envelope. "Delivery for the Nolan-Blanchard residence. And, uh..." He consulted his clipboard. "Henry White?"

"Henry Mills," David corrected automatically.

The courier shrugged. "Says White here. Sign please?"

David signed, his brow furrowed in confusion, and took the envelope. The courier disappeared quickly, clearly not wanting to be anywhere near whatever was about to happen.

"What is it?" Snow asked, moving closer.

David opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of official documents. His face went white as he read.

"David?" Snow's voice was sharp with concern. "What does it say?"

"She..." David had to stop and start again. "Regina dissolved the adoption. Legally. Henry is no longer her son in any legal capacity."

"What?" Henry shot to his feet, the bathrobe nearly falling open. "She can't do that! I didn't agree to that!"

"Apparently she can. You're sixteen—old enough that she didn't need your consent." David's hands were shaking as he flipped to the next page. "And there's more."

"More?" Snow took the papers from him, scanning them quickly. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my god."

"What?" Henry demanded. "What else did she do?"

Snow looked at him with something like pity in her eyes. "She changed your name. Legally. You're not Henry Mills anymore."

"Then what am I?"

Snow swallowed hard. "Henry White."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Henry snatched the papers from Snow's hands, reading them himself as if he couldn't believe it. But there it was in black and white—official court documents, signed and stamped, declaring that his legal name was now Henry Daniel White and that Regina Mills had no legal relationship to him whatsoever.

"She gave me your name," he said slowly, looking at Snow. "She made me a Blanchard. A White. A... a Charming."

"Isn't that what you wanted?" David asked quietly. "You said we were your real family. You said Regina was nothing to you."

"I didn't mean—" Henry stopped. What hadn't he meant? He'd said the words. He'd meant them when he said them. He'd wanted to hurt Regina, wanted to make her feel as small and worthless as he'd decided she was.

And now she'd taken him at his word.

"This isn't fair," Henry said, but his voice was small now, uncertain. "She can't just... erase me."

"She didn't erase you." Snow's voice was tired, so tired. "She let you go. Just like you asked her to."

Henry looked down at the papers in his hands—the legal proof that Regina Mills had cut every tie, severed every bond, walked away from sixteen years of motherhood without looking back.

He'd gotten exactly what he wanted.

It didn't feel like winning.

Chapter Text

Emma (with flashbacks)

The drive to New York took six hours, and Emma spent every mile of it thinking about Ava.

Twenty-two years ago, Garfield Group Home, Boston.

Emma was twelve, and she'd learned not to trust anyone. The system taught you that fast—every family that sent you back, every kid who stole your stuff, every adult who promised things would get better and lied.

Then Ava arrived.

She was fierce and angry and absolutely refused to take crap from anyone. The older boys who usually terrorized new arrivals learned fast that Ava would fight back—with words, with fists, with whatever was necessary. Within a week, she had a reputation. Within a month, she had Emma.

"You and me," Ava said one night, sitting on Emma's bed after lights out. "We're the same. I can tell. We've got the same kind of broken."

"I'm not broken," Emma said automatically.

Ava just smiled. "Neither am I. That's what makes us different from the rest of them. We're not broken. We're just waiting to find out who we really are."

Emma blinked back to the present as her GPS announced she was approaching her destination. She'd never forgotten those words. At the time, she'd thought Ava was just being dramatic. Now she wondered if Ava had somehow known, even then, that they were both living lies.

She parked outside a modest apartment building in Brooklyn. According to her research, Ava had been living here for five years, working as a bartender at a place a few blocks away. Stable. Settled. No longer running.

Emma took a breath and got out of the car.

* * *

The woman who answered the door was exactly as Emma remembered and completely different.

Ava had the same fierce eyes, the same stubborn set to her jaw. But there were lines around her mouth now, and shadows under her eyes that spoke of years of carrying something heavy.

"Took you long enough," Ava said.

Emma stared at her. "You knew I was coming?"

"I knew you'd figure it out eventually. Once you learned the truth about who your parents aren't." Ava stepped back, holding the door open. "Come in. We have a lot to talk about."

* * *

They sat in Ava's small living room, two foster sisters reunited after twenty-two years, and Ava told Emma what she knew.

"The Apprentice came to me when I was fifteen," Ava said. "He told me about the Enchanted Forest. About magic being real. About my biological parents—Snow White and Prince Charming." She laughed bitterly. "You can imagine how well that went over."

"So you've known all this time that you're their daughter."

"I've known. I've also known that you weren't their child—that they took you from somewhere else and "raised" you in my place." Ava's voice was tight. "I wanted to tell you so many times, Emma. But the Apprentice said it had to happen a certain way, or everything would go wrong."

"Why didn't you come to Storybrooke? After the curse broke?"

"And do what? Confront the parents who threw me away?" Ava shook her head. "I didn't want anything to do with them. I still don't."

Emma told her about Henry and how he treats people, especially both his mothers.

Emma leaned forward. "Ava, I found out that I'm not Henry's biological mother. The blood tests proved it. But the Charmings are his grandparents—which means their real daughter is his mother." She met Ava's eyes. "That's you, isn't it?"

Ava went very still. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then she stood and walked to the window, her back to Emma.

"Yes," she said finally. "Henry is my biological son."

"Why didn't you ever—"

"Because I never wanted him." Ava's voice was hard. "I was seventeen years old, Emma. Seventeen. And one of my foster fathers—" She stopped, her hands clenching at her sides. "He preyed on young girls. I wasn't the first. I probably wasn't the last."

The words hit Emma like a physical blow. "Ava..."

"I found out I was pregnant and I wanted to get rid of it. But I was a foster kid with no money and no support, and by the time I figured out how to get help, it was too late." Ava turned to face her, and her eyes were bright with old pain. "I gave birth to him and I never held him. I never even looked at him. I just signed the papers and walked away."

"That's why you ran," Emma realized. "Right after the Apprentice told you the truth."

"I couldn't stay. Not knowing that I'd given birth to Snow White's grandchild—that the baby I never wanted was out there somewhere, living a life I wanted no part of." Ava shook her head. "I've spent sixteen years trying to forget he exists."

Emma's mind was reeling. Henry wasn't just not her son—he was the product of rape. He was Ava's trauma made flesh, a constant reminder of the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

"Come back to Storybrooke with me," Emma said. "Not for Henry—I don't give a damn about him anymore. Not for the Charmings. Come back for me. We're sisters, Ava. We always were."

"There's more I haven't told you." Ava's voice was barely a whisper. "Things the Apprentice told me about what the Charmings did. Things I'm not ready to say yet."

Emma's lie detector pinged. Ava was hiding something—something big. But she could see the guilt crushing her foster sister's shoulders, the weight of secrets she'd carried for too long.

"When you're ready," Emma said. "But come home with me. Please."

Ava was quiet for a long moment. Then she nodded.

"There's one more stop we need to make first," Emma said. "I have a son to pick up. My real son."

Chapter Text

Emma

The foster home was exactly like every foster home Emma had ever known—a little run-down, a little overcrowded, filled with kids who'd learned not to hope for too much.

She sat in the car for a long moment, Ava beside her, staring at the building where her son had spent his entire life.

"You okay?" Ava asked quietly.

"No." Emma's hands were shaking. "I thought I gave him up for a better life. I thought he'd be adopted by some loving family, that he'd have everything I couldn't give him. And instead he's been here. In the system. Alone."

"It's not your fault. The Charmings—"

"I know." Emma took a breath. "But it doesn't make it easier."

She got out of the car and walked toward the front door.

* * *

The boy who walked into the room was everything Emma hadn't let herself hope for.

He was tall and lean, with blonde hair that fell across his forehead and eyes that were almost amber in the light—like Maleficent's, but not as bright. Not yet. He moved with a quiet confidence that reminded her of herself, and when he saw her, he didn't look surprised.

He looked relieved.

"You're Emma," he said. Not a question.

"You know who I am?"

"The Apprentice told me." Elliott moved closer, studying her face like he was memorizing it. "Two years ago. He told me about magic, about the Enchanted Forest, about you. He said you were my real mom, and that you loved me, but you were in a situation where you couldn't raise me. He said you'd find me when the time was right."

Emma felt tears burning in her eyes. "You've been waiting for me?"

"I've always known you'd come." Elliott's voice was steady, certain. "Even before the Apprentice explained everything, I knew I was different. Things happened around me that I couldn't explain. And I always felt like I was waiting for something. For someone."

"Elliott—" Emma's voice broke.

"The Apprentice told me about the Charmings too," Elliott continued, his expression hardening slightly. "He said they knew about me and did nothing. They left me here on purpose." He shook his head. "I never liked the fairy tales about them, you know. Even before I knew they were real. Something about their story always felt wrong."

"Your instincts were right."

"I know." Elliott smiled, and it was like looking in a mirror. "The Apprentice also told me about my grandmother. The dragon. He said I'm one too."

"You are. We both are."

"I've been dreaming about her for years," Elliott said softly. "A woman with golden eyes who calls my name across the dark. I always thought it was just a dream."

"It wasn't. She was reaching for you. Just like she reached for me." Emma opened her arms, and Elliott stepped into them without hesitation. He was taller than her now, this son she'd never known, but he held onto her like a child finally finding home.

"I'm sorry," she whispered against his hair. "I'm so sorry I didn't find you sooner."

"You found me now." Elliott pulled back, his amber eyes bright. "That's what matters."

Emma wiped her eyes and took his hand. "Ready to go home?"

"I've been ready my whole life."

As they walked out together, Emma glanced at Ava, who was watching them with an unreadable expression. For a moment, she thought she saw something like longing in her foster sister's eyes—a yearning for the kind of reunion she would never have with her own child.

Then Ava's walls came back up, and she just nodded toward the car.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get out of here before someone changes their mind."

The three of them climbed into Emma's car—a mother, a son, and a sister bound by secrets and lies and the promise of something better.

It was time to go home.

Chapter Text

Emma, Elliott, Ava

The drive back to Storybrooke was six hours of revelations.

Elliott sat in the back seat, asking questions about everything—magic, dragons, the Enchanted Forest, the curse. He absorbed information like a sponge, connecting dots and drawing conclusions faster than Emma expected.

"So the Charmings are Ava's biological parents," he said, working through the family connections. "And they stole you from Maleficent and raised you as their daughter instead. But they knew about me and left me in foster care."

"That's the short version," Emma said.

"And Henry—the kid everyone thought was your son—he's actually Ava's son." Elliott glanced at Ava in the passenger seat. "Which makes him my... cousin? Sort of?"

"He's nothing to you," Ava said flatly. "He's nothing to any of us."

The car went quiet. Emma glanced at Ava, seeing the tension in her jaw, the way her hands were clenched in her lap.

"You don't have to talk about it," Emma said quietly.

"No. You should know." Ava stared straight ahead at the road. "If we're going to be family—if we're really doing this—you need to understand why I can never see that boy as anything but a reminder of the worst thing that ever happened to me."

Elliott leaned forward slightly, his amber eyes serious. "You don't have to—"

"His name was Gerald Holloway." Ava's voice was flat, detached—the voice of someone who'd learned to talk about trauma without feeling it. "I was placed with his family when I was fifteen. He and his wife fostered girls exclusively. Teenage girls. I didn't understand why at first."

Emma's hands tightened on the steering wheel.

"He started coming to my room at night about six months in. Told me no one would believe me if I said anything. Told me I should be grateful someone wanted me at all." Ava's laugh was hollow. "The system is designed to make you feel worthless. He knew exactly how to use that."

"Ava..." Emma's voice cracked.

"I got pregnant at seventeen. By the time I realized it and tried to get help, I was too far along for most options. A foster kid with no money, no support, no one who gave a damn." Ava finally turned to look at Emma. "I gave birth in a county hospital. I never held him. Never looked at him. I signed the papers and I ran."

"What happened to Holloway?" Elliott asked quietly.

"Nothing." The word was bitter. "I reported him when I finally had the courage to try. But it was my word against his, and he had a perfect record. Upstanding citizen. Church deacon. Foster parent of the year." Ava shook her head. "They believed him. Case closed."

"He's still out there?" Emma felt sick.

"As far as I know, he's still fostering girls. Still preying on them. Still getting away with it." Ava's voice hardened. "And his son—the baby I never wanted—is in Storybrooke being raised by the grandmother who threw me away and the woman who was stolen in my place."

"Henry is the son of a rapist," Emma said slowly, the reality of it settling into her bones. "And he has no idea."

"No. He thinks this Neal Cassidy is his father, doesn't he? Because everyone thought you were his mother." Ava laughed bitterly. "He's been living a lie built on top of a lie."

"He's going to find out," Elliott said. "When the truth comes out about everything else, he's going to learn exactly who and what he really is."

"Good." Ava's voice was ice. "Let him carry that weight. Let him know that his existence was never wanted, never loved, never anything but a trauma forced on a child by a monster." She turned back to face the road. "Maybe then he'll understand why I can never, ever see him as my son."

The car was silent for a long moment. Then Elliott reached forward and put his hand on Ava's shoulder.

"You're my aunt," he said quietly. "Whatever happens with him, you're my family. And I protect the people I love."

Ava didn't respond. But Emma saw her eyes glisten before she turned to look out the window.

Chapter Text

Emma, Elliott, Ava, Regina, Maleficent

They crossed the town line at sunset, and Elliott gasped.

"I can feel it," he breathed. "The magic. It's everywhere."

"You'll feel it more strongly here," Emma said. "The town line contains the magic inside Storybrooke. Once you're through, everything changes."

"It's like coming home." Elliott pressed his hand against the window, staring at the quaint streets with wonder in his amber eyes. "I've never been here before, but it feels like coming home."

Ava said nothing, but Emma saw her stiffen as they passed the Welcome to Storybrooke sign. This was enemy territory for her—the kingdom of the parents who'd abandoned her.

"They won't know you're here," Emma said quietly. "Not unless you want them to."

"I don't want them to know anything," Ava said. "Not yet."

* * *

Regina and Maleficent were waiting on the porch of the mansion when they pulled into the driveway.

Regina looked satisfied—the kind of satisfied that came from a successful mission. Emma made a mental note to ask about the Henry situation later. Right now, there were more important introductions to make.

Maleficent's golden eyes were fixed on the car, barely blinking, as if she was afraid the people inside might disappear if she looked away.

Elliott was the first one out. He stood in the driveway, looking up at the mansion, then at the woman with the glowing golden eyes.

For a long moment, grandmother and grandson just looked at each other.

"You're the one from my dreams," Elliott said softly. "You were calling me."

"I was calling everyone I'd lost." Maleficent's voice cracked. "I never stopped. Not for thirty-four years."

"I heard you." Elliott crossed the distance between them, and Maleficent pulled him into an embrace that seemed to contain decades of longing. "I always heard you."

Emma watched them with tears in her eyes. Her mother. Her son. Finally together.

When Elliott finally pulled back, he turned to Regina with a grin that was pure mischief. "You're the Evil Queen. The Apprentice told me about you."

Regina's expression was guarded. "Did he?"

"He said you were the most powerful sorceress in all the realms, and that you'd been treated unfairly by people who should have known better." Elliott tilted his head, studying her. "He also said you make the best apple turnovers in any world."

Regina blinked. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her face. "He wasn't wrong about that."

"I've never had an apple turnover," Elliott said hopefully. "I've also never had anyone teach me magic. The Apprentice said you'd be a good teacher."

"He said a lot, apparently."

"He wanted me to be prepared." Elliott's expression softened. "He told me I'd be coming to a place where I'd finally belong. Where I'd have a family that actually wanted me."

Something shifted in Regina's eyes. The wariness faded, replaced by something warmer. "Well then. I suppose we shouldn't keep you waiting. Come inside—I'll make those turnovers."

Elliott fell into step beside her immediately, peppering her with questions about magic and the Enchanted Forest. Within minutes, they were finishing each other's sentences, their sharp wit bouncing off each other like they'd known each other for years.

"He's remarkable," Maleficent said softly, coming to stand beside Emma. "He has your spirit and her sharpness."

"I know." Emma watched Elliott make Regina actually laugh at something he'd said. "It's like he was always supposed to be here."

She turned to find Ava still standing by the car, arms crossed, watching the scene with an unreadable expression.

"Come inside," Emma said gently. "You're family too."

"Am I?" Ava's voice was flat. "I'm the Charmings' daughter. The reason they—" She stopped herself, jaw tightening.

"The reason they what?" Maleficent asked, stepping closer.

"Nothing." Ava shook her head. "I'm just tired. It's been a long day."

Emma's lie detector pinged loud and clear. Ava was hiding something—something that was eating her alive with guilt. But pushing wouldn't help. Ava's walls were too high, too thick. She'd share when she was ready.

"Come inside," Maleficent said, and her voice was surprisingly gentle. "Eat something. Rest. You're safe here."

Ava looked at the dragon for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded and followed them into the house.

Chapter Text

Ava

Ava didn't sleep the first night.

She lay in the guest room Regina had prepared—a beautiful room with soft sheets and thick curtains and everything a person could want—and stared at the ceiling, drowning in guilt.

They were being so kind to her. All of them. Emma, who'd driven across the country to find her. Maleficent, who looked at her with those golden eyes and saw another victim of the Charmings. Regina, who'd offered her home without hesitation. Even Elliott, the nephew she'd never known, who'd declared her family before he even knew her.

They didn't know the whole truth. They didn't know what she'd been carrying since she was fifteen years old, since the Apprentice had told her everything.

The darkness transfer.

Emma wasn't just stolen from Maleficent. She was stolen for a purpose. The Charmings had used her as a vessel—a container for Ava's darkness, for all the potential for evil that their precious princess might have carried. They'd poured everything bad into an innocent baby and kept the clean, pure version for themselves.

And then they'd thrown that baby away.

It wasn't Ava's fault. She knew that. She'd been an infant when it happened, as much a victim as Emma. But she'd grown up light and free while Emma had struggled with darkness she never understood. She'd been unburdened while Emma carried weight that was never supposed to be hers.

How could she look Maleficent in the eyes and let that woman claim her as a daughter, knowing what her existence had cost Emma?

How could she accept love she didn't deserve?

She couldn't. So she kept her walls up. She answered questions in monosyllables. She flinched away from Maleficent's attempts at connection. She made herself small and cold and unreachable.

It was safer that way. For everyone.

* * *

"She's shutting us out," Emma said the next morning, watching Ava sit alone on the back porch with a cup of coffee.

"She's scared," Maleficent said. "I recognize the signs. She's built walls so high she's forgotten there's a person behind them."

"Foster care does that," Emma said quietly. "You learn not to get attached. Not to trust. Because everyone leaves eventually."

"But there's something else." Maleficent's golden eyes were thoughtful. "She's carrying guilt. I can see it weighing on her. Something she hasn't told us."

"I know." Emma sighed. "My lie detector goes off every time she says she's told us everything. But I can't force it out of her."

"No. You can't." Maleficent turned to face Emma fully. "I want to claim her. The way I've claimed you. She's a victim of the Charmings too—raised in the system they condemned her to, carrying trauma they caused. She deserves a family."

"She does. But she has to let us in first."

"Then we give her time." Maleficent's voice was firm. "I waited thirty-four years to find you. I can be patient with her."

Chapter Text

Ruby, Ava

Ruby Lucas noticed the stranger on her second day in town.

She was working the morning shift at Granny's when the woman came in—dark hair, fierce eyes, shoulders hunched like she was expecting an attack. She ordered black coffee and sat in the corner booth with her back to the wall, watching everyone who came through the door.

Ruby recognized that posture. That wariness. She'd seen it in herself, once upon a time, when she'd been afraid of the monster inside her.

"You're new," she said, sliding into the booth across from the woman. "I'm Ruby."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "I didn't ask for company."

"No, you didn't. But you've been staring at that same cup of coffee for twenty minutes without drinking it, and you look like you're about to bolt." Ruby shrugged. "I figured you could use someone to talk to who isn't going to push."

"How do you know you're not pushing right now?"

"Because I'm offering, not demanding. There's a difference." Ruby leaned back. "I grew up here. I know everyone in this town. And I know when someone's running from something."

The woman was quiet for a long moment. Then, almost reluctantly, she said, "Ava."

"Nice to meet you, Ava." Ruby smiled. "You staying with someone in town, or just passing through?"

"Staying with... family." The word seemed to cost her something.

"Family's complicated," Ruby said. "Trust me, I know. My grandmother and I didn't speak for years because of... well, it's a long story. But sometimes the family you find is better than the family you're born with."

Something flickered in Ava's eyes. "And sometimes the family you're born with is worse than no family at all."

"That too." Ruby studied her. There was something familiar about this woman—something in the set of her jaw, the color of her hair. But she couldn't quite place it.

"Look," Ruby said, standing up. "I get off at three. If you want company—no questions, no pressure—I'll be around. Sometimes it helps to have someone who doesn't expect anything from you."

Ava looked up at her, and for just a moment, her walls cracked. "Why would you offer that to a stranger?"

"Because I've been where you are." Ruby smiled. "Scared and alone and convinced that no one could ever understand. And someone reached out to me when I needed it most. I'm just paying it forward."

She walked back to the counter, feeling Ava's eyes on her back the whole way.

She didn't know why, but something told her this woman was important. Something told her their paths had crossed for a reason.

Ruby had learned to trust her instincts. The wolf was rarely wrong.

* * *

At three o'clock, when Ruby hung up her apron and walked outside, Ava was waiting by the door.

"No questions?" Ava asked.

"No questions."

"No expectations?"

"None."

Ava was quiet for a moment. Then, almost imperceptibly, her shoulders relaxed.

"Okay," she said. "Show me around."

As they walked down Main Street together, Ruby felt something shift in the air between them. Not attraction—not yet—but the beginning of something. A connection forming, tentative and new.

The wolf inside her stirred, and for once, it wasn't restless or hungry.

It was content.

Chapter Text

Henry

Henry Mills had never known what it was like to be invisible.

His whole life, he'd been special. The adopted son of the mayor. The grandson of Snow White and Prince Charming. The Author. The one who'd brought Emma to Storybrooke and broken the curse. People smiled at him on the street, praised him for his ideas, told him what a credit he was to his family.

Now they looked through him like he wasn't there.

He walked down Main Street in clothes that didn't fit right—cheap things Snow had bought from the thrift store because the Charmings couldn't afford anything better. His phone was gone. His games were gone. Everything Regina had ever given him had vanished in a cloud of purple smoke, and she'd made sure everyone in town knew exactly why.

The whispers had started the day after Regina's visit.

"Did you hear? He stole all those ideas from Regina. The park renovations, the community garden—all of it was her work."

"I always thought he was too young to come up with those proposals. Makes sense now."

"And the things he said about Regina at Granny's? Wishing she was dead? That boy has no shame."

Henry tried to tell himself it didn't matter. They were all wrong. Regina was the villain—she'd always been the villain. He was the hero of this story. He just had to wait for everyone to see the truth.

But the looks kept coming. The whispers kept spreading. And worst of all, no one was listening to him anymore.

He passed Granny's Diner and saw a group of kids from school sitting in a booth by the window. They used to wave at him, invite him to join them. Now they just stared, their expressions ranging from curiosity to contempt.

One of them—Jake, who used to be his friend—said something that made the others laugh. Henry couldn't hear the words through the glass, but he could guess.

He kept walking, his face burning.

* * *

The apartment felt smaller now.

Henry sat on his bed—not his real bed, which had been in his room at Regina's mansion, but the uncomfortable pullout couch Snow had set up for him in the corner of the living room. There was no privacy. No space. No escape from the constant tension between his grandparents as they argued about money and secrets and what to do about Emma.

"She's not answering our calls," Snow said for the hundredth time. "We have to go to her. Explain everything."

"And say what?" David's voice was tight with frustration. "That we stole Maleficent's baby and "raised" her as our own? That we've been lying to her for all these years?"

"We did what we had to do. To protect our daughter."

"Our daughter is out there somewhere, Snow. We don't even know where she is. We haven't seen her since she was a baby." David's voice cracked. "We sent her through that wardrobe and we have no idea what happened to her."

Henry's head snapped up. "Wait—you never found your real daughter? All these years and you don't even know if she's alive?"

Snow and David exchanged a look—that infuriating look they always shared when they were keeping secrets.

"It's complicated," Snow said.

"Everything with you people is complicated!" Henry stood up, his hands clenching. "You claimed Emma thinking she was your daughter, but your real daughter could be anywhere! She could be dead! Don't you even care?"

"Of course we care," David said quietly. "But we made choices, Henry. Choices we thought were right at the time. And now we're living with the consequences."

Henry stared at them. His grandparents—the heroes of the story—had abandoned their own daughter and raised someone else's child in her place. And they'd been keeping this secret for over thirty years.

Just like Emma wanted nothing to do with him now.

"This is Regina's fault," he said. "She's poisoning everyone against us. Against me."

"Henry—" Snow started.

"No! It's true! She's the Evil Queen! This is what she does!" Henry's voice cracked. "Everyone's forgotten that. They've all forgotten who the real villain is."

Snow and David looked at each other again, and this time Henry saw something in their expressions that made his stomach drop.

Guilt.

"Henry," David said slowly, "maybe it's time we all took a hard look at who the real villains are."

Henry didn't understand what that meant. But the way his grandparents couldn't meet his eyes made him feel, for the first time, like maybe the fairy tale he'd believed in his whole life wasn't quite the story he thought it was.

Chapter Text

Elliott, Regina, Maleficent

"Again," Regina said.

Elliott closed his eyes, reaching for the spark of power he could feel burning in his chest. It was always there now—had always been there, he realized, but he'd never known what to call it. Magic. Dragon fire. The inheritance of his blood.

He extended his hand, focused on the candle across the room, and pushed.

The flame flickered. Grew. Then exploded outward, singeing the curtains.

"Well," Regina said dryly, waving a hand to extinguish the small fire, "at least you're consistent."

"Sorry." Elliott winced. "I can feel it, but controlling it is..."

"Difficult. I know." Regina moved to stand beside him. "Your mother had the same problem when she first started training. Dragon magic is wild. It doesn't like to be contained."

"Your mother still has that problem," Maleficent said from the doorway, her golden eyes warm with amusement. "She just hides it better now."

"I heard that," Emma called from somewhere deeper in the house.

Elliott grinned. He'd been in Storybrooke for a week now, and every day felt like a gift he didn't deserve. A grandmother who looked at him like he was precious. A mother who was learning to be a mother alongside him. And Regina—

Regina, who pushed him to be better without making him feel bad for failing. Who answered his endless questions with patience and sharp wit. Who made him apple turnovers and taught him magic and treated him like he mattered.

"Try again," Regina said. "But this time, don't push the magic. Invite it. Guide it. You're not forcing a door open—you're asking it to open for you."

Elliott nodded and closed his eyes again. This time, instead of shoving his power at the candle, he reached for it gently. Coaxed it. Let it flow through him like water instead of forcing it like a battering ram.

The candle flame rose smoothly, steadily, dancing at exactly the height he'd intended.

"There," Regina said, and the pride in her voice made Elliott's chest warm. "That's it."

"He's a natural," Maleficent said. "Just like his mother."

"I had a good teacher." Elliott let the flame die back to normal and turned to face them both. "Two good teachers."

Regina's expression softened in a way that made her look younger, lighter. "Well. We're not done yet. You still need to learn wards, shields, elemental manipulation—"

"And shifting," Elliott said eagerly. "When do I learn to shift?"

Maleficent laughed—a rich, warm sound. "Patience, little dragon. Your first shift will come when you're ready. It can't be forced."

"How will I know when I'm ready?"

"You'll feel it." Maleficent moved closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. "The dragon inside you will tell you. And when it happens, your eyes will change. They'll become as bright as mine."

Elliott thought about that—about the amber eyes he'd inherited from his grandmother, still muted compared to her blazing gold. About the dragon that lived inside him, waiting to be freed.

"I can't wait," he said.

"I know." Maleficent smiled. "Neither can I."

Chapter Text

Ruby, Ava

Ruby didn't ask questions. She'd promised she wouldn't, and she meant it.

But over the course of two weeks, she learned things anyway. Not through interrogation, but through observation. Through the small moments Ava let slip when her guard was down.

She learned that Ava flinched at loud noises. That she always sat with her back to the wall. That she tensed up whenever a man got too close, even friendly ones like Archie or Marco.

She learned that Ava didn't know how to accept kindness. That every gift, every compliment, every gentle gesture made her uncomfortable, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She learned that Ava was carrying something heavy—something that made her eyes go distant sometimes, lost in memories Ruby couldn't see.

"You don't have to tell me," Ruby said one evening as they walked along the beach. "But whatever it is, it's not going to make me think less of you."

Ava was quiet for a long moment. The waves lapped at the shore, steady and rhythmic.

"You don't know that," she finally said. "You don't know what I've done. What I'm still doing."

"What you've done, or what was done to you?"

Ava stopped walking. Her hands clenched at her sides.

"Both," she whispered. "It's both."

Ruby didn't push. She just stood beside Ava, close enough that their shoulders almost touched, and waited.

"There are people here who love me," Ava said slowly. "Emma. Maleficent. Even Regina and Elliott, in their way. They want to be my family. They want to claim me as theirs."

"And you don't want that?"

"I want it more than anything." Ava's voice cracked. "But I don't deserve it. Not when they don't know the whole truth. Not when I'm still keeping secrets that would—" She stopped, shaking her head.

"That would what?"

"That would make them hate me." Ava finally looked at Ruby, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "The things the Charmings did—the things they did to Emma—it was because of me. To protect me. And I've known for years, and I never told anyone."

Ruby considered this. "But you were a baby when it happened, right? Whatever they did, you didn't choose it."

"No. But I benefited from it. I grew up lighter because Emma carried weight that should have been mine." Ava wrapped her arms around herself. "How am I supposed to look Maleficent in the eyes and let her call me daughter, knowing what my existence cost her real daughter?"

"Maybe," Ruby said gently, "you should let them decide that for themselves. Tell them the truth. All of it. And trust that their love is strong enough to handle it."

"And if it isn't?"

"Then at least you'll know. And you can stop carrying this alone." Ruby reached out and took Ava's hand. "Whatever happens, I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere."

Ava looked down at their joined hands. For a moment, Ruby thought she might pull away.

Instead, she held on tighter.

"I don't know how to do this," Ava admitted. "I don't know how to let people in."

"That's okay." Ruby smiled. "We'll figure it out together."

Chapter Text

Maleficent, Ava

Maleficent found Ava on the back porch at midnight, staring at the stars.

She didn't announce herself—just settled into the chair beside the young woman and waited. Patience was something she'd learned over thirty-four years of searching. A few more moments of silence cost her nothing.

"I know you want to claim me," Ava said finally, not looking away from the sky. "Emma told me. She said you want me to be your daughter too. Part of your family."

"I do."

"Why?" Now Ava did look at her, and her eyes were fierce with confusion. "I'm the Charmings' daughter. I'm the reason—" She stopped herself.

"The reason for what?"

Ava shook her head. "I'm not ready to tell you. Not yet."

"Then I'll wait." Maleficent settled deeper into her chair. "I waited thirty-four years to find Emma. I can wait a little longer for you to trust me."

"But why do you even want me?" Ava's voice cracked with frustration. "I'm nothing to you. I'm not your blood. I'm the child of your enemies."

"You're Emma's sister." Maleficent's voice was soft but firm. "You grew up in the same broken system she did. You carry the same scars. You're a victim of the same people who stole my daughter and left you both to suffer."

"But—"

"Family isn't always blood." Maleficent turned to face her fully. "I spent decades believing I'd lost everything. That my line would end with me, that I'd never have anyone to call my own. And then I found Emma. And then I found Elliott." She paused. "And now there's you. A young woman who needs someone to fight for her. Someone to claim her. Someone to tell her she's worth loving."

Ava's eyes were bright with tears. "You don't know what you're offering. You don't know what I've done."

"Then tell me." Maleficent's golden eyes were steady, unwavering. "Whatever it is, I promise you—it won't change how I feel."

"You can't promise that."

"I can. Because I know what it's like to be judged for things beyond your control. To be called a monster for circumstances you never chose." Maleficent leaned forward. "I was the villain in everyone else's story. The Evil that had to be destroyed. But I was also a mother who loved her child. Both things were true."

Ava was trembling now. "It's not the same."

"Maybe not. But whatever you're carrying, you don't have to carry it alone." Maleficent reached out, slowly, giving Ava time to pull away. When she didn't, Maleficent took her hand. "I'm not asking you to trust me all at once. I'm asking you to let me try. To let me show you what it feels like to have a mother who won't abandon you."

Ava stared at their joined hands. Her walls were cracking—Maleficent could see it in the way her shoulders shook, the way her breath hitched.

"I don't know how to be a daughter," Ava whispered. "I never had the chance to learn."

"Neither did Emma. Neither did I, really." Maleficent squeezed her hand gently. "We'll figure it out together. All of us."

For a long moment, Ava was silent. Then, slowly, hesitantly, she leaned into Maleficent's side.

It wasn't much. Just a small movement, a tiny crack in the wall she'd built.

But Maleficent had learned to treasure small victories. And this one felt like the beginning of something beautiful.

"I'll tell you," Ava said quietly. "Everything. Soon. I just need a little more time."

"Take all the time you need." Maleficent wrapped an arm around her. "I'm not going anywhere."

They sat together in silence, watching the stars, and for the first time since she'd arrived in Storybrooke, Ava felt something she hadn't felt in years.

Hope.

Chapter Text

Multiple POVs

Storybrooke had always been a town that ran on gossip. In a place where everyone knew everyone, where the same faces walked the same streets day after day, any hint of drama spread like wildfire. And right now, the Mills-Swan-Dragon household was providing more drama than anyone could handle.

Granny Lucas stood behind the counter of her diner, watching as Elliott Swan walked in with Regina Mills. The boy was laughing at something Regina had said—actually laughing, the kind of genuine, carefree sound that had never come from Henry White in all the years she'd known him.

"The usual, Madam Mayor?" Granny asked as they approached the counter.

"Two coffees, two bear claws, and whatever Elliott wants." Regina's voice was warm in a way Granny hadn't heard in years. The ice queen persona had thawed, and in its place was something almost... maternal.

"I'll have the same," Elliott said, grinning. "Mom says your bear claws are the best in any realm."

Mom. He called Emma 'Mom' so easily, so naturally. Granny had watched Henry struggle with that word for years—wielding it like a weapon, using it to manipulate, bestowing it and withdrawing it based on who was giving him what he wanted.

This boy was different. This boy meant it.

"Coming right up," Granny said, and found herself smiling. "You're Emma's boy, then? The real one?"

"Yes, ma'am." Elliott didn't flinch at the question, didn't get defensive. "I just found out a few weeks ago. Still getting used to having a family."

"Well, you picked a good one." Granny glanced at Regina. "Despite what some people might have said over the years."

Regina's expression flickered—surprise, then gratitude. "Thank you, Eugenia."

As they took their food to a booth, Granny watched them settle in, heads bent together over something on Regina's phone. Teaching him magic, probably, or showing him pictures of the Enchanted Forest, or any of the thousand things a mother did with a child who actually wanted to learn.

The bell over the door chimed, and Henry walked in.

He looked terrible. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair unwashed, dark circles under his eyes. He'd lost weight in the weeks since Regina had stripped him of everything, and there was a hunted look about him that Granny might have pitied if she didn't remember the venom in his voice when he'd wished Regina dead.

Henry's eyes found Regina and Elliott immediately. He stood frozen in the doorway, watching them laugh together, watching Regina reach over to ruffle Elliott's hair in a gesture so casual and affectionate that it hurt to witness.

"You going to order something?" Granny asked, her voice deliberately cool. "Or just stand there blocking the door?"

Henry's jaw tightened. "Just a coffee."

"Three fifty."

He dug in his pocket and came up with crumpled bills and coins—counting them out slowly, carefully, like someone who'd never had to think about money before. Granny remembered when Regina used to give him whatever he wanted. A hundred dollars for comics. Two hundred for video games. Whatever the boy asked for, he got.

Now he was scraping together change for coffee.

"Here." He slid the money across the counter. "Keep the change."

The change was seven cents. Granny raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Henry took his coffee and found a seat on the opposite side of the diner, as far from Regina and Elliott as he could get. But his eyes kept drifting back to them, watching every smile, every gesture, every moment of connection that used to be his.

A group of teenagers came in—Jake, Sarah, Marcus, kids who used to orbit around Henry like he was the center of their universe. They saw him sitting alone and exchanged glances.

Then they walked right past him to crowd into the booth next to Elliott and Regina.

"Hey, you're the new guy, right?" Jake said to Elliott. "I'm Jake. These are Sarah and Marcus. We heard you're like, actually magic or something?"

Elliott laughed. "Something like that. I'm still learning."

"That's so cool. Henry always talked about magic like he was special, but he couldn't actually do anything." Sarah's voice carried across the diner. "Turns out he couldn't do anything at all, apparently."

The table laughed. Henry's face went red, but he didn't say anything. Didn't defend himself. Just hunched over his coffee and pretended he couldn't hear.

Granny watched it all unfold and felt something she hadn't expected: nothing. No sympathy for the boy who'd had everything and thrown it away. No pity for the teenager who'd publicly wished his mother dead and was now reaping what he'd sown.

Henry White had made his bed. Now he could lie in it.

* * *

Later that evening, Archie Hopper sat in his office, reviewing his notes from a session that had left him deeply troubled.

Henry had come to see him—not voluntarily, but because Snow had insisted. "He needs someone to talk to," she'd said, her voice desperate. "He's not himself."

But that was the problem, Archie reflected. Henry was exactly himself. He was just showing it more clearly now that he didn't have the cushion of status and privilege to hide behind.

The session had been... illuminating. Henry had spent the entire hour blaming everyone else for his problems. Regina was a villain. Emma was brainwashed. The town was turning against him unfairly. He was the hero of this story, and everyone else was too blind to see it.

Not once—not a single time—had Henry considered that his own actions might have contributed to his situation.

"Have you considered apologizing to Regina?" Archie had asked gently.

Henry had looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "Apologize? For what? She's the one who took everything from me. She's the one who humiliated me."

"You told a diner full of people that you wished she was dead, Henry. You publicly disowned her as your mother. You stole her ideas and took credit for them."

"I was telling the truth! She is the Evil Queen!"

"She was the Evil Queen. Decades ago. She's spent years trying to change, trying to be better. And you've spent years punishing her for a past she can't undo." Archie had leaned forward. "Henry, at some point, you have to take responsibility for your own choices. You can't keep blaming everyone else for the consequences of your actions."

Henry had stormed out after that. Refused to reschedule.

Now, alone in his office, Archie wondered if there was any hope for the boy at all. Some people, when faced with their own failures, found the strength to grow and change. Others just dug in deeper, convinced that the world was wrong and they were right.

Henry, it seemed, was firmly in the second category.

And there was nothing Archie could do about it if Henry refused to help himself.

Chapter Text

Ruby, Ava

Three weeks. That's how long Ruby had been patient. Three weeks of walks along the beach, of quiet conversations at the diner, of slowly earning Ava's trust one small moment at a time.

She'd learned so much about Ava in those weeks. Not from questions—she'd kept her promise about that—but from the pieces Ava chose to share. Little things at first: her favorite color (deep purple, like the sky just after sunset), the music she listened to when she was sad (old country songs, the kind her grandmother used to play), the way she liked her coffee (black, no sugar, strong enough to strip paint).

Then bigger things. The foster homes. The running. The years of never staying in one place long enough to get attached, because attachment meant pain.

Ruby understood that. The wolf inside her had made her an outcast for years. She knew what it was like to feel like a monster, to believe you were too dangerous for anyone to love.

Tonight, they sat on the dock by the harbor, legs dangling over the dark water, sharing a bottle of wine that Ruby had swiped from Granny's private stash.

"She's going to kill you for that," Ava said, nodding at the bottle.

"She'll yell. She always yells. But then she'll make me pancakes because she secretly loves that I'm not perfect." Ruby grinned. "Granny's bark is worse than her bite. Unlike mine."

Ava's lips quirked. "You really are a wolf."

"Through and through." Ruby took a sip of wine. "Took me a long time to accept it. I used to hate that part of myself. I thought it made me a monster."

"What changed?"

"I stopped letting other people define what I was." Ruby turned to look at Ava fully. "I decided I got to choose what being a wolf meant. And I chose to make it something good."

Ava was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the dark water. "I don't know how to do that. Choose who I am instead of letting my past define me."

"It takes practice. And help." Ruby reached out, slowly, giving Ava time to pull away. When she didn't, Ruby covered Ava's hand with her own. "You don't have to figure it out alone."

Ava looked down at their hands. "You barely know me."

"I know you're brave. I know you're fierce. I know you've survived things that would have broken most people." Ruby's voice softened. "And I know I'd really like to get to know you better. If you'll let me."

Ava's breath caught. "Ruby..."

"You don't have to say anything. You don't have to decide anything right now. I just wanted you to know where I stand." Ruby squeezed her hand gently. "I'm interested. And I'm patient. Whatever you need, however long it takes."

The silence stretched between them, filled with the sound of lapping water and distant night birds. Ruby waited, her heart beating faster than she wanted to admit.

Then Ava moved.

It wasn't a big movement—just a shift, a leaning in. But suddenly they were closer, and Ava's face was inches away, and her eyes were searching Ruby's for something.

"Is this okay?" Ava whispered.

"More than okay."

Ava kissed her.

It was soft at first—tentative, questioning. But when Ruby kissed back, something shifted. Ava's hand came up to cup Ruby's face, and the kiss deepened, and for a long, perfect moment, nothing existed except the two of them and the stars overhead.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing hard.

"That was..." Ava started.

"Yeah." Ruby grinned, a little dazed. "It really was."

Ava laughed—a real laugh, surprised and bright. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Neither do I." Ruby laced their fingers together. "But I think that's okay. We can figure it out as we go."

They sat there until the wine was gone and the moon was high, talking about everything and nothing, stealing kisses between stories. And when they finally walked back toward town, hands still intertwined, Ava felt something she hadn't felt in years.

She felt like maybe, just maybe, good things could happen to people like her.

Chapter Text

Elliott, Emma, Regina, Maleficent

Elliott's first shift happened on a Tuesday afternoon.

He'd been practicing fire manipulation with Regina in the backyard—a safe distance from the house after the curtain incident—when he felt something inside him crack open. It wasn't painful, exactly. It was more like a door he hadn't known existed suddenly swinging wide.

"Elliott?" Regina's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Elliott, your eyes—"

He couldn't answer. His whole body was burning, but it was a good burn—like stretching a muscle that had been cramped for too long. His bones felt like they were rearranging, his skin too tight, his vision going gold around the edges.

"EMMA!" Regina shouted. "MALEFICENT! NOW!"

Elliott barely registered the sound of running footsteps, the front door slamming open. He was falling to his knees, but it didn't feel like falling—it felt like unfurling. Like becoming.

And then, between one heartbeat and the next, he wasn't human anymore.

The world looked different from this height. Colors were sharper, sounds clearer, scents so vivid he could almost taste them. He could feel the wind beneath wings he'd never had before, could sense the fire burning in his chest like a second heartbeat.

He was a dragon. He was actually a dragon.

"Oh my god." That was Emma's voice, somewhere below him. He looked down—way, way down—and saw three women staring up at him with expressions ranging from shock (Regina) to joy (Emma) to fierce, overwhelming pride (Maleficent).

"He's beautiful," Maleficent breathed.

Elliott tried to say something, but what came out was a rumble—a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through his entire body. It was a little alarming, but also kind of amazing.

"Don't try to talk yet," Maleficent called up to him. "The vocal cords are different in this form. It takes practice." She was already transforming as she spoke, her human body rippling and expanding into something massive and dark and magnificent.

Within moments, a second dragon stood in the yard—Maleficent, her scales gleaming obsidian, her golden eyes meeting Elliott's with understanding.

"Follow me," she said, and Elliott realized he could understand her—not with words, exactly, but with something deeper. A dragon language that resonated in his bones.

She launched herself into the sky, and Elliott followed without hesitation.

Flying was nothing like he'd imagined. It was better. It was freedom in its purest form—the wind beneath his wings, the sun on his scales, the whole world spread out beneath him like a map. He could see the ocean, the forest, the tiny buildings of Storybrooke.

He could see everything.

"This is who you are," Maleficent said, soaring beside him. "This is what they tried to take from your mother. What they would have taken from you if they'd known. Never forget what you're capable of, Elliott. Never let anyone make you feel small."

Elliott roared—a sound of pure joy that echoed across the sky—and flew.

* * *

An hour later, human again and exhausted in the best way possible, Elliott sat on the back porch with Emma and Regina.

His eyes were different now. Even without a mirror, he could feel it. The amber that had been muted, almost brown, was now bright gold—not quite as vivid as Maleficent's, but close. A dragon's eyes.

"How do you feel?" Emma asked, her hand on his shoulder.

"Like I finally know who I am." Elliott leaned back, looking up at the sky where he'd just been flying. "My whole life, I felt like something was missing. Like there was this part of me I couldn't access. And now..." He shook his head. "Now I get it. I was always supposed to be this. I just didn't know it."

"The Apprentice said your shift would come when you were ready," Regina said. "Apparently, you were ready."

"Because of you." Elliott turned to look at her. "Both of you. You gave me a family. You gave me a home. You made me feel safe enough to become who I was meant to be."

Regina's eyes went bright. She tried to speak, couldn't, and settled for pulling him into a hug instead.

"You're going to make me ruin my makeup," she muttered against his shoulder.

"Worth it," Elliott said, hugging her back.

Emma wrapped her arms around both of them, and for a long moment, the three of them just held on. Mother, son, and the woman who had become family without either of them planning it.

"You know," Emma said eventually, "I spent my whole life thinking Henry was my son. Loving him even when he made it hard. And I thought that was what family was supposed to feel like—difficult, conditional, something you had to earn."

"And now?" Elliott asked.

"Now I know I was wrong." Emma pulled back to look at him, her eyes shining. "This is what family feels like. Easy. Natural. Like breathing."

Elliott smiled—a real smile, the kind that came from somewhere deep. "Yeah," he said. "It really does."

* * *

That night, after Elliott had gone to bed and Regina had retreated to her study, Emma found Maleficent on the back porch.

Her mother was staring at the stars, a faint smile still lingering on her lips from the day's events. Watching Elliott shift, watching him fly—it had clearly been everything to her.

"Can't sleep?" Maleficent asked without turning around.

"Can't stop thinking." Emma sat down beside her. "About Elliott. About what it meant for him to finally become who he was supposed to be."

Maleficent turned to look at her, golden eyes knowing. "And about yourself."

Emma let out a breath. "I'm thirty-four years old. I've known I was your daughter for weeks now. But I still haven't..." She gestured vaguely. "I felt it. When you crossed the town line, when our magic touched. I felt the dragon inside me. But I don't know how to reach it."

"You're afraid."

It wasn't an accusation. Just a statement of fact.

"I spent my whole life being told I was something I wasn't," Emma said quietly. "The Charmings' daughter. The Savior. The product of True Love. And all of that was a lie. So now there's this other thing inside me—this dragon—and part of me is terrified that if I let it out, I'll find out that's a lie too. That I'm not really yours. That I don't really belong anywhere."

Maleficent was quiet for a long moment. Then she reached out and took Emma's hand.

"The blood test proved you're mine," she said gently. "The magic proved it. Every cell in your body carries dragon fire, even if you haven't learned to access it yet. But I understand why you're scared. You've been lied to so many times. Believing in something—in yourself—feels like a risk."

"How do I get past it?"

"You don't get past it. You go through it." Maleficent stood, pulling Emma up with her. "Come with me."

They walked into the backyard, the same spot where Elliott had shifted just hours before. The grass was still slightly scorched from his transformation.

"Close your eyes," Maleficent said.

Emma obeyed.

"Now reach inside yourself. Not for your magic—you already know how to find that. Reach deeper. Past the spells and the light and the power you learned to wield. There's something older underneath all of that. Something that's been waiting for you your whole life."

Emma reached. At first, she felt nothing but the familiar hum of her magic—the light, the warmth, the power that had always felt slightly wrong, slightly borrowed. But she pushed past it, diving deeper into herself than she'd ever gone before.

And there it was.

Fire. Not the gentle warmth of her usual magic, but something ancient and primal and absolutely devastating. It burned in her chest like a second heart, pulsing with a rhythm that matched her own.

"I feel it," she whispered.

"Good. Now let it out."

"I don't know how—"

"You do. You've always known. You've just been too afraid to try." Maleficent's voice was fierce now, proud. "You are my daughter, Emma. You are a dragon. You were born to fly. Now become."

Emma let go.

The fire roared through her like a tidal wave. Her bones cracked and reformed, her skin stretched and hardened, her vision exploded into colors she didn't have names for. It hurt—god, it hurt—but it was also the most exhilarating thing she'd ever felt.

She was falling apart and coming together all at once, shedding the skin of Emma Swan, the Savior, the lost girl who'd never belonged anywhere—

And becoming something else entirely.

When it was over, she opened her eyes.

The world looked different. Sharper. More alive. She could smell the roses in Regina's garden from across the yard, could hear Regina's heartbeat inside the house, could feel the pulse of magic in the earth beneath her claws.

Her claws.

She looked down at herself and saw scales—not black like Maleficent's, but a deep, burnished gold that caught the moonlight and threw it back in dancing sparks. Her wings spread wide, powerful and magnificent, and when she exhaled, smoke curled from her nostrils.

She was a dragon.

She was finally, truly herself.

A sob tore out of her—a deep, resonant sound that shook the ground. Thirty-four years of not belonging, of feeling wrong, of performing a role that had never fit. And now, in the span of a single moment, all of it made sense.

She wasn't broken. She'd never been broken. She'd just been waiting to hatch.

Maleficent shifted beside her, obsidian scales gleaming in the moonlight. She was larger than Emma—older, more powerful—but there was no mistaking the family resemblance. Mother and daughter, dragon and dragon.

"My beautiful girl," Maleficent said in the dragon tongue. "I've waited so long to see you like this."

"Fly with me," Emma said. It wasn't a question.

Maleficent's answering roar was pure joy.

They launched into the sky together, mother and daughter, two dragons silhouetted against the moon. Emma felt the wind beneath her wings, the fire in her chest, the ancient magic singing in her blood. She felt whole. She felt free.

She felt like she was finally, finally home.

Below them, a light flickered on in the mansion. Regina appeared at the window, her face tilted up toward the sky. Emma could see her expression even from this height—wonder, and love, and a pride so fierce it burned.

Emma roared again, a sound of triumph and belonging, and Regina laughed—actually laughed—the sound carrying up through the night air.

This was her family. Her real family. Not the lies she'd been fed, not the roles she'd been forced to play, but this—a dragon mother who'd searched for her across realms, a son who shared her fire, a sister who understood her scars, and a woman who looked at her like she hung the moon.

Emma Swan had spent thirty-four years lost.

Tonight, she found herself.

Chapter Text

Ava, Maleficent

Ava found Maleficent in the garden at dawn.

The dragon was in human form, sitting on a stone bench among Regina's roses, her golden eyes fixed on the horizon where the sun was just beginning to rise. She looked peaceful—content in a way that Ava had never seen her own reflection look.

"You're up early," Maleficent said without turning around.

"Couldn't sleep." Ava moved closer, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself against the morning chill. "Thinking too much."

"About?"

Ava sat down on the bench beside her, leaving a careful distance between them. "About what you said. About wanting to be my mother."

Maleficent turned to look at her. "I meant it."

"I know you did. That's what scares me." Ava stared at her hands, twisting in her lap. "Everyone who's ever wanted me has eventually realized I wasn't worth the trouble. My foster families. The people I tried to get close to over the years. Even—" She stopped, her throat tight.

"Even who?"

"My biological parents." The words were bitter on her tongue. "Snow White and Prince Charming. The heroes of every story. They were supposed to love me unconditionally. They were supposed to fight for me." Ava laughed, and it came out broken. "Instead, they threw me away like garbage and stole someone else's baby to take my place."

"The Charmings' failures are not your fault."

"I know. I know that intellectually. But it's hard to believe it when everyone who's supposed to love you keeps proving they don't."

Maleficent was quiet for a long moment. Then she shifted closer on the bench, closing the distance Ava had carefully maintained.

"I'm going to tell you something," she said. "And I need you to really hear it. Not just listen—hear."

Ava nodded, not trusting her voice.

"I spent thirty-four years searching for Emma. Thirty-four years of hoping, of grieving, of refusing to give up even when everyone told me she was gone forever." Maleficent's voice was steady, measured. "And when I finally found her, I thought—this is it. This is everything I've been waiting for. My daughter. My family. Complete."

"And it was," Ava said. "You found her. You found Elliott. You have your family."

"I thought so too. But then I met you." Maleficent reached out and took Ava's hand, her grip warm and firm. "And I realized that family isn't a finite thing. It doesn't run out. Loving Emma doesn't mean I have less love to give. Finding Elliott doesn't mean my heart is full."

"Maleficent—"

"I'm not finished." The dragon's golden eyes were fierce, intent. "You are Emma's sister. You grew up in the same broken system, survived the same abandonment, carried the same wounds. You're not an obligation or an afterthought. You're not someone I'm claiming out of duty."

"Then why?" Ava's voice cracked. "Why do you want me?"

"Because I see you." Maleficent's voice was soft now, gentle. "I see the girl who was thrown away by people who should have treasured her. I see the woman who built walls so high she forgot how to let anyone in. I see the survivor who's afraid to hope because hope has only ever led to pain." She squeezed Ava's hand. "I see you, Ava. And I want you anyway. Not despite who you are—because of it."

Ava's walls crumbled.

She didn't cry pretty—never had. The sobs that tore out of her were ugly and raw, years of pain and loneliness and desperate hope finally breaking free. And Maleficent held her through all of it, murmuring words Ava couldn't quite hear but felt in her bones.

You're safe. You're loved. You're mine.

When the storm finally passed, Ava pulled back, wiping her face with shaking hands.

"I need to tell you something," she said. "About what the Charmings did. About why they took Emma."

Maleficent's expression didn't change. "I'm listening."

"I've been carrying this for so long. Since I was fifteen. The Apprentice told me everything, and I've never told anyone the whole truth because I was afraid—" Ava's voice broke. "I was afraid you'd hate me. That Emma would hate me. That everyone would see me as the reason for what happened to her."

"Ava." Maleficent cupped her face in both hands, forcing Ava to meet her eyes. "Whatever it is, I promise you—it will not change how I feel. You were a victim too. Whatever the Charmings did, it was their choice, not yours."

"But it was for me. To protect me. To—" Ava took a shaky breath. "I'll tell you. All of it. But not just you. Everyone needs to hear. Emma, Regina, Elliott. And maybe... maybe the whole town needs to know what the Charmings really did."

"A public confrontation?"

"They've been hiding behind their hero status for too long. Letting everyone believe they're the good guys while they—" Ava's jaw tightened. "While they destroyed lives. Emma's life. My life. Elliott's life. Everyone they touched."

Maleficent was quiet for a long moment. Then she nodded.

"Then we'll do it together. All of us. As a family."

Ava looked at her—this woman who'd lost so much, who'd searched for so long, who'd opened her heart despite every reason not to.

"Mom," she said, testing the word.

Maleficent's eyes filled with tears. "Daughter," she answered.

And in the golden light of dawn, surrounded by roses and new beginnings, they held each other and let the future unfold.