A/N: Don't look at me. I told you all I write weird shit. And okay listen, it's not my fault their relationship is so fucked up that I barely even have to do anything. So. This will be told in three parts, and no more and no less. I'm not even really shipping anything, the show itself portrays their relationship as a mess of a power-struggle, a possessive, twisted struggle with an almost obsessive love underneath. And I really couldn't help but want to play with that. Honestly, it's amazing what feelings like that can do to someone's psyche, and writing about it is amazing.

I do not own Once Upon a Time.

I: the sky is not the same; shade of blue


The ghosts of what I've done,

Keep getting in the way.

Nine Inch Nails||Non-Entity


Fire is so beautiful.

The way it curled and crackled, the way the flames threatened to burst free from the confines of the fireplace and burn everything down. There was beauty in the beast, grace in the disaster.

Regina Mills loved fire.

The temptation to reach out and touch the orange flames was almost overpowering, and the music of its movement weaved in and out of the room, she wondered what it would feel like to burn.

Surely the whole town of Storybrook would like that? They had been on a witch hunt for so long now, why not deliver herself charred? Well-done, like a gourmet steak.

They would just eat her up.

The thought made her smile, made her run shaking fingers through her hair. She dug her nails into her scalp, threatening to yank raven locks from the roots. Pull and tug and destroy. That was all her hands could do—destroy.

She remembered the time she had tried her hand at planting a rose garden. The garden came before the apples, and with each bright, fresh mound of petals on a stem, the tighter she enclosed them into her fist. Ripping the roses had been a great pleasure, and soon the garden had been ruined as quickly as it had begun.

What had she been thinking, roses.

Such loathsome little weeds.

Regina shakily undid the buttons of her blazer, stripping the tight little garment off. Unceremoniously, she tossed it to the corner of the room, some unknown little corner that would no doubt come to accommodate the rest of her clothes and a few bottles of alcohol.

Everything felt too hot; too suffocating, and maybe it was the fire, or maybe it was the stress, or maybe it was the heavy weight on her heart that kept coming back again and again and again.

At this point, she didn't know anymore, and there really wasn't a way of finding out.

The buttons of her blouse were next, and the feeling of exposing herself to nothing was enough to coax the tears she had held back to finally fall freely, staining her cheeks with weakness. She felt utterly deplorable, the town's favorite pariah.

Kicking out of her pants, Regina twirled about her living room floor, pirouetting in the metaphorical ashes of her happiness.

Oh, how unattainable happiness was.

Henry had let go of her, "see you later!" he sealed his goodbye with a smile, and Regina could do nothing but watch him go. Off to Granny's, to celebrate. She smiled sardonically as she imagined him stuffing grilled cheese sandwiches into his mouth, and chasing them with a cup full of Shirley Temple. He always did love the little Sprite/grenadine combo with a cherry on top.

Regina didn't think she would be showing her face 'round Granny's any time soon.

It would be a cold day in her life (formerly known as Hell) before she would do the little crossbow-wielding bitch the service of ordering a meal.

And still she spun about, growing dizzier and dizzier as the seconds passed, tick tock tick tock on the wall, the ringing of a clock echoing somewhere in the distance. She couldn't sworn she heard the faint rush of the sea; waves crashing into the service and smacking against jagged rocks. She thought she heard the galloping of hooves, a neigh, a yell—her name, somewhere, somehow, she heard someone yelling her name.

Regina stopped moving.

The room seemed to tilt, her insides seemed to twist-

She was coming home.