It's been a while since I last posted a story. I had this one all planned out and partially written for a very long time but I never got around to post it. It's a very dark piece, which is set in FTL. It's completely AU from the get go. It deals with what could have been if Emma had been brought up in the Enchanted Forest and if Regina had decided to take Emma for revenge agaisnt Snow. Like I said, it's dark, very dark. Hope you like it. If you do, it'll give me the inspiration I need to finish the last chapters. So let me know your thoughts.

Disclaimer: All characters and situations used herein are fictitious, and any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental.

General Warnings: Graphic violence, abuse, mentions of rape, corruption of a minor, dub-con sex.

STOCKHOLM

"You'll Learn To Love Your Chains"

The usually overcrowded, cheerful halls of the castle are now uncharacteristically empty. The gleeful voices of the staff can no longer be heard. Every single sound that normally surrounds the castle halls has been muffled, or suppressed into nothingness.

This detail doesn't disturb her, though. She's completely unaware of the lack of soldiers posted on each door, or the absence of servants walking down the halls, busy with their daily chores. It should unnerve her, though. It should at least come to her attention, make her realize that something is not right, but she's a child, and children are usually oblivious to danger.

If anything, the lack of human life in the halls makes the pitter patter of her pretty shoes echo loudly as she skips happily on the marble floor.

Instead of worrying her, or making her wonder where everyone is, this absence makes her strangely happy. Having no one to pamper her or follow her around all the time is nice for a change.

As a princess, and sole heir to the throne, she's always in the custody of a watchful guard. Sometimes, it's her maid who follows after her, having to run to catch up with her. Other times, it's one of her mom's personal guards who follows her like a shadow, silent, but always on vigil.

It bores her. She's an adult now, even though her mom doesn't agree, and she has a right to be on her own, without a constant babysitter following everywhere around. That's why she's thankful for this sudden absence of staff in the halls. It makes her feel free, in a way she's never been before. She only wishes she could make her mom and dad understand that this is what she wants: freedom.

As she skips down the hall, she notices that the light of the torches hanging on the walls is progressively dimming. She realizes this only because the small flames cast large shadows on the marble floor. Her own body looks like a long, stretched-out stick figure. The odd looking shadow would make her giggle, were it not be for the shivers that assault her body.

It's cold.

She comes to a stop. Skipping isn't fun anymore, not when it's this dark, lonely and cold in the halls. She hasn't seen anyone in at least half a candle mark, so she has no one to order to fetch her one of her fur coats. She has a new one that daddy bought a few weeks ago that she hasn't used yet. It's still fall in the Enchanted Forest and the weather hasn't been particularly cold yet. She wonders why it is so cold now.

She wraps her own arms around her body, trying to rub some warmth into her skin. She's trembling. Where is everyone anyway?

She starts to walk again, not without chancing a look over her shoulder first. She doesn't know how she didn't notice it before, but there's something wrong about the eerie silence of the castle halls. She heads down to the Throne Room, because it's close and because maybe the big fire will be lit there. She can get warmed up there again.

Lucky for her, the Throne Room is literally just around the corner. So, she turns left, into the largest hall of the castle and immediately sees that the big, double-doors of the Throne Room are partially open. Light filters into the hall, as well as the sound of voices.

She smiles in relief when she hears her dad's voice saying, "And you look like you haven't aged a day."

She runs to the double-doors, wanting to get to her dad as fast as possible. There's something about the darkness of the halls that is finally getting to her. She's not skittish, but she's also never seen the halls look so lifeless before.

"That's because I haven't."

She stops right in front of the door, and presses herself as close to the wood as she can, wanting to make herself invisible, for the time being. She peaks her head through the crack, which is wide enough for her to get a look at what is going on, but narrow enough to not be discovered by the people inside.

Her parents are there. They are sitting on the high Council chairs on one end of the large table, so close to each other that their heads could bump into each other at any time. At the opposite end, there's a single high chair. From where she is standing, she can't see who is sitting there but because of the tone of voice, she knows it's a woman.

It occurs to her that maybe this is the Queen that she overheard her mom say was going to discuss a peace treaty with them at the castle.

For a long minute, she thinks about stepping inside the room and greeting the Queen like a Princess should. But she stops herself when her mom breaks the silence.

"Enough. We're here to discuss a peace treaty, not to instigate yet another war."

"My dear Snow. Alas something intelligent comes out of your treacherous little mouth."

Her eyes widen at the accusation. She had never heard anyone call her mother a traitor. Her mother is known for her kindness throughout the realm. She is fair and just to everyone. She knows her mom would never hurt a soul. So this Queen is mistaken about her. Her mom is the best person in all the Enchanted Forest.

She sees her dad suddenly stand, the chair screeching in protest, and slam a hand on the wooden table.

"Enough, Regina!"

Snow puts a hand on his upper arm and tugs gently. "Charming." She tugs a few more times, until her dad looks at her. "Please."

Charming sighs, but does as his wife tells him to. He plops himself down on the chair and sits back against it, letting his wife take control of the situation.

Snow waits until Charming is back in his seat before procuring a white parchment and spreading it over on the table.

"This is what we have to offer," she says in a soft, but steady voice. One that says that she is not playing with this.

One of her mother's guards comes into view. He walks over to her mother's side and picks up the peace treaty in his hands. Then, he delivers it to the Queen, who reads it in silence.

After a minute of absolute tension, Emma can see how the Queen lays down the parchment on the table and pushes it away with her long and slender fingers.

"This is a waste of time, Snow," She says in her steely, unwavering voice.

Emma can see her mother pale visibly under the light of the torches. Surprise is written all over her face. It's clear, even to her, that both her mother and father were sure that this would work.

"Gold?" The Queen asks in disdain. "A land that is already mine?" The Queen stands up abruptly, finally coming into view.

From where she's standing, Emma can make out the back of her dress, which is made of black satin with silvery embroidery, and her long, jet black hair, that is half loose, half up, and secured with a silver clasp.

"If this is your attempt at a peace treaty, dear…"

"Please, Regina," Her mother pleads, coming to a stand and walking towards the Queen. She stops halfway there, not daring to go any closer.

Emma had never heard her mother plead to anyone before. It strikes her that this Queen, Queen Regina, is the woman whom her dad's army has been fighting against for the last few years. She doesn't know much about the war, because her parents had made sure she never learned the details but she always liked to eavesdrop on the castle staff. That's how she learned that the war is a gruesome one, that is resulting in too many lives lost, mostly from her Kingdom. The servants whisper that her parents are losing the war. Maybe that is way they are trying to come to an agreement with Queen Regina, to stop more innocent people from dying.

"If this is all you have to offer me, Snow, then I decline."

"No," Her mother whispers, looking as scared as Emma has ever seen her. It scares her too. "Please. There has to be something that you want."

"I think I just made myself clear, dear. There is nothing you can offer that can be of interest to me."

The Queen outstretches her hand and the chair that had been behind her moves backwards on its own, allowing her free space to move.

"Magic." Emma whispers in fascination. She'd never seen someone casting magic before.

"We can give you more gold," Charming chides, joining his wife's side.

Emma watches Regina scowl in distaste at her parent's offer. Inadvertently, her heart begins to pound in her chest. It's clear to her that the negotiation isn't going as planned and Emma worries about her parents and their subjects. If the servant's whisperings are true, innocent people are being slaughtered.

She wonders what it would take to appease a Queen like Regina. She does not wish for gold or lands. She has soldiers already, more than her parents.

"I want something of substance," Regina says through gritted teeth, dragging every word with professed anger. "The war is mine. I am winning it. Give me one reason why I shouldn't just finish squashing your petty subjects, dear."

An idea strikes her and before she can have time to mull over it, Emma bursts into the Throne Room, causing all three heads to turn to her.

"Take me," Emma announces in a firm tone, holding her head up high, looking every inch the Princess that her mother taught her how to be.

The Queen is finally eye to eye with her and Emma has to make an effort not to lower her eyes before her. She's imposing, in a way that her mother never was, and her eyes are as hard and unforgiving as steel. Emma has never seen darker eyes than hers before.

For a fleeting moment, she regrets having spoken up but she doesn't have time to take it back. Queen Regina is already addressing her directly.

"And exactly who are you, my sweet child?"

Emma frowns in surprise at the gentle tone of voice the Queen uses with her. It's unlike the harsh tone she'd been using with her parents. Even her features seem to soften somewhat, her dark eyes sparkle with something Emma can't recognize, and she finds herself smiling up at this Queen. A Queen that, by all means, she should despise.

"I'm Emma…"

"Emma, no." Her mother warns, but it's too late.

"Princess Emma. Daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming." She finishes the sentence.

When the Queen smiles at her, and as she mirrors it, she fails to notice the malice hidden in those deceiving beautiful features.

"You never told me you had a daughter, Snow." The Queen says over her shoulder with a dazzling smile, aimed solely at Emma.

The petite blonde feels enthralled by the Queen's beauty and the undivided attention she's paying to her. It doesn't occur to Emma how a Queen with a smile as mesmerizing as the one Regina has could be so evil so as to wage a war against her parent's Kingdom. Surely the servants exaggerate in their gossiping, because she cannot believe this Queen capable of doing the atrocities they accuse her of.

"Maybe because I didn't want you to use her against me, Regina," Snow replies somberly.

Emma breaks out of her daze to look past the Queen and to her mother. She looks sad, though Emma cannot possibly fathom why. She sweeps her eyes over to her dad, who is standing at her mother's right side. He seems expectant; his hand on the hilt of his sword.

When Emma looks back to the Queen, she sees she's smiling at her again and that her eyes are twinkling, making them seem lighter than they are.

"Tell me, dear," The Queen says, sounding curious and strangely excited, "What was it that you said?"

Emma had seen the deed done before: Kings taking their enemies' sons into custody as leverage during a war. Apparently, an heir was a prize good enough for any sovereign, and if Queen Regina didn't wish for gold, lands or men, she would surely accept her.

At first, when the idea sprang to her mind, Emma thought it would be hard, to give herself away like that but now that she's come face to face with the Queen, it doesn't seem so bad at all. Queen Regina doesn't look like what the servants made her out to be. She's kind to her and she really is paying her attention. Emma never had another royal paying her this much attention before. It makes her feel special.

"I propose another treaty," Emma says, again trying to use her most confident tone, like her mother had taught her.

When you speak to your subjects or to an equal, she explained, you must sound confident. Otherwise, your word will not be taken seriously.

"Emma, what are you doing?" Her father asks in fright, taking a step closer to her.

The moment he does, two of Regina's soldiers come up to block his way with their swords.

Emma frowns as she watches her father struggle against the soldier's grip on him. He looks alarmed and it's beginning to grow on her too.

"Let him go," Emma says, unable to tear her eyes from the scene.

She's about to raise her voice and demand her father be released when she feels a soft finger on her skin. Her green eyes dart back to meet Regina's swirling dark ones, staring intently into hers. They are so close that they could very well be breathing into each other. It should make her uncomfortable, but it doesn't.

Queen Regina slowly slides her finger across her jaw-line, in a subtle and delicate caress. "Let him go," Regina commands, not breaking eye contact with her.

Emma can see out of the corner of her eye how Regina's soldiers immediately let her father go and take a few steps back, allowing him to move freely again.

"Tell me more about this treaty, my child." Regina's finger tilts her chin upward, making Emma have to gaze at her through heavy lidded eyes.

The girl swallows before answering, and her neck is craned in such an awkward angle, that she ends up gulping audibly. She tries not to feel embarrassed but her cheeks blush anyway.

"Stop the war and I'll go with you, to your castle."

"Emma, no!" Snow shouts, taking both her hands to her mouth, looking horrified.

Her father tries to get close to her again but the same soldiers stop him before he's able to take more than a few steps.

Emma's eyes widen, when she sees her parents so visibly appalled by the idea. She feels guilty, like when it was the maidservant's son's birthday and she dipped a finger in his birthday cake before he could blow out the candles. Only this time, it actually seems worse.

Before she can take back what she said, before she even has time to go over her words once more, Regina is rising to her full height and turning her back on Emma, to address Snow and Charming.

"I agree to the terms."

"No!" Snow screams, tears suddenly springing from her eyes.

Regina flicks her wrist and a whole new piece of parchment appears out of a purple cloud of smoke. She lets the parchment roll down, until it's spread out before them.

"Here's your peace treaty, Snow." Regina informs her with a cold, heartless voice again. She slams the treaty down on the table. "You can go over the details as much as you want."

"No," Snow says in a wobbly voice, choking on her tears. "I don't want this. I did not sign for this."

Regina sneers at her, enjoying every single one of her tears. "No, your precious daughter did."

"She's just a child, Regina." Charming grits out, wrestling against Regina's soldiers, "You leave her out of this."

Regina turns to look at her, then. Her eyes have darkened and the sweet smile she was sporting just moments ago, has now turned into a smug, evil smirk.

"How old are you, child?"

"Almost thirteen."

"What a lovely coincidence," The Queen says, whirling around again. "She's the same age you were when you murdered my fiancée, Snow."

"That's not-"

"If at age twelve you were old enough to kill, she's old enough to become her people's new martyr."

"No," Snow cries, unable to hold back her tears. "I did not kill Daniel, Regina." She whispers brokenly, as if she's suddenly no more than a helpless child herself.

"You were supposed to keep a secret and you lied!" Regina shouts, infuriated. "You killed him, and now I'm going to have my revenge by taking the thing you love most."

"No, please." Snow cries, taking a tentative step forward, "We'll give you anything you want, anything."

Regina smirks. "Silly girl," she says and points to Emma with her finger. "This is what I want."

Emma, who had been watching their interactions in silence, emotionally unable to utter a word, finally seems to sense the weight of her predicament. She'd just handed herself over to her mother's mortal enemy. She did not know who this Queen was before, but now she knows exactly who she is. Her mother's bedtime stories call her The Evil Queen.

A shiver runs down her spine and she feels hot tears blurring her vision, but she fights them back, not wanting to display any weaknesses before this cruel woman. Realization dawns on her, about what is going to happen to her. She's still learning, but she knows what a martyr means.

"Are you going to kill me?" Emma hears herself ask.

Regina doesn't turn to look at Emma when she says, "Unlike your mother, I don't kill innocent people." Then, she sweeps past her, messing up her blonde curls in her wake, and heads for the doors. "I'll come back for her at midnight."

[x]

She can hear her mother's cries from across the corridor. She's not making any effort to suppress the anguished sobs that tear from her chest. Every two to three minutes, she can also hear the sound of something breaking. Sometimes it sounds like the shattering of porcelain vases against the marble floors, others it's a dry sound, like the kind wood makes when it breaks in half.

Emma knows that as her mother cries and screams in anguish, her father goes about the room, breaking havoc and destroying every single item that he comes across.

She hasn't been alone in her chambers for long, but to Emma, it feels like an eternity has passed. She hasn't cried, although she feels devastated inside. She never knew that a selfless action like that one she'd done would cause so much suffering for her parents. She was just trying to do the right thing, like her father taught her.

"You need to put your people first, Emma." He would say.

That's what she'd done. She had put her people first. She hadn't thought of anyone but her people. She hadn't thought of her parents, or how they would react. She hadn't thought of herself, and what destiny would have in store for her from now on. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe she shouldn't have rushed to act.

Like her mother would always tell her: "Act. Don't react."

Emma bites down on her lip, blinking away the tears that were beginning to form below her lids.

She hadn't acted, she'd reacted.

She'd heard Queen Regina refusing her parent's offer for peace and all the faces of those innocent lives lost in the war had popped up in her mind, begging her to do something, to help them. She'd held the key to the door that hid the answer. Was she supposed to turn her back on it? Was she supposed to put herself first instead of prioritizing the thousands of lives that would be saved in exchange for hers?

If there was something her parents had taught her, it was to be selfless and brave. She'd put her people first before her own needs, or even her parent's. Surely they would understand. Surely they would realize that she'd been right to do what she did, to bargain her own life to end the war.

Emma had been so caught in her own thoughts that she did not hear her mother's cries cease. She was only brought back from her reverie when she heard the doorknob slowly turning and the door creaking open.

Emma lifts her head, coming face to face with her parents. As they tentatively creep into the room, as if mindful not to step on imaginary shards of glass as they move, Emma can't help but notice the tear tracks on her mother's face or the way her father's eyes are red-rimmed and slightly puffy.

They both had been crying. But not her, she hadn't cried a single tear since she had sealed her fate.

"Emma, honey," Snow whispers brokenly, dropping to her knees in front of her and reaching for her hands. "You know we love you, right?"

Her mother's big blue eyes brim with tears. There's so much feeling in her words, so much pain. Emma can feel it as if it were her own. She feels for her mother, for her father, who is gazing down at her with the saddest smile she's ever seen him wearing.

Emma has never been good with professing her feelings. Her mother says it's the age, that she'll be more outspoken when she grows up. Tonight, though, she has no problem putting into words the storm that's raging inside her heart.

"I love you too," She says in a wobbly voice. "Mom, dad." She outstretches her arms in a silent invitation.

Neither of them takes more than a heartbeat to fall into her embrace, clutching, crying, feeling. Never in her short life has Emma experienced such heartbreak before. It's like she can feel her mother's pain creeping inside of her, or the way her father's heart is constricting in his chest.

She wants to hug them so tight that they'll morph into one being. Maybe that way they won't have to be separated, maybe that way she'll spare them the pain of her absence. She wants to tell them how much they mean to her, how much she loves them, but Emma finds the words eluding her, refusing to come out.

It's Snow who pulls out of the embrace first. She's holding the peace treaty that sealed her daughter's fate in her left hand. Emma's eyes widen. She'd not seen her mother holding the peace treaty up until now.

Snow holds it out and, as she bores her blue eyes into Emma's green ones, she says: "In exchange for ending the war, The Evil Queen will take you as hostage to her castle. You will remain there until you are of age…"

Emma's mouth opens to interrupt her mother, but she lifts a finger and silences her before any sound can come forth.

"When you turn eighteen you will be presented with the choice to stay in Regina's castle or come back to us."

Emma frowns, and Snow must see the confusion written on her face, because she explains, "I don't understand it either. Why keep you until you're of age and then set you free? But Emma she's giving you a way out. The Evil Queen is granting you the chance to come back to us." She smiles and the tears in her eyes spring down her cheeks. "In a fortnight you're turning thirteen. It's five years. Five years and we'll be together again."

It's unclear who Snow is trying to convince more, Emma or herself, but Emma does not mind. Even if it is five years, it's so much more than what they had a minute ago, and she knows, because her mother taught her, that hope is the strongest force of all. Thanks to this, now all three of them can hope again, hope to be reunited once more. And suddenly, five years doesn't seem longer than the blink of an eye.

Emma never heard of heirs being returned to their parents after any period of time. War hostages were war hostages, kept forever or even sometimes killed during their captivity. When she'd offered herself as leverage, Emma did not conceive the idea that she would ever be returned to her family. She'd thought about them rescuing her, but not about being freely given back to them.

It strikes her that maybe the Evil Queen is not so evil after all.

She smiles too then, because five years is less than half of what she's lived. She doesn't even remember the first five years of her life, maybe she won't even remember the five upcoming ones either.

And with this in mind, Snow White's daughter feels a weight lifting off her shoulders. She can do this and she will. She will see her parents again.

The sound of the wooden clock that Marco made for her on her tenth birthday rings loudly, snapping them all out of their haze, as the hands mark that it's five minutes to midnight.

That usual charged silence that anticipates a storm befalls around them, and Emma witnesses how her parents' expressions turn somber and fearful again.

Snow fishes inside one of her white pants pockets and retrieves a small pendant on a silver chain. "This was given to me by my father when I turned sixteen," she says as she lets the pendant hang down from her hand so that Emma can see it. It's a swan, encircled by a ring, all made of silver. "Swans are majestic and are said to have a sense of loyalty unlike any other creature." She cups Emma's cheek tenderly as she adds, "What you did today, the sacrifice you made, that was loyalty and selfless love in its purest form." Snow lifts the chain and clasps it around Emma's neck, letting the Swan rest against her chest. "This pendant connects you to your home, to your people." Snow says, taking the pendant in her hand and boring her eyes intently into her daughter's. "Don't let go of it, ever, that way we will always be together. Even when we're not."

The clock's hands mark the ending of the day and the start of a new one.

It's midnight already.

"I won't," Emma swears, throwing her arms around her parents' necks. "I will never let go of it."

"Well, well, well," A cold, steely voice breaks the loving moment, making all three heads snap around to take in the look of The Evil Queen. "It seems that your time has run out, Princess."

Charming stands up and unsheathes his sword, pointing its end toward the imposing Queen. He's poised to strike, every muscle in his body tense. Even his face has turned into a defiant expression, as if daring the Queen to come take his child.

Regina laughs malevolently, and her laughter joins the echoing of the clock hands, that resonate loudly across the room.

"Put down your sword," The Evil Queen seethes. "Don't make a fool of yourself in front of your darling daughter."

Emma watches a mixture of conflicting emotions crumpling her father's features. At first he looks like he's going to put up a fight but then he starts to lower his sword, slowly, almost inadvertently, until it hangs loosely at his side.

Regina smirks triumphantly at him, like she just made a point about who holds the upper hand here. Then, she extends a hand in Emma's direction but she keeps her eyes trained on Charming and his sword when she says, "Emma, dear. It's time."

Emma looks at the offered hand with apprehension as Snow tightens the hold on her tiny hands, almost crushing them in her desperation not to let her go. But Emma knows that the deed is done, there is no escaping it. They're only trying to delay the inevitable. She doesn't wish to go but she knows that if she doesn't, The Evil Queen will use magic to force her.

Slowly, Emma slides down from the mattress and her feet touch the marble floor. The pristine marble floors. Why had she never paid attention to the way the white marble intertwines with the black one in those intricate shapes before? Why is she paying attention to it now?

Her feet are moving, skidding over the marble, advancing toward her fate. A hand stops her, tugs her back. Emma turns her head over her shoulder. Her mother is crying and her mouth is opening and closing. She looks like she's saying something, maybe screaming for her not to go, but she can't hear her. It's like her mind is blocking out all external sounds. She knows that because the only thing she can hear is the frantic drumming of her heart against her ribcage, pounding harder with every step she takes closer to The Queen.

She's halfway there when Emma raises her eyes to look up into a pair of pitch black ones that swirl in a captivating dark dance. There's a twinkle in those conniving eyes. They scream in victory. The Queen's hand is still outstretched in her direction, silently prompting her to take her final steps.

Emma doesn't know why moving her legs is taking so much effort. It feels as if, with each step, they turn more and more into heavy, solid rocks, making it harder for her to move. If this is how the weight of destiny feels, then she understands why her father says that heavy is the head that wears the crown. She's young, but she's clever and she understands analogies better than most of the other children in her class. She never understood that one before, but she does now, with this horrible example of how much the weight of responsibility can bear down on one's shoulders when you know that what is coming will not be easy. But Emma holds her head high. If the crown of fate is on her head, she better not let it fall.

Outstretching her own small hand, Emma takes Regina's offered one and immediately closes her eyes when the Queen grips it so hard that she feels her bones protesting in pain. She forces herself to open them again. She wishes to imprint her parents' image in her mind forever.

There they are, huddling close, Charming's arm around his wife's waist, holding her up. Emma can see how her mother's knees are trembling, threatening to give out from under her.

Her father is the anchor. He always was, solemn and cool-headed as he is.

Emma smiles at him. She loves him. Then, her eyes sweep over to her crying mother. She loves her too.

"We will meet again," she promises but she doesn't know if her parents ever hear her.

A cloud of purple smoke envelops her at that same moment, and then the marble floors under her feet caves in. The intricate shapes of the white and black marble floor intertwine, and a dull shade of grey is born out of their union. But it's not grey marble floor, it is stone, and it hurts her when she falls down hard on it on her knees, once the cloud of purple smoke disappears.

Emma grunts in pain, feeling the characteristic burn of scraped skin when she pushes herself up off the stone floor with her hands, until she's on all fours. Her head swims dizzily. Magical transportation doesn't sit well with her, it seems. She blinks and blinks, trying to merge her two horizons into one. But before she can recover herself from the magic and the fall, Emma is hauled to her feet by her upper arm.

The Evil Queen is behind her, gripping her arm with brute force and digging her sharp nails into her soft, pale skin. Emma hisses in protest but that only earns her a vicious push forward that makes her stumble and fall flat on her stomach again.

"Get up," The Evil Queen snarls, and the threat in her voice doesn't go unnoticed to Emma.

If she doesn't stand, she'll be made to.

Emma slowly staggers to her feet, fighting back the urge to rub her bloodied and dirty hands down her pretty white dress. Her mom would chastise her if she cleaned herself on her clothes. She never likes it when she does.

"Move." The Evil Queen commands.

Emma holds up her head and begins to walk down a dimly lit, narrow corridor. Both the floors and the walls are made of stone, which makes the place look as lifeless as it can be. Emma doesn't know why she expected the Queen to have pretty marble floors like the ones she has in her own castle.

Somehow, the way the torches seem to be dying out but never quite doing so completely, reminds her of the last set of halls she had walked along in what seems like an eternity ago, but was only just a couple of hours. Those torches, back in her castle, looked like their flame was being suffocated by lack of air. That was way these flames were dim, barely illuminating the halls at all.

As she walks, with The Evil Queen in tow, it occurs to her that maybe Regina was the one responsible for the torches. Maybe, whenever she walks in, she sucks the air right out of the room.

Emma chances a quick glance over her shoulder.

Or maybe the light dims because this Queen, clad in black as she is, is the very definition of darkness.

She doesn't even notice when the corridor turns into a descending flight of stairs. Stone steps, of course. She staggers forward and she would have fallen down head first, had The Evil Queen not grabbed her by the shoulder.

"Don't break your neck so soon, Princess." She says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Emma tries to shrug away from the Queen's grip on her, but Regina digs her nails deeper into her bare shoulder, effectively stopping her feeble attempt at breaking free. She waits, without moving, until The Evil Queen flicks her wrist and a ball of fire appears in her palm.

Emma's lips part in wonder and, for a moment, she forgets about her dire situation. After all, she's a child and all children love magic.

She's crudely brought back to reality when Regina gives her a push, prompting her to start climbing down the stairs. She does, one step at a time, trying to secure her footing as she goes, because these stones are irregular and the path downwards is swallowed in darkness. The only light down here is the one coming from The Evil Queen's magic flame and, since Emma is leading the way, she's getting the short end of the deal.

Somehow, Emma manages not to fall down the stairs and break her neck, like the Queen said.

The stairs lead to yet another narrow corridor, this one too plunged into darkness, but as they walk further in, and Regina's ball of fire illuminates the place, Emma's heart begins to beat faster against her chest.

There are cells here.

The whole corridor is filled with them, one beside the other, and as they walk, Emma can see the iron bars that secure each and every one of them. She doesn't see prisoners, though, only darkness.

Finally, The Evil Queen makes Emma stop in front of a cell that, at first sight, looks exactly just like the others but, upon closer inspection, you can notice the differences in furniture.

This cell has a tiny cot made of cement by the left wall, a bucket of water in the right corner and a pair of iron shackles hanging by a chain from the roof. There are no windows or torches, or any source of light in this cell.

Emma swallows nervously. The rest of the cells had torches.

Before she has time to process anything else, the iron bars of the cell slide open to the side and Emma is shoved inside. She lands on her hands this time and manages to jump back to her feet before Regina can take her second step inside the cell.

"I am confident you'll make yourself at home," She says, smirking in a sadistic way that makes Emma retreat further into her cell.

"But I thought…" Emma hears herself say in a wobbly voice, because fear is beginning to consume her.

Her young and innocent mind cannot comprehend why anyone could possibly want to leave her locked up in a cell meant for traitors and killers. She's not a traitor, she's good. She's always been good.

Emma can feel tears pricking in her eyes. She doesn't want to cry but she's afraid that the Queen will leave her alone in the dark, in this immense hall of empty cells.

"What?" The Evil Queen asks, "You thought I would give you the best accommodations in the castle, with a warm, cozy fire and a big bed?" She laughs, and the sound is so rich and yet so tainted with hatred that it makes Emma shiver in fear.

This woman breathes out evilness. She doesn't know how she was able to fool her before.

"Oh, dear," Regina bends down to be at Emma's eye-level. "You are as gullible as your Mother." She runs a fingertip across Emma's bottom lip, making the young girl close her eyes in fright. "You will stay here until I decide what to do with you and you should be thankful I am not using those shackles on you." When Emma opens her eyes, the ghastly digit is gone and Regina has risen to her full height once more. "Now, be a good girl and I might come back for you." The Evil Queen walks out of the cell and lifts up her hand. The iron bars slide back into place and make a metallic sound as they hit the stone wall. "Or maybe I won't."

Emma's eyes widen in horror when she realizes that Regina does in fact intend to leave her locked up down here, but the terror she feels in that moment pales in comparison to the one she experiences when The Evil Queen flicks her hand and the ball of fire disappears, leaving Emma submerged completely into darkness.