The Conscience of The Queen

Part the First

Disclaimers and other notes

Once Upon A Time belongs to CBS and the writers and creators. I am just playing in the sandbox.

I haven't written anything in over two years. Then there I am, on a slow day at work, doing some homework, when this decides to vomit itself all over a note pad. Go figure. I even have character notes. I never have notes of any kind. Bah.

Part the First

She woke up. The floor was hard, and cold under her hands. In the murky light, it was a greyish marble. Her hair, stringy and in her face, even in the gloom was a much lighter color than she remembered. She stood, slowly. Eyes wide, legs shaky, she took in her surroundings. Marble, everywhere. A coffin? Ah, a crypt, then. Hers? No, coffin's too big.

"Henry. Beloved Father." Cracky voice, not used much, or lately. She knew a Henry. The same Henry? Yes. Maybe. She raked fingers through her hair. Stopped. Held them up to the light. Hands, fingers. Bigger hands than she remembered. Long fingers, rounded, dirty nails. She stared, bemused. When was the last time she'd had hands? She was eight? No, ten. Ten and Mother-dearest needed her help with a spell. Fear, a knife. Dying. Her heart in Mother-dearest's hands, still beating. Not for long. Long enough. Sad, angry brown eyes, black hair.

Sizzle.

Darkness, but knowledge. Her sister's first bit of magic. Always a possessive one. She was a conscience. Her sister's constant conscience. Constance. Constance Mills.

"Oh, Regina. What have you done?"