Rated S for Swearing, LNC for oq week’s Late Night Confession prompt, and P for pain. You might want to grab some chocolate for this one, ladies and gentlemen. I bring the hurt in this one. And it’s super long. Whoops.
Neverland was the last time she’d slept outside under a stretch of canvas. There’d been no stars there, the sky shuttered behind the flora choking the island. Storybrooke is a sight safer than that cursed realm, but the same heart-stuttering anxiety stalks her still, keeps her sleep light, her consciousness floating close to awareness, her hands free from her sleeping bag and curled halfway. Here, the moonless night blazes with starlight, the water washing over the stony riverbed shushes the boys to sleep, the breeze carries the promise of rain toward them, and for the fourth time since they’d banked the campfire Regina starts awake.
Anxiety, thy name is Zelena, she thinks as she rolls over, careful not to bump against Henry as he sleeps. Her sister is locked away in the asylum, cuffed and alone, and yet the veil of unease hasn’t lifted.
She’d stormed a realm to save her son from his great-grandfather, and she’d carved a path through this one to save her soulmate and his son from her twisted sister. Too little, too late, perhaps. The thought settles like a stone in her stomach, grinding against her insides, and she flips over again.
Henry’s snores drift over to her side of the tent. She’s tempted to poke him until he rolls over, but their presence or absence won’t make a difference at this point. She leaves him be. Except, it’s not only his snores she’s hearing over the placid sounds of the forest. Someone else is breathing heavy nearby. Someone in the tent with her and Henry.