The storm had started in the middle of the night, and as morning broke it did not let up. The wind howled outside and rain hammered against the window.
Regina had slept restlessly. The lightning kept jerking her out of her sleep. It was eight am, but felt much earlier with how dark it still was. She slipped on her robe and wrapped it tightly around herself - the weather unusually chilly for June, even in a summer storm.
She made her way to the kitchen and started fixing herself a brew of coffee. It was apparent she would be going no where today. And no one would be coming to her.
It was getting tiresome. The frequent checkup’s on her ‘wellbeing’. They were poorly disguised.
’Just made a whole lot of extra casserole and thought I’d share it around.’
'Neal is driving me crazy and I needed a break while David took a go a taking care of him.’
'Emma said she would have my head if I didn’t come by and make sure you hadn’t gone all 'evil queen’ on our asses again.’
At least Hook had been honest with her.
And to be honest she was… ok.
She was living and breathing, she still had Henry (though last night he had been at Emma’s, and who knew if the storm was going to let up enough for him to safely come around tonight). She was… ok.
Or at the very least… she wasn’t about to force Emma to flee because she put a warrant out for her head on a silver platter.
Regina was looking forward to a day of peace and quiet. Of having a valid excuse to be locked indoors, lie in bed and… just not care about anything. She didn’t need to do her hair… hell, she didn’t even need to shower if she chose not to.
Then the doorbell rang.
She didn’t bother to suppress the groan. Of course they found a way to bother her still. The raging storm was happening outside and they still came around unwelcomed.
Regina quickly prepared her speech, telling them to go away, to go back to their warm home (although she could almost hear Snow, or Tinkerbell pulling out a 'oh no, it looks like it’s getting much worse, I should stay here a couple of hours’). She opened the door and was greeted with… no one…
Until she looked down.
Regina gasped at the little boy, soaked to his very core shivering before her.
'Roland!’ She exclaimed. She ushered him inside without a moment’s hesitation, using her magic to summon a blanket from the living room and wrap around his shaking form. 'Roland what on earth…’
She really wasn’t sure what to expect. When Aunt Lulu died, Molly Hooper had no idea that the cottage was to be hers.
With her eclectic estate, comprising of a London mews style house (which would have been far more use to Molly than a cottage on the Suffolk coast she mused as she drove through the countryside) a small vineyard in the Loire Valley, a cottage in North Yorkshire and of course ‘Samphire Cottage’, the distribution of the estate had taken some time.