A prewritten epilogue
This was written before the last sneak peek got out and even though I had the chance to edit it I didn’t want to since I wanted to explore a little more of Regina’s head without actually taking into account this “amazing” idea of them of creating aus just because they don’t know what to do next. Is funny because as I wrote the reason of why this (my so to speak) Henry may have had decided to leave Storybrooke I remember thinking; they are going to go there, aren’t they? So yup, here we are. I hope, however, that you all like this version of this story.
The book didn’t weigh as much as the old one had. That was the first thing Regina thought as she caressed its cover, looking at the creamy white color and the letters that seemed to be mocking at her as they glinted beneath the dim lights of Seattle’s setting sun. The pictures inside, however, were as harsh and painful -perhaps more- than the ones she had seen staring back at her back when the man in front of her had been a child asking who his mother was.
As she stared at the last one, the one in where their stories felt as if they had reached their end, she grazed her own face back on it, the timid warmth of the picture cold to her touch. Memories, as they were, were as painful as the realization she had made that the child wasn’t a child anymore but a kid that seek answers. The same burning want she now could see on the girl’s eyes that stood next to him.
She had his chin; Regina smiled sadly for a second, just imagining how smug Snow would feel if she got to remember and got to know that her great-granddaughter had something of her. The girl, Lucy, had something else though, something Henry hadn’t really have; a much more practiced calculating glance, one in where Regina could see another set of eyes looking at her past from a future she had once thought she would never get to see.
Swallowing, she let the heavy scent of the city fill her lungs; the scent of gas and asphalt mixed with just the barest hints of grass. A very distinct smell, something Storybrooke had had as well. Albeit, she conceded listening to the cars that honked in the distance, far enough from where the three of them were but close enough to be always present, Storybrooke’s had always be better.
The voice of the girl was soft and serious, her eyes boring into Regina’s as she looked up, glancing first at Henry, finding on herself the same will to care for him that had moved her forward so many years ago. The boy -now a man- looked as grave as the girl, perhaps more since his chest expanded quickly betraying his nervousness, his own doubts. She could see on his well-kept but still beaten clothes, something similar to another person, another woman, the one who had been at Henry’s other side during that particular picture. His fingers twitched for a moment as Regina addressed him and the brunette needed to fight against her need to hug him close.
She could remember many things, many different, difficult things. Like the day Henry had decided that he needed to travel in order to become the author. That day had been the last day the both of them had seen each other, the last day in where they had talked and for a moment Regina tilted her head to her left, narrowing her eyes at the sudden clarity that filled them.
Henry remembered as well. The shouts, the questions, the moment Regina had asked him to admit that he was heading out because of what had happened to Emma. The second Henry had admitted that it was indeed that precisely what made him pack and leave. Leave everyone behind.
Henry’s nostrils trembled, a word seeming to be about to come out from his lips before Regina closed her eyes, a sudden decision forming on her mind as she nodded, turning back to Lucy who kept staring at her, eyes equally narrowed, a glint of something akin to knowledge glowing on the back of her pupils.
She, Regina thought, looked a little like Emma; the same determination, the same strength, the same way of telling her that she knew when Regina hid something from her. A trait that had been their end after all. After everything.
Drawing a taut smile, the former queen hummed and gave the book back to Lucy, the girl’s arms hugging the book just as quickly as Regina turned towards Henry, staring at the ink that stained the rim of his sleeves. The breeze brought yet another honk and the muffled chatter Regina had chosen to tune out.
“Do you have a place to go?” She finally asked, making the final decision in the split of a second, flinching inwardly at Henry’s barely hidden sign of surprise on the twitch of the muscles on his face. Nevertheless, she swallowed the pain, the blouse suddenly feeling tight on her chest. Heavy. “A place to stay?”
“We were hoping…” It was Lucy the first one to speak, her voice softer than hers or Henry’s who had looked down at her for a moment before turning to look at Regina, his smile never quite reaching his eyes.
It was a strange concept, Regina thought, looking at her son and seeing the baby and the child, the kid and the teen, the young man who had transformed into something, someone more as she tried to fight the villains that seemed to appear around them without a stop. It was harder to see on him, however, a stranger at the same time. A concept she would probably find an answer on Snow.
Or perhaps, she admitted, thinking back on blonde tresses and green eyes, perhaps not.
“You can come with me.”
The flat was the same as the one she had left this morning, with white and wood details here and there; too many books to care and just enough sunlight to bathe the surface of the small living room she owned. Now, however, as she opened the door and let the pair come in she it suddenly felt different, less and she could do nothing but caress the nearest wall as Lucy entered and stared at every detail with the same intent Henry also demonstrated. The eyes of an author. That had been an epithet the boy had been subjected to during the last years in Storybrooke. Something Henry detested but was true. Eyes for every detail, for every inane thing, were now reflected back on Lucy’s own stare and Regina smiled softly, albeit sadly, as the child followed the mots of dust that danced on the sunray that illuminated the place in a now seemingly gloomier light than before.
“I would have never written you here.”