Land of the Black Sands—Past

"I don't think I can do this." Her hand was unsteady as she held it out in front of her, the magic making her feel lightheaded the longer she holds the prisoner up. "I can't—" Her chest felt tight and darkness was tinging the edges of her vision, but she tried to push that to the back if her mind as she focused.

"If you didn't have your doubts, then I would be worried," Mozenrath drawls, circling her and the prisoner with his arms behind his back. He was small compared to most men she's encountered, all skin and bones and nearly as gaunt as the undead servants that guard his kingdom. "Let me give you some motivation, sweetheart." He stops next to her, one of his sarcastic smiles making his full lips curve upwards as he tugs on a lock of her pale hair. "Drop him when he's still breathing and I'll turn you into one of my Mamluks."

She kept quiet, trying to even out her breathing like she'd been taught. The last time she had snapped at Mozenrath was two years ago and she still had nightmares about the experience—being lowered into the same airtight chamber as one of the Anemoi wasn't something grown women aspired to. Slowly, the pounding in her ears slowed, her hands stopped shaking, and her vision cleared. The prisoner scratched at his throat as she tightened her hold, her magic constricting the airflow, blunt nails digging into his throat even as blood welled to the surface and dripped down the front of his stark white tunic. He looked pathetic as he hovered in the air a few feet away, not nearly so regal as he had looked when he showed up at the palace.

He stopped bragging about his vast fortune hours ago and he stopped pleading for her to spare his life fifteen minutes ago. Gone was the noble prince that had snuck into her small bedroom and tried to seduce her with promises of jewels and gold, gone was the handsome man that had used her up and thrown her away like she was worth less than the mud on his boots, and gone was the arrogant man that had blinded her when she tried to convince the king of his son's crimes. She had just enough sight left to see his blurry visage as the infection raged in her body and she could feel the pride welling in her chest as his complexion slowly changed from his golden tan to an ugly purple color.

And then the prince was just gone, arms hanging limply by his side, chin resting against his chest, and feet still; and as she let his body drop to the unforgiving stone of Mozenrath's dungeon, the last of her vision left her.

With sharper hearing than she had before she was blinded, she could hear the click of Mozenrath's boots against the stone, echoing off drab gray walls as he made his way to the corpse. She could hear the dull sounds of him kicking the prince thrice to make sure the deed was done and then came the sharp, unexpected sound of laughter. Mozenrath rarely laughed like that, like he was actually happy about something, and it had her on edge.

"Did I please you," she asks, voice rough. She wanted to see his face, to be able to gauge his emotions so she knew whether to curl up or not. Instead of cowering like she did whenever she was near Mozenrath, she straightens her back, rolls her shoulders, and lifts her chin like she's seen the royalty do.

"You pleased me," he confirms, his hand soft as it cupped her cheek. She wanted so badly to lean into his touch, to just pretend that Mozenrath was her younger brother if only for a few moments. She missed him so much, wished she could hold him in her arms one more time before really saying her goodbye to him.

"What's the next task?"

"You've passed your tests, Cecily, but there is something that you might like." She was free now, the thought had her heart beating faster. She hasn't been free in three years, not since Mozenrath took her in when he found her unconscious at the edge of his kingdom. He'd thought of her as a weapon he could mold, but instead he'd turned her into a monster of the worst kind—she'd been forced to eat her victims, forced to kill anyone that passed through his lands without his permission, but she didn't have to do that anymore. "In a land called Mist Haven you'll find a queen that needs an attitude adjustment. She goes by the Evil Queen and I want you to steal one of her poisoned apples. Think you can manage that, Cecily?"

"Yes." Going off her memory alone, she makes her way to the heavy door across the room, pushing it open with her magic, but pausing before leaving. This has been her home since she was thirty-six, she was remade here, forged in fire as cheap as that sounded. She wasn't sure where she could go from here that she would be safe. Maybe she would find a nice cottage in the forest, somewhere she could listen to the birds singing like she could at the castle.

"Good luck, my blind little witch." She tensed at the cruel name he'd given her when her vision had first started to leave her. In that moment she wanted to do nothing more than burn him alive and listen to his screams die away. She wouldn't do that right now, she would continue to gain her strength back and focus on her magic, then she would come back for him.

And then she stepped over the threshold, leaving the citadel behind for the Enchanted Forest.

Storybrooke—Present

Aveena was calm as she used a knife to create small rips in her dress, the sharp metal easily tearing the cotton when she pressed the tip against it. Her father waited behind her in the alley, watching as she worked diligently on making herself look like she'd just been attacked. It made him feel sick to his stomach when he realized that she knew what to do from firsthand experience and this wasn't just her trying to guess.

"When were you attacked," he asks, throat feeling tight as he fought back tears. He couldn't cry in front of her, couldn't break the illusion that he was strong. He knew what the looks she sent his way meant, that she thought of him as some kind of hero that could never be killed, a god that would rip Zeus to pieces if it meant she was safe. The look she sent him now made her look older than she was, she looked ready to drop from sheer exhaustion.

"The first week I went undercover for Mozenrath," she mumbles, going back to her work. "I underestimated my target and he overpowered me for a bit, but that'll never happen again." It sounded like a promise, a vow she made to herself to ensure that she would work harder, be the better fighter every time. She wanted to be as strong as she thought he was and it tore at him to know that she needed to be even stronger if she wanted to survive this world. Jaw clenched in his frustration, he places a hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I've got you and I'll always be here for you, Vee." She nods but stays quiet, handing him the knife back. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as she stared hard at her shoes and when she finally looked up again there were tears in her eyes and her bottom lip was quivering, a completely different person.

"Do I look like a poor child that's just been accosted?" Even her voice broke near the end, her arms wrapped around herself as she began to shake a little, as though she was terrified. He gives her a curt nod, biting his lip as she runs to the mouth of the alley, disappearing around the corner as she made her way to the doctor's home. He could hear her banging on the door and he closed his eyes as he fought down the urge to just grab her and run back to the ship.

He didn't like to hear her so scared, it made his stomach churn and his breathing hitch in his throat. That's what it was like being a parent, constantly fearing that he'd never be good enough for her or protect her, anxiously worrying about the choices she made, and a mixture of anger and irritation when she somehow managed to sneak a damn snake aboard his ship and lose it in his cabin. He let out a huff of air, muttering a curse under his breath at the thought of that bloody snake, remembering how fierce his seven year had been when she proclaimed sanctuary for little Bernard.

"What were you both doing in the alley," came an unfamiliar voice from his left. Killian pressed his back against the grimy brick wall as footsteps echo off the pavement. "Even in Storybrooke, dark alleys aren't safe at any time of the day." It was a concerned tone he heard, the voice soft like its owner didn't want to break the calmness of the night.

"We were just so tired," Vee replied, her voice still shaky," we've worked all day and we thought we would be safe if we stayed together, but the man came out of nowhere and my father is hurt so badly. I-I don't even know if he's- if he's still—" She broke off with a sob as they came closer to the spot where James lay on the ground, keeping his breathing shallow. James was unnaturally good at playing dead, Killian would have to congratulate him when this was done. "Here he is." They came into Killian's line of sight, both kneeling beside James. Aveena rested her hands on his broad back while the doctor pressed two fingers against James's pulse point.

"His pulse is strong, but we should get him to the hospital." Killian took a step forward, barely making a sound as he snuck up behind the doctor with the knife in his hand. "Can you help me get him up?"

"He can get up by himself." And just like that, she was back to being his little girl, no more tears in her eyes, perfectly composed.

"What are you—" Killian brings the hilt of the knife down hard behind the doctor's ear, barely managing to catch the back of his shirt to keep him from falling on top of James.

"Is it safe for me to stand up now," James questions, raising his head to look around and getting to his feet when he sees Killian's nod. He glanced at his new clothes in disgust, his crisp white shirt stained crimson from a spilled drink; it looked like blood in the weak light, dark and sticky as it spread outward across his chest.

Suddenly he wasn't in the alley anymore, he was back on his ship and staring down at his best friend, worry eating away at him as his First Mate worked hard to stem the bleeding from a stab wound. James was pale and unconscious on Killian's bed, sweat making his dark hair stick to his face as his fever raged, blood staining white sheets, and James whimpering from fever dreams. He would open his eyes every few minutes, staring around blindly as his wound continued to bleed. So much blood, gushing and pumping, and taking his life with it.

Killian let out a muffled noise of fear when he felt someone's arms around his waist, half expecting to find a corpse when he looked down, but instead finding a headful of dark hair. He was confused at first, trying to remember where this small girl had come from.

Then he was dropped back into the present, able to breathe again and hugging his daughter back tightly, half sobbing in relief when he spotted James holding the doctor, very much alive and looking concerned. "Where were you, Killian?"

"On the ship," Killian answers breathlessly," the night I rescued you." Flashbacks were normal for people like Killian who have seen horrible things and lived through battles, but they weren't something anyone grew used to. Each one was like a punch to the stomach, driving the air out of his lungs and making him feel like a scared little boy that wanted to hide under the covers so the monsters wouldn't get him.

"I've got you, Daddy," Aveena assures him, tightening her hold around his waist and further grounding him. "I'll always be here for you no matter what."

I couldn't help slipping in the Blind Witch PoV at the beginning since she's been in the newest eps. Plus, who didn't like Hansel and Gretel at least a little bit when they were younger? As for the name Cecily I gave her, I just thought the name was cute.