Author's note: Ever since The Miller's Daughter this kept working in my head but I wasn't able to put it in writing until now – I guess I needed a bit of emotional distance to process it all. It hurt to write, so I just hope I managed to get the feels across. I also hope the stream-of-consciousness tone in some passages isn't too confusing – I put Cora's present sentiments in italics where I thought a distinction is necessary.

For the first time, she sees. For a few glorious moments, she loves. For about a second, they have hope.

Then, something goes wrong.

Pain shoots through her heart and wipes the smile off her face in an instant. Her face contorts in surprised agony. It's as if she had been stabbed by a dagger, except the pain is more intense than any dagger could inflict. It's spreading rapidly, sending shards of chilling ice yet at the same time flames of red-hot fire through her body. It starts out from her heart, where she feels an iron fist must be squeezing hard, travels through every single vein in her body, and reaches the very tips of her fingers in mere fractions of a second. Suddenly she feels her legs give way, and she falls. She can barely appreciate not hitting the floor for all the pain that engulfs her already. She is aware, however, of her daughter's arms around her as a terror-stricken pair of deep brown eyes stare back at her in shock. Her body is numb but the leaden load seems to be slowly lifting from her limbs. Her vision is now clearer than ever, and she stares, and she sees things long past, and she sees things she's never seen before. For the first time, she sees.

Tiny baby feet flash before her eyes, kicking forcefully, and a shrill ear-splitting cry fills the air. Her lungs are hit by the still unfamiliar sensation of air. The blanket is coarse but warm around her bare slime-and-blood-covered body. A breezy ball of white light - unseen to all but herself, she knows - soars through the dark room and escapes through the window. Tangled in the shabby sheets on the bed, she sees a pair of unseeing eyes staring blankly… A sense of sadness and loss overcomes her.

The air is thick and mouldy. She sits crouched in the corner of the grim hut, the earth floor cooling her bare feet. She's home alone. She's not afraid. She picks up a lump of wood carefully wrapped in a piece of rag and places it gently into a cracked wooden bowl padded with straw. An improvised melancholy melody ensues from her lips as she cradles her doll slowly. She's happy.

White. All she sees is white. Specks of dust. Grains of flour in the air. Swirling. Her arms aching. A surge of anger, not her own. A hairy hand coming down at her, missing. More anger. A dozen sacks needed by midday. Grind. Stone. White. Flour. Tired, so very tired…

Liquor. Sweat. Vomit. Her unconscious father slumped on the floor. Disgust. Sadness.

Flash.

She knows this man, the one who looks nothing like a man actually. The Dark One, he is called. She feels wave after wave of excitement crashing over her as she manages to haggle a bit of power from him. They make a deal. She's not the drunkard miller's daughter anymore. She is the girl who spins straw into gold. She is a somebody. She wants it, this power, she wants more. She could have it - and … maybe love? She senses danger. The temptation is strong, too strong to bear. Which one will she choose? Love is weakness. Power endures. A decision has been made.

It's done. It only hurts for a moment. Her hand, shaky but sure, clasps her own beating heart. She did it. She will have power, she will not be ridiculed or humiliated anymore. She will turn her miserable existence around and transform it into something valuable, just like she has done with straw. It's done. It doesn't hurt anymore. In fact, she feels so much less already. That's good: she won't be so vulnerable, or hindered by emotion. Goodbye… He's sad, she's sorry now, he looks hurt… But she wins, see? She has power now, and she knows how to get more. Something is lost… a price has been paid. But power endures. Vanitas vanitatum…

Flash.

An ear-splitting cry. A baby's feet kicking in the air. Tiny fists punching wildly. A head of sticky hair. A soft, warm cheek. A fist wrapped around her finger, squeezing. Yes. This is her. The future queen. Regina. Her daughter…her baby. She feels a fond bubble rise in her stomach and a knot grow in her throat but sees none of this reflect on her own youthful face, and no tear escapes her proud eye either, even though she feels it must. She understands: this love-struck self is her now, not that other Cora of the actual past; and her entire being screams in regret and frustration at what has been lost.

She sees her growing up before her very eyes, her hair darkening, her feet shuffling uncertainly as she toddles around the richly furnished rooms of their lavish house, her dark little eyes lighting up as she mumbles, for the first time ever: "Ma-ma." She flashes a smile at her child, smugly remembering another child Regina's age who hasn't started talking yet. It does walk already though, unlike Regina, who still needs to be led by the hand. She strokes her daughter's dark head absent-mindedly – couldn't she be a little more precocious? A stab of pain, an onslaught of guilt. A precious moment gone by, unappreciated at the time.

She is standing at the foot of Regina's canopy bed. The doctor refuses aggressive treatment, insisting the child recover by herself, claiming this will serve to improve her health in the long run. A pair of tortured, feverish eyes is searching for her, striving for comfort. She isn't looking, however; she's furious. How dare the doctor refuse to do her bidding! Harsh words, insults, threats. She watches her past self storm out of the room, blind to her daughter's pleading look. She's gone and yet she sees Regina now – only now does she really see her. She sees her curl up under the sheets, hugging the corner of her blankie as she rocks herself to a restless sleep. There's no one to wipe the droplets of sweat off her fever-flushed face. Arrogance. Shame. Hurting.

Regina – healthy. She runs down to the stables, throws herself into her father's arms. The new stable boy brings the new pony. Cries of joy. They have something she wants but doesn't know how to get. A stab of jealousy, then. And now.

Leather creaking. Up in the air. Regina gasping. Herself, gloating. Discipline is a must. Punishment is a tool. Fear is instilled. Satisfaction? Revulsion.

It's late at night when she returns from an errand. All is still, almost. Regina's door is ajar, a beam of moonlight casting a long oblong in the corridor. The floor creaks under her feet but Regina doesn't hear. Peeking in, she sees her shoulders shaking as a sob escapes her mouth. She hesitates. She turns on her heel and leaves quietly. Questions are left unasked and unanswered. More is revealed to her now than she likes to see. She feels the child's misery: lonely, friendless, an outcast. She could be so much more. Regina. Not Regina. Herself.

High expectations. Stubborn child, almost grown-up. She could be so much more. More, how? For whom?

Flash.

A master plan unfolds. Suspense. Greed. Ruthlessness. The Queen is dead. Revenge. Cold. Victory.

The princess and the horse. A small push is all it needs. Her daughter, the hero. The King, kneeling before her. The King…kneeling…before her. Yes!

She's so close now and yet so far. So close to her goal, yet so distant from her daughter. There is something she wants but doesn't know how to get. She pours her heart out, telling herself she only does so because it serves her plan. Snow White. The stable boy. Secret. Betrayal. Rage.

The stables. For the first time, she sees…love. Pure and true. Magic. But love is weakness. His heart in her hand: obstacle removed, in her daughter's best interest, of course. Plan back on track. Love turned to dust, diamond reduced to ashes. All gone too soon. Regina? Pain beyond words. Broken. Lost. Monstrous. Utterly crushed.

Nothing makes sense anymore. There is a mirror, and there is a white dress, and there is a wedding. Not her own this time. Regina will be queen – finally. …I don't want to be like you... She feels a surge of magic and she doesn't like it, she doesn't like being on the receiving end. Is this how it feels? A brief moment of pride in her daughter's magical prowess is replaced by terror as she feels Regina succeed, actually overpowering her, pushing her out, literally, pushing her through the looking-glass – banishing her. Betrayed. Abandoned. Hurt.

Queen of Hearts. A man, dead. A man, very much alive, bold enough to try for her life in her own kingdom. Could her daughter really have ordered her death? Things have gone too far. Regina must be punished. She herself is the one responsible, she's ruined everything.

The coffin feels so cold and unwelcoming, despite the careful carpentry and the silk lining. She doesn't belong here, she fights a moment of irrational panic – she knows she still has the upper hand. Her daughter comes…speaks…cries. There's a rose, and thorns don't matter. She still loves her. All will be well.

She is standing motionless, scanning the landscape without really seeing it. She knows about her daughter's plans, about the Dark Curse; in fact, she knows more than Regina does: she knows her daughter is a tool in someone else's plan, and she knows she will be far from pleased with the curse's result, and far from happy. Her daughter will lose everything. She will be there to help her pick up the pieces. Selfish. Heartless. So wrong, so very wrong.

Flash.

It's 28 years later. It's finally happening. The curse has been broken. Her daughter will have been broken. Time to pick up the pieces, and she's already on her way, against all odds. The wind seems to bring back memories, or maybe it is the rose she is clutching in her hands. Her crusade for power is pushed out of her mind momentarily. She will see her daughter again.

Reunited. Reproach. Tears.

A strange carriage. She wants her daughter back no matter what, even at the cost of breaking her completely. …you've been too bad for too long… They can have each other. They do have each other. They hug, and it reminds her of how it once felt to have a heart, and the time they missed.

Her motive is twofold, and she won't budge. The dagger and the daughter. But what if it's the dagger or the daughter? In a crucial moment, she makes a choice. She has no heart after all. Regina…sorry.

Regina knows, and she hurts, and she doubts. She still continues to help. She has a heart after all. And soon, she will have her heart as well. She's on her way to the vault.

The heart…it's back. She sees, yet she is blinded by what she's seeing. It all happens so fast. Suddenly, everything changes, and it takes a moment to understand, but it doesn't even matter. It doesn't matter how or why. Everything changes. Everything. She's full of light, and Regina's there, and Regina's happy, and she's happy, and in that moment, they're both just happy.

Because for the first time, she sees. For a few glorious moments, she loves. For about a second, they have hope.

Flash…

…and it's gone. She's back to what she knows is reality, the actual present moment, even thought it feels as unreal as it could possibly be.

Her body doesn't ache anymore, yet she is in pain: pain more intense than any dagger could inflict, more intense than any kind of physical pain. Is it guilt? Regret? Both of those, and more. She threw away so much, and now it is too late.

Her body is getting lighter and lighter with every passing moment, until she feels as light as a feather. She's being cradled gently in the air…

And for the last time, she sees, and the last thing she sees is a pair of brown eyes brimming with tears. And for the last time, she feels, and the last thing she feels is her daughter's embrace and her own heart overflowing with love to the point of bursting. And for the last time, she speaks, and the last thing she speaks tastes bittersweet in her mouth.

"This… would have been enough. You would have been enough."