Regina reached out to steady herself against the doorframe, closing her eyes to ward off the vertigo that was threatening to send her sprawling head first into her own foyer.

A wave of nausea was rippling up from her abdomen and her limbs were beginning to shake. What had started as an uncomfortable tick in her fingers was now a fully blown spasm that was painfully racking her arms and legs and squirming its way through her torso.

With more force that she thought herself able to muster, she pushed herself upright, staggered across the threshold to her house and closed the door behind her.

This mammoth effort over, she fell back against the wood – the barrier which now stood between her and the rest of the world. The world that she had not thirty minutes ago been trying protect from the poison that was her mother. The world that was now celebrating good's triumph over evil in the warm and welcoming light of Granny's.

Shut up! She whispered harshly to herself. Self-pity was for the commoner, the weak and pathetic fool who expected life to hand them gifts and turned into a wailing child when what they instead received was a slap to the face. Or a hand in the chest.

It was not for a queen.

Regina knew that if she gave into her pain now she would spend the rest of the night exactly where she was, slumped over on the floor in the entry way. And she'd be damned if she'd settle for sleeping on the ground like some street urchin.

She dragged herself up the stairs; teeth bared and sweat pouring from her brow. If anyone had been watching she would have been embarrassed by the undignified way that her body refused to cooperate. But as the teasing and taunting voice reminded her, in tones not unlike those of her former mentor Rumplestiltskin, there was no one watching. She was alone.

Again.

Always.

Enough! She chided herself. This line of thought would get her nowhere.

Upstairs at last she made to move in the direction of her own room but paused as she moved past Henry's doorway.

In an act of sentimentality, the likes of which she reserved solely for her son, she shuffled into Henry's bedroom – inhaling the scent of him as she went and using it as a salve for her wounds.

She limped over to the bed and half fell onto its soft mattress. She stretched her still shaking hands up to wrap around his pillow, pulling it to her body as she curled herself around it.

The hard task of getting upstairs now over, she allowed herself to catalogue the full extent of the damage to her body. Her head was pounding, the pain swelling behind her eyelids and making her vision swim. Hot, sharp jabs were now lighting up inside of her, spreading their wicked tongues into places she didn't even know she could hurt.

Well, she thought, a death curse is generally not intended to be imbibed.

But imbibe it she had. She'd drawn the green and toxic energy into herself and for what? A son who would never again be hers. A boy that now looked into green eyes so different from her own and said "Mom".

In a room that was already losing all signs of Henry's presence, Regina pulled herself into the foetal position and prayed that the curse would work quickly.

That's all for now folks. Let me know if you think it's worth continuing.