I wanted her dead, but I wanted her alive long enough to torture. I hated her golden hair, her infectious smile, her laugh. I wanted her dead. At least, that's what I told myself.

In August, my luck ran out. I'd been tracking the Charmings for months, to no avail. Do close... and yet... the bastards seemed to slip away every time I got near. I wanted them all dead. Snow, Charming, Emma... I didn't care who was first. I just wanted them to suffer. I killed many guards that month, blaming them for their failure to capture Snow and her family. Of course, my son Henry knew none of this. He simply thought his mother and the rest of his family had abandoned him. My feigned sympathy won me his love, and even his affection, and I was glad for that. He was the only thing I cared about, other than bringing suffering to my enemies.

Finally, in December, I caught a break. My head guard tracked them to a small camp at the far edge of the forest. The imbecile was only able to capture the daughter, but he brought her to me alive, which was what I had ordered. At least they followed one direction. I commended him for his work, praising his skill and prowess. Then, for failing to bring me her parents, I snapped his neck and laughed as it cracked, reveling the malice of it all as his corpse dropped to the stone floor of the palace. The two guards below him in rank - his friends - carried his body out into the snow. I ordered them to stab him until the blanket of white was soaked red with his blood, a warning to the rest of my intellectually-challenged army of men.

She was presented to me sliced up, bleeding everywhere - all over my goddam carpets - as she'd been greatly injured in the fight she'd put up when she was captured. I was furious.

"You FOOLS! I said ALIVE, not bleeding and half-dead!" I screamed.

Something about shouting at them gave me great satisfaction. I relished the way they quivered in fear before me, knowing their lives were on the line and could be taken at any moment.

"Next time, bring them to me CLEAN. And get this blood off my carpet before it stains!"

The woman's bright green eyes looked dark, and there were black circles around her eyes from what I assume was exhaustion. Tens of men facing off against three of them when they were weak and nearly starving was no match. I smirked at the thought of the fight, watching it play out in my mind. She knelt before me and looked as if she might faint, which amused me.

"Tired, Miss Swan? Perhaps some rest will do you well." I turned to my guards and ordered, "Take her to the dungeons, and make sure no one feeds her."

Too weak to stay awake, she slept, even on the cold stone floor. Her cheek would have been ice cold from the rock beneath it, and I smiled to think of how uncomfortable it must have been to lay on her wounds and bruises. When I visited her down in the dungeons, she was groaning in her sleep. My laugh woke her up, and she startled, reaching for her belt to grab the sword that wasn't there. I kept laughing. In all the time I'd known her, I'd never seen her look so defeated.

"Where's Henry?" she demanded. "Let me see my son."

I cackled and replied, "That isn't going to happen. After all, he thinks you abandoned him. He has no idea you've been plotting his kidnapping this entire time. And he will never know. He'll also never know when you're dead."

She scowled at me, fire flaming in her eyes. I loved the passion I saw there. It challenged me to match her fury, and I was more than glad to oblige. The game had begun. Cat and mouse was over, and she was finally mine, putty between my fingers.

"What's the matter, Miss Swan? Are you upset about something?"

Her face flashed with anger. I enjoyed the way her brow furrowed as she glared at me. It was all too clear the hate she felt in her heart towards me, and I was happy to share that loathing with her. After all, what is a villain without her enemies? I couldn't imagine myself without my spite and rage. I reasoned that she couldn't either. Our hate was a bond between us that could not be broken. It defined us.

"I want to see my son," she repeated.

I gripped the bars of her cell and promised, "You will never see my son again."

"He's my son."

"Hardly," I quipped. "You may have given birth to him, but he will always be my little boy, and you will never really be his mother."

I watched defeat in her eyes as victory filled mine. I felt my heart would burst with satisfaction as I watched her breaking. I wanted to see her suffer, and my desire produced a thirst in me I could not quench.

"Why don't you just kill me?" she asked.

"Because I want you to suffer until you beg for death." I turned to my guard and demanded, "Bind her wrists until the rope digs into her skin."