#blanchardsnow

send me some ‘what if' scenarios you'd like to see involving my character and i'll write a drabble/starter about it 

        it's strange, returning here. the castle appears even more imposing than it had when she had reigned as queen, by leopold's side. oh, she hadn't loved the king but she had cared for him, and he her. snow, though -- the mere thought of her step-daughter brought tears to her eyes and a pang in her heart.

it wasn't regina's fault the child had lost her mother, it wasn't her decision to take eva's place, and she had tried her best to make it easier on the princess. evidently, she hadn't done as well as she had thought. heart beating wildly, her palms are sweaty and there's a slight tremor as she's led towards the new queen, the evil queen.

        oh, how snow has changed. how bitterness has painted her heart black and it hurt for regina to see her like this. a part of her wanted to believe there was still good there, that the queen was still that little girl who had smiled so widely and had played so freely. how did she not see the darkness that grew within her step-daughter? had regina not seen it in her own mother once upon a time?

       shoved forward, regina glanced over her shoulder as she watched the black knights retreat from the room. if there were ever a moment that she needed daniel more, it was now. the stable boy turned prince could ease her nerves. and thought it felt wrong, her husband having died not a year earlier, she couldn't help who she fell in love with.

       gaze lifting, a sharp inhale ghosted over her lips as she spied snow on the throne, dressed in black and red and oozing a sense of power regina herself had once possessed. meeting the eyes of her former step-daughter, regina flinched.

                 such coldness,                          such bitterness,                                        such hate.

      "snow..." trying to speak had proved to be the wrong move, as within moments she was bound and dragged forward. regina herself was a novice with magic, having refused to touch the dark arts and become like her mother before her. but snow... snow did not have such morals. and regina wondered where she had learned to be so cruel. flinching again, her gaze fixed on a shiny red apple resting on the arm of the throne, no doubt picked from her own beautiful tree that still stood within the courtyard.

                           apparently, snow white had a sense of humour.

       "snow, please..." but begging did no good, for no good resided within the new queen -- not from what regina could see. she listened half-hearted, gaze still fixated on the apple, as snow revered her with all her wrong doings -- wrong doings she felt wrongly accused of. it seemed, despite the darkness that had claimed snow white prisoner, even she could not kill the former queen. no -- eternal sleep would be her fate. for why should regina get to join snow's mother and corrupt her as regina had corrupted snow?

        a threat hung in the air between them, the promise of more death and innocents injured, and regina closed her eyes. she was their queen, not snow. and she would make good on her promise to leopold, to protect them as he once did. reaching out, she took the apple with shaking hands and lifted it to her lips, eyes fluttering open to meet the cold ones of her now enemy. whispered words slipped from her lips as regina refused to look away, refused to let snow win in that regard.

                        "i'm sorry..."

   He heard tell of the fair princess nearly a year ago, of her kindness and beauty, and though he often wondered what it might be like to meet her, he knew that a thief would never be granted admission to the royal court. Their paths would never cross; he was resigned to that fact, and began trying to extinguish the idea from his mind. 

   Completely by accident, though, a trek through the woods inadvertently put him in the way of her royal carriage, and rather than incur her condemnation - so many royals would have treated him as inferior - it was she who apologized for nearly running him over. Truthfully, he should have been more on his guard, but he was grateful for her kindness, and thought it to be an auspicious first meeting. Her smile was as radiant as the rumors said, somehow warming him from the inside out. He was deeply in trouble now, he knew, taking a liking to a princess far above his station, but he bid her adieu with a heartfelt wish that she be well.

10. My muse will give up their voice to fall in love with your muse.

"Think ‘e’s dead?"

The voices were distant, then, but they came with an accent that Baelfire surely would have raised his eyebrows at, had he been fully aware of the situation. They spoke a language similar to the one he was familiar with, but with a very peculiar cadence to it, almost foreign. Almost?

"Poke’m with a stick an’ find out. ‘Ere, lemme at it."

There was a dull sensation to the boy’s left side, before it became so sharp it shook him back to full consciousness in a snap of a moment. The scruffy-looking youth sat up, rubbing his head and blinking a few times in attempt to regain grip on the situation. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was—-the portal, of course. He’d opened a portal between worlds with a magic bean with the intention of taking his father to this new world without magic, but…

The memory was too fresh on his mind, so fresh it made him wince. In stead, he decided to focus on the situation at hand. Jolting upward, he startled the band of boys that had been hovering over his crumpled-up and unconscious body just moments ago.

"It lives!"

Bae frowned at the remark; what an odd thing to say.

"I am no ‘it’. W—-who are you? Where am I?"

The boys exchanged glances, before throwing a collective, questioning -and perhaps slightly ridiculing- look in his direction. The boy that had called him an ‘it’ spoke up once more.

"Are you daft, or what? Your mum drop you on the head? Why, look around you, kid; you’re in London."

Of course, Baelfire didn’t need further urging to indeed look around, studying his surroundings for as far as his gaze could stretch, and he frowned in conclusion that, in contrast with his homeland, the horizon was clouded by buildings, and the streets were as crowded as a small village on a market day—-perhaps even more crowded. But what puzzled him more was the odd name the older boy had given him.

"What’s a London?”