A Christmasbrooke Tale

Four Hours Until Christmas

The wind howled against her glass window like a pack of wolves worshiping the glow of a full moon. Just outside, the evening was crawling deeper into the night, Christmas Day just lurking around the bend. Yet, still no cheerful snowflakes to help ring in the holiday. Even the air inside her mansion was laced with an icy bite that turned her blood cold.

Her barefeet pad across the plush carpet as she finishes applying the last of the silky lotion into her skin. Another banner Christmas to mark the books and if it weren't for her son, she would swear off the holiday altogether with a firm door slamming shut.

With a heavy heart and stressed filled limbs, she climbs into bed and sinks down into the cold sheets. She just wishes for once in her life, she could slide into a warm bed, with another tender body just waiting to hold her in their arms. That seems like a ridiculous fantasy that slips further and further away with each passing day.

Her body instantly curls into a tight ball, the pain of sheer loneliness finally breaking her down. A few hot tears slip passed her eyelashes and skew down her cheeks, soaking her silk pillowcase in the process. It isn't long before she cries herself to sleep.

~~~~~~~~

A horrendous nightmare of Daniel tears through her sleep and jolts her wide awake. A cold sweat is drenching through her nightgown, leaving shivers to run up and down her back. Her muscles tremble violently while goosebumps erupt across her slick flesh.

She reaches down to pull the duvet over her shoulders, but she freezes instantly when she notices a shadowy figure perched regally at the edge of her bed. Her hand automatically produces a raging flame of orange and red that burns bright enough to light up her bedroom.

"Thanks, I couldn't see a thing in this room," the perky, mousy voice resonates in her ear and even though she would know that voice anywhere, she still doesn't extinguish her fireball.

"Snow? What the hell are you doing in my room?" She shrieks, even though her voice is hoarse from her sleep and wobbling dangerously from her nightmare still fresh in her mind.

The younger woman slowly turns around as Regina gulps back her trepidation. Her snow white complexion comes into view first, her face soft with a warm genuine smile. The jet black hair is what catches her eye, tumbling all the way down to her lower back. This is the Snow White, she knows and hates. A thin crown made up of fresh daisies rests elegantly upon her head and makes her appear so much younger. Brown eyes travel down to take in the long white flowing dress that makes the woman resemble an angel.

"How are you?" Snow kindly asks, leaning forward on one arm, her hand being swallowed up by the thick mattress in the process.

Regina blatantly ignores the obtuse question. "How the hell is your hair so long?" The woman smiles softly, innocently, and shifts onto the bed, crossing her legs as though she were still the small ten year old she met many years ago. "Are you going to answer my damn question? You never even answered the first! Why. Are. You. In. My. Home?"

"Oh, Regina, still an ill-tempered woman I see," Snow mindlessly replies, glancing down to fix her dress and ignoring all of Regina's questions. "I see why I was sent here," she comments, smoothing her palms over the nonexistent wrinkles.

"Are you drunk?" She narrows her eyes and leans forward to inspect those green orbs, checking for any signs of redness or a hazy gloss.

"Don't be silly," the former princess waves her hand dismissively before clasping her fingers perfectly in front of her lower abdomen, just like her mother taught her.

Regina tilts her head to the side as she assess the young woman one more time, really inspecting her posture and demeanor. She is all Snow White and not a hint of Mary Margaret.