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Every damn time.

Every damn time he tells himself he's going to be stronger. Every damn time he takes a deep breath and prepares to say 'no' to what's going to be asked of him. And it doesn't even matter, anymore, which of the Queens it is.

They're all blending together. They're all turning into a tone of voice, a curl of lips, a viciousness that makes him determined to go out and rip the heart from a child. His only consolation is that every damn time, he manages to kill a boar instead.

Not that any of it is real. Was real.

Even here, now, with her--and she's a girl, still; she's a child the way all of the real victims were, trapped in her fairy tale just as much as the rest of them, distinct from the other Handlers who stepped into the role of Wicked Queen--he can feel his spine stiffening. His entire being coming into correctness. His heart lurching painfully with the desire to please, to serve.

It takes a slow exhale before he can lift his hands--and, more importantly, remember where they are. "Not here to make trouble, Erica. Just here to... check in on ya."

Her smile is brief, a knife-flash in the dark in comparison to the sunny masks she offers as smiles to the other Project children.

"That's very sweet of you, Hunter. But you know I don't need it."

Not in the way the others do.

She's growing up. She's got the same sharp glint Marian used to have that got him every time. It hurts somewhere deep in his chest.

"Yeah, you do. More'n some of the rest."

The others, after all, weren't going astray like this. Weren't growing into something which resembled far too much their captors.

She'd argue that that was a good thing; but then, she would given what the Project had ingrained into her very being.

As it is, she'll simply raise her brow at him in mild curiousity, "And what makes you think that?"

"Expect the same things that made you guess I'd show up soon."

This was, after all, the same old story over and over again. Told a million times.

Ending only one of two ways. "End of the day, though, I'm checking on everyone, I guess."

There's a hum in response to that, just an absent one that isn't entirely thoughtful. She nods.

"Makes sense, I suppose. That is what you do, after all."

Every time this tale has been told.

He almost manages to convince himself that what he does is check in on folk. Almost. But they both know what he does.

He follows orders. Really, he follows the orders of Queens.

"You have much of an opinion about what I do?"

"I quite approve of it, when you do it."

And really, they both know she's not talking about checking in on people. More the orders Queens always give-- and yet he always, always seems to work around. She doesn't know why she bothers to try.

Except for the fact that they are trapped in these patterns for who knows how long.

"Glad t' hear it, Erica."

Names have power. Maybe, just maybe, hers--her real name, not any of the names she'd been given--will bring back the sweet little girl he used to know.

"Don't see how I can do what I do without stopping in to see you, mm?"

"Don't call me that."

Because she can't help but feel like a child when he does, just like she can't, for a brief instant, feel like a miller's daughter whenever the other Project children refer to her as such. She knows the power of names far too well.

"But yes. I suppose I understand why you must stop by."

She's in there. It'll take care and effort to get her out again, back from this version of herself to the person he knows she must still be underneath it all. He's got the time and patience.

Slowly. With time. Hopefully before anyone gets hurt.

"That mean you've got something for me to do, Highness?"

She can't help the sharp smile that touches her lips at the use of the name she considers to be her proper one.

"Not at the moment, no. Just.. Continue doing what you are."

Checking on people. Making sure everyone's all right.

For now.

It's not the smartest thing he'll ever do, but then, no defiance of a Queen ever is. Usually, somehow, he survives.

"Take care 'til next time, then, cupcake."

Names don't go away, after all--and hopefully, all names have power.

Her eyes flash dangerously at the nickname, but she doesn't say anything to point out the transgression. Simply lets the warning in her expression and tone speak for itself.

"I'll be seeing you, Hunter."

The lurch at her expression--the flash in her eyes--isn't good. It isn't healthy. It isn't helping her.

It isn't fear.

It's certainly what's got his body reflexively falling into a bow, despite his desire to bring her out of herself.

Maybe someday he'll learn not to love the Queens. Maybe someday he won't look up, however briefly, with blind devotion.

Someday.