A/N: Hey people! I don't have much to say in advance. This idea popped into my mind some time ago and I actually haven't had the intention to publish it. Maybe you'll like it. My other story Goodbye to Yesterday will be updated soon as well. All mistakes are mine!

Chapter 1

People express themselves in so many ways. They let their emotions out, release what is captured inside their hearts. It is what keeps them going. It is what gives them safety, what makes them strong.

As often as possible Emma Swan would stand in front of that window and watch them. This group of dancers. It was modern dance what they were performing. She had looked it up on YouTube. Two girls from her school were among the dancers, she knew them from passing them in the school corridors.

The rough autumn winds blew through the streets of New York City and urged the blonde to bury her nose deep in her scarf. The crisp air cut into her throat, but it made her feel alive.

Those dancers, young girls, maybe her age, some could be older, some could be younger. They looked so fragile and graceful, light as feathers. Their movements were as fluent as water, wild like a river streaked by the most forceful current, but also calm and balanced like an endless ocean. There was fire in every step, flaring in their eyes and they had most carefree smile.

Emma could hardly hear the music, but it was enough. The nightly traffic blarred up to her hiding spot, a flat roof of a small building next to the brick building with the room full of dancers.

She wished she was one them. She wished she could be able to join them. To learn how to move like that.

Her fingertips felt numb and she tried to move every digit to regain some feeling.

The dancers were on the ground, sitting indian style, others streching their limbs, but all of them watching the dancing instructor as she corrected seen mistakes and showed another row of steps and movements. It seemed like she was floating through the air, no effort needed, concentrated and lost in thoughts, her mind far away.

Emma tried to keep all her movements in mind, she always did that. Later at night she would try to recreate what she had seen in her room, trying not to be too loud while stumbling over her own feet.

The blonde loved to watch her. All of these dancers had their own style and looked elegant in their motion, but she had some kind of special aura around her. At least that was Emma's opinion.

Sometimes the brunette woman stayed after class, practicing on her own. Spinning, leaping, doing excises on the ballett barre and dancing whole choreograpies, putting so much emotion in them and using so much elegant force, it had brought tears to Emma's eyes and made her hold her breath.

Once she had drawn her in her sketch book during class, but pretended it to be just some random dancer.

The dancers had gathered on the ballett barre, streching their legs and feet, when the instructor finally dismissed them, praising their hard work, even hugged a few of them and guided them out, a genuine smile grazing her lips. She seemed to really care for them.

Emma tightened her jacket and decided to wait just a few more minutes. She should head home. Her homework had to be done as well as some household chores. The Blanchards were good people, whom she loved dearly. They had adopted her after being her foster family for almost 3 years. She had been with them since she was five years old. After her foster mum, Mary Margaret had found out she is pregnant, Emma had feared the worst. She had cried all night and had started to pack her tiny red backpack. It was also that night when David and Mary Margaret had asked her if she was interested in staying with them. As a real family. If Emma wanted to be a big sister and, even if they wouldn't have much money, if she was okay with them adopting her. The little blonde girl had clung to her backpack, not sure if they were being honest with her. But they had managed it until this day. There have been several low points, lots of worries but they had never given up. And none of them had ever regretted the decision they had made ten years ago.

Emma's gaze had drifted off, as well as her thoughts, and she focused back on the dancing brunette. The lights were dimmed and soft piano keys reached her ears. The dark haired dancer swirled across the room, her graceful movements flowing with a melancholic touch.

Emma got up, she couldn't sit any longer. Her legs felt frozen. She really had to go but she didn't dare to tear her gaze away. But finally she forced herself to move. She'd be back here tomorrow.

Regina came to the ground, panting and sweating. She had danced her heart out. Again. It kept her sane. She needed it like one needs air for breathing. The music had faded out, the only noise that reached her ears now was the muffled sound of the traffic. Still breathing heavily she threw a glance at the clock.

8:37 p.m.

The brunette elongated her legs and began her streching exercises, her mind at ease and her breathing getting even again.

The girls had been great today. She was so proud. Some were still hesitant, others too determined. But they all seemed to share her passion for dancing. One of them, Ruby, was on her best way to a professional carreer.

She could still remember herself when she was their age. She'd practice every night. Every single night.

Her mother's countless attempts to convince her to enter the family's company had encouraged her even more to train harder.

Eventually she made it to The Julliard School to study dance. Her dad had been so proud. He still was. He had watched every single performance of her, never missed one. Unlike her mother. Ironically she had been to one to introduce her to the art of dancing, because every upper class girl could use a decent ballett education, right?

Regina let out a soft sigh, got up and slowly made her way to the large window. The nighty sky was crystal clear, no clouds to cover the billion stars. She leaned her forehead against the cool window pane and closed her eyes. She was exhausted. Physically, of course. But also mentally. Regina Mills was a lonely woman. Sure, she had her friends, whom she loved dearly. And all her students. From children aged 3 to her girls she had just sent home.

But when she went home, there was no-one. She'd eat alone, probably watching some TV show or reading a book. Maybe catch up on the news.

Another sigh escaped her lips and she pushed herself from the window to gather her things and head home.

Emma inserted the key into the keyhole and let herself in, hoping her parents weren't mad at her for being late. Again.

She didn't want them to know where she went every night. They assumed she spent the time with friends or in the library, because she might have mentioned it once or twice.

Emma would never dare to ask them to pay for dancing lessons. They had done so much for her, she didn't want to appear presumtuous.

"Emma?" Mary Margaret's voice sounded from the kitchen, while Emma kicked her shoes off and hang her jacket on the coathook.

"Yeah, sorry I'm late. I got caught up in...some stuff for school!"

"It's alright, honey. Come get your dinner!"

Emma shuffled into the kitchen, gave her parents and brother a kiss, and slid into her seat.

"Emma, I got an A in maths today!" Henry beamed at her, all excited and bouncing in his seat.

The little boy adored his older sister from head to toe. He knew that she was adopted but never cared. He was born into that family and Emma has always been there. She'd always be his big sister, no matter what.

"Really?! You really kinda get this stuff, don't you? I'm proud of you, Henry!" Emma gave him a smile while taking the plate Mary Margaret offered her with a small "Thanks, Mum!"

Dinner went as smooth as always with Henry telling everyone about his day at school, David telling stories from the animal shelter and Mary Margaret sharing witty anekdotes from elemantary school. Emma kept silent for most of the time, answering a few questions here and there and staring into the small dancing flame of the tealight in the middle of the table.

After helping her parents to do the dishes she excused herself to do her homework and to get an early goodnight sleep.

Emma had this thing with candles. Every night she'd illuminate a few to place them in her room, while trying to remember the steps the brunette dance instructor had shown to her group.

So Emma Swan stood next to her bed - the small candles throwing quavering shadows over her tense form - trying to recreate the fluent motion she had seen while gazing out of her window at the nighty sky and its billion stars.