Inspiration was lacking lately, just when she needed it most, obviously. She didn't know what she should do for her final project. She had to outdo herself, give all she had, but Regina always ended up ripping apart the canvas she made an attempt on. She usually let the colors and mediums call for her, used her instinct and poured her mind on the blank surface. But nothing good came out of it this time. Stress was slowly claiming her, but anger was definitely expressing itself easily.

She kept trying, but she kept failing. Nothing she produced please her enough to make it her final project. Regina decided she needed to try something new. After a few researches, she found a small art gallery in Storybrooke, a rather secluded town a few miles away from the Art Institute of Boston. After noting the address, she jumped in her car with her sketchpad and pencils, ready to find creativity somewhere outside of Boston.

The city's silhouette gradually transformed into a more natural landscape, until only trees surrounded her. Once she arrived in the small town, she had a hard time finding the gallery and she cursed when she realized she passed in front of it not once, but twice. She got out of her car, sketchpad in hand, and took a deep breath as she looked around. This place seemed oddly familiar, and, for some reason, she liked the vibe of it although she never really considered living in a small town. This one had something more to it, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what was different. Maybe it was its stuck in time aspect, or maybe she just needed to get away from Boston a little bit.

Unusual feelings: whatever they were, they could probably help her find inspiration, right?

With determination and her head held high, Regina walked in the gallery, her black boots clicking on the pale wooden floor. She took a deep breath and turned on her left to start observing the framed artworks. She scrutinized the painting, took notes, drew a few things here and there on her sketchpad to try to spark some ideas up.

The gallery was small, but there was no other visitor and the paintings displayed were amazing. She enjoyed discovering underground artists of all eras, although this time, she particularly appreciated the work of an early 1900′s artist. The color study was amazing and the brush strokes were flawless. Nature was a recurring theme amongst his pieces, but there also was a faceless woman coming back in most of his oil paintings. She felt as if he was trying to tell a story that was haunting him, and she thought that it was the exact feeling she was looking to give to her final project.

She continued to walk around, trying to take in as many details as she could. As she walked towards the next framed painting, she was sketching something on a previously blank page, so she couldn't anticipate what she was about to see. When she looked up, her eyes widened and her pencil stopped moving when she discovered the identity of the mysterious woman seen in the preceding depictions.

She was speechless, standing in the middle of this wide room, in front of her reflection. She forgot to breathe as she saw a perfect replica of herself facing her. It wasn't just some likeliness: it's was a carbon copy of herself. From her eye color to her cheekbones to the shape of her lips and even to her nose: everything was the same. But the most troubling detail was the scar on her upper lip depicted with delicacy.

After a few seconds, she gulped and took a step closer. Regina frowned as she observed the details of the long sleeved emerald dress in which she was dressed in. The lace fabric was barely shown since she was standing sideways and only a part of her upper arm was visible. It was different from the previous works she saw from the same artist: no forest, no lake, no landscape. Just a black background in which her chocolate hair seemed to get a part of its shading from.

She looked in the dark brown eyes in front of her and she had the impression she was standing in front of a picture of herself. Everything was the same and the only thing that was different was the old fashioned dress. How could this woman have the same scar as her? How could she be her?

Regina looked at the informations under the frame and her breath caught in her throat once more.

"Locksley, Robin

My Muse

May 1902

Oil paint on canvas"

Regina came to Storybrooke to find inspiration, but now, she had a mission: she had to discover who this Robin Locksley was.