In Storybrooke:
"Papa, what was Mommy like?"
Jefferson turned around. Little Grace was standing there in his studio, in her nightgown, holding her bunny, her toes curled under. She was supposed to be in bed, upstairs, but she was standing here. He looked down at his little girl with bewilderment, but soon shook his head and smiled. He led her into the living room and sat her down. She peered over her bunny's ears and looked at him. He sat down on the couch and rested his elbows on his knees and folded his hands. He opened his mouth to speak, but his mouth went dry and his stomach twisted in knots.
He didn't know what to say about his wife. Her name, he had long since refused to even utter he was so distraught by her loss. But, determined to tell his little girl about her mother, he brought himself to say her name again.
"Your mother, Elora," he started, but almost choked.
"Papa, are you okay?" Grace asked, looking at him with concern. Jefferson looked at her and smiled, rubbing his neck. He cleared his throat and started again.
"Your mother, well, she was very beautiful..."
The Enchanted Forest:
Jefferson sat in the market, trying to sell the hats he had made, but no one seemed to want them. He slumped on his chair and dropped his chin into his hand, grumbling miserably. He looked at the ground in front of his stall and saw a long brown skirt come into view. Jefferson looked up and saw the most beautiful girl standing in front of him. She smiled at him and opened her small pouch. Taking out two gold coins, she placed them on the table and picked up the hat in front of her.
It was a sloping top hat made of crushed velvet, wide at the top, with a curved brim and a pink satin ribbon. She leaned over the stall and placed it on his head, his face one of utter bewilderment.
"Wha..what are you...?" he asked, stuttering.
"People won't buy them unless they know what they look like on," the girl smiled. "By the way, I think that hat looks good on you," she added. She turned around and walked away, smiling over her shoulder and waving as she went. He looked at her leave and she disappeared into the crowd.
"Miss me already?" said a soft voice behind him. He felt hands on his shoulders and he turned around to see her standing there, her face close to his. She smiled and stepped back, pulling up another chair and hanging her cloak on a hook.
"Need any help?" she asked. All Jefferson could do was sit there and stare at her. She chuckled and picked up a pretty blue hat and placed it on her head, tipping it forward on her head. It looked quite pretty against her black hair. Jefferson looked at her and she smiledm turning back to the stall.
"Oh! I never told you my name!" she smiled. "I'm Elora." She held her hand out and Jefferson took it, trying to be polie, but at the same time not awkward.
It was late by the time the two headed back. He hadn't sold any hats, but he earned something more. The companionship of a beautiful woman. Elora was perfect in his eyes. They went to a local tavern for dinner and, proclaiming she had to get home, he took her back to her home.
It was a modest place, by the coast, a small beachfront cottage. And lovely on the inside.
"Its just me living here. Since I live close to the market and you probably have to be there tomorrow..." she started, but Jefferson cut her off.
"I live quite a distance, at least a day's journey from here," he started, implying that he wished to stay overnight.
Elora beamed. "You're welcome to stay here," she offered. Jefferson smiled.
"Your hospitality is too great," he complimented. "I am not going to sell at the market tomorrow, but I wish to stay all the same, and get an early atart back home tomorrow morning," Jefferson added. Elora knew it was all just a ploy to stay over night, but she saw no harm in it, so she let him stay.
"You can sleep down here. I will find a mat for you. Or there is my brother's bedroom upstairs. He left for the ogre wars a few months ago and was killed on the battlefields. Its time I open that room once more," she said, smiling through her grief.
As he continued, Grace listened intently to the story of her mother.
"In wish I could've met her before she died," she said mournfully. Jefferson looked at Grace with a sad look in his eye. "I know how much you loved her, Papa. I can see it in your eyes."
Jefferson pulled her into a tight hug, closing his eyes. She was the only thing he had left of his wife. The one person he treasured above anyone else. If he lost Grace, her daughter, their child that... Even at the thought of her made his eyes sting hot with tears.
"Now go to bed. Its late. I will tell you more tomorrow," he whispered. Grace smiled softly and nodded, hugging his round the neck and kissing his forehead before leaving the parlour. Once she was gone, Jefferson stood and walked to a picture on the window sill. It was a sketch of Elora that he had made when she was still alive. It was her, facing over his shoulder,her left cheek to him, her eyes off in the distance, her mouth smiling widely.
He loved to sketch her. She was the perfect model. A tear leaked out of his eye and Jefferson wiped it away hastily and harshly, trying to be brave for his little Grace. But it was so hard. Elora was gone. The light of his life and his reason for living snatched from him so early.
The next morning, there was a sharp rapping at the front door to the large home and, Jefferson, dragging himself out of bed, plodded downstairs in his burgundy silk pajamas and ran a hand through his messy hair as he reached the front door. He opened it and looked around. When he saw no one, he made to close the door, but a the welcome mat drew his attention. Stooping to pick it up, he brought it inside and closed the front door.
He took the package to his studio and cut it open with a pair of scissors.. Inside the package was a note and a small object wrapped in bubble paper. Unfolding the note he read it over quickly.
I believe this is yours somehow was the only thing the note said. Opening the bubble paper first, he pulled out a porcelain figurine of a woman dancing, her arms up as though blocking something. He looked closely at the face and nearly dropped it. They were the same colour as Elora's.
