A/N: Hope everyone is doing well, enjoy! :)

"Henry," She knocks on the door. "Henry it's Emma."

The door cracks open, Henry's eyes are wide and brow knitted in confusion. He looks disheveled as if Emma had just woken him up from bed. I probably did , she thinks. "Emma?" He asks, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

She looks at him with bags under his eyes and tousled hair, she suddenly feels bad for waking him up to ask such a silly question but she's already done the worse so might as well ask. "Actually Henry, I was wondering whose image was hanging in the room. The Mills Room, the portrait of the woman."

Henry looks at her strangely, of all the things he could have possibly guessed she would have a question about, the portrait hanging in the room was not one of them. Then again it was early morning so perhaps this was all a dream anyway. No, he thinks. Emma is very real and very much in front of him asking a question about an old portrait. Yes, this was too odd to be a dream. "Regina. Regina Mills." Henry answers. "She used to perform plays here in her youth all the way up until her late twenties. After that she stopped performing though no one ever knew why."

"Huh." She says, as she absentmindedly fiddles with her locket, "I wonder why?". She stares out towards the lake, watching the sun rise above it and cast a reflection across its waves. The lake glistens in the morning sun and Emma understands why people wake early to see its beauty.

Henry looks at her speechless. His eyes following her movements and landing on the unmistakable piece of jewelry around her neck. He never thought that he would ever see that locket again yet here it is worn on the neck of a beautiful blonde stranger. "Where did you get that?" He asks, his voice trembles a little.

"Oh, this?" Emma says, pointing to her locket, "Well there's a story behind it actually, on the night of my debut show an old woman, who I've never met before, gave it to me." Henry gives her a wide eyed look which Emma mistakes as confusion. "I know, that's weird right?" She continues, "I never had the heart to give it away and I never had anyway of tracking down the woman who gave it to me so now I just wear it everyday. It's become kinda like my lucky charm, almost." She chuckles, as though it's a story she's told many times before it's meaning nearly lost on her.

"And this show," Henry says carefully, the puzzle pieces moving in his head, "Happened about eight years ago in Boston."

"Yeah." Emma says, as she tears her eyes away from the sunrise. "Wait," She snaps as she suddenly looks at Henry, almost defensively, "How did you know that? I never mentioned it was in Boston."

Henry sighs, opening his front door wider, urging her to come inside. "Because I was the one who took her there." He sighs deeply, unknown feelings bubbling up inside of him. His eyes are clouded with sadness and an emotion she can't quite identify.

"Took who?"

"Regina."

Emma's eyes go wide as she stands there even more confused and perplexed than before this whole ordeal even started. Her head cocks to one side a little and brows furrow even more. Henry looks at her sympathetically, he could see the wheels turning so hard in the woman's head he could swear he sees a little bit of steam coming from her ears. "Come inside." He says waving a hand to follow him. "It seems we have a lot to talk about."

Emma trails after Henry as they enter his house. It's a cute, little house, cozy and simplistic. It has a fireplace, a bookcase, and a few chairs. She sits down in one of the old wicker chairs and Henry sits across from her.

"So," Emma says slowly as if not completely comprehending the situation, "You're telling me that the woman in the picture, who has been stuck in my head ever since I arrived here is...Regina Mills? The same woman who gave me this locket eight years ago?"

Henry looks at her as if he has only just come to the same conclusion. "Well, yes."

That's it. That's all it took for it to finally hit the blonde. That simple reply to cause the realization to crash on her so hard and fast that she was sure that at any moment she was going to burst a blood vessel. Her mind was spinning so fast that everything else felt almost slow. "You mean you drove her for hours to see a play written by a nobody and asked no questions?"

Henry nods slowly as though now realizing how crazy it all sounded. "I would do anything for her, Regina was like a second mother to me. She would always be watching out for me, making sure I never got into too much trouble." Henry chuckles, remember his past youth and childhood days, the memories clouding his eyes, "I remember her wiping my face as I ran past her or bandaging my knee when I fell out of a tree or getting ice cream-" He stops suddenly, recognition flickering behind his eyes.

"Are you okay?" Emma ventures.

He turns towards her slowly and it's as if he's seeing her for the first time in many years with his smile that's even brighter than before, and his eyes softening with a look of familiarity. He's looking at her as though he knows her, his brown eyes full of so much emotion and fondness and she swears she's seen this look before.

"Yes. I'm fine. I just remembered something is all." He says and his knowing eyes are glimmering, "Are you sure we've never met before?"

Emma shakes her head, "I don't think so."

He is still sitting there smiling with his signature knowing look but this time a hint of sadness pricks at his features.

"Henry," Emma says unsure as how to ask the thousands of questions now burning in her mind, "I want to- where can I find out more about her?" She says quickly, expecting a curious gaze from the man but is instead met with a soft smile.

His eyes crinkle at the edges, amusement flooding his features at the fluster and barely contained curiosity he could tell she was trying to hide. "I can help you more than that."

Her brows furrow and she opens her mouth to speak before he cuts her off, "Let me change first and I'll meet in you in the lobby in about fifteen minutes." He all but pushes the blonde out of his house and suddenly she's standing there wide eyed on his wooden porch, her mind racing more than it ever has. Her gaze drifts over towards the lake once more, the blue water glimmering like crystals under the light of the rising sun. She closes her eyes and lingers for a moment, feeling the warmth of the sunrise as sun beams hit her leather jacket and rays caress her skin. She opens her eyes again, green eyes clearer than before and she walks away from the house and towards the hotel.


Emma waits for him in the hotel lobby, her hands in her jean pockets as she leans against one of the public sofas. She stands there people watching, watching the parade of people walk in and out of the seemly quiet and charming hotel. For such a small town there sure are a lot of people, Emma thinks before seeing a couple of guests leave in cosplay costumes. Oh, right, she remembers, there's a convention going on nearby. She continues to pass the time this way until Henry finally walks through the hotel doors.

"Sorry to keep you." He says, struggling to catch his breath. "I had a hard time finding the key. Shall we?" He continues as he leads the way up flights of stairs and down a series of elaborate halls. The pair finally stop in front of the door that leads them to the top suite of the hotel. "I figured that instead of anyone telling you about her life, who better do it than Regina herself," he says, his eyes shining with amusement.

Before Emma has a chance to ask what he means Henry unlocks the door and she is met with the sight of the most beautiful room that she has ever seen. It is large, spacious, too big to be a room and resembles more of a open floor apartment. It is light and airy with bookcases lined with collections from around the world, books on mathematics, physics, astronomy, language, anything anyone could think of.

Where am I? Emma thinks as she strokes the spines of the giant collection.

She looks back at the man who is now watching her carefully as she ventures deeper into the room, "Henry was this-"

"Yes." He replies, "All of this was hers. I figured if you wanted to know more that something in here might just help you."

It was odd, she thinks, that this room that had seemly been untouched for several years still had the feeling of life course through it. It was as if any moment she was expecting Regina herself to walk out and stand before her. Time in this room felt that it has stopped one breezy summer day, the air flowing through the thin white curtains, the laughter of people from below the balcony, all of this seemed to have be captured in a moment and remain. "I'm surprised the room stayed the same." Emma says, glancing at Henry.

He looks at her, his brows furrowing together, "What do you mean?"

Emma sweeps a hand over the bookcase, "That no one moved any of her things out and it's still hers ."

Henry's looks at her like she proposed something taboo, "No one would dare. Regina was apart of the hotel, to pack up her stuff and store it always felt almost sacrilegious. The room has been like this since the moment she died."

Emma says nothing as walks around the room some more, examining everything that once belonged to Regina. Pictures of her and young boy hang on the wall, Henry , she thinks foldly as well as a picture of her and a much older woman.

"Henry." Emma says and he turns to face her, "Who's this woman in the picture?" In the image the older woman stands behind a seated Regina, her hand gripping her shoulder possessively. Regina is young in this photo, even younger than her portrait in the room. She must be around eighteen or so, her youth radiating like sunlight throughout the image in stark contrast to the older woman's coldness which Emma could feel even now.

"That's Regina's mother and manager Cora." Henry says, glancing at the photo, "Real piece of work people told me. I don't remember much of her other than she scared the hell out of me." His eyes widen slightly at the memory of her.

She stands there a moment, gazing at the young girl in the photo. Her pink full lips and bright eyes, her skin a youthful glow. She's looks different than the portrait downstairs, there she looks like a woman, here she looks like a girl. "Henry, how- when did she die?"

Henry looks at her with pain across his features, as if weighing options in his mind. Emma stares blankly at him awaiting an answer and with a long sigh he tells her, "On the night of your show. Eight years ago."

The words hit Emma like a slap and suddenly she feels sick as she stumbles around and crashes on the nearby sofa. She is breathing hard and her hands have begun to shake. She tries to remember the last words that she said to the woman, what she said to her but she can't think right now. All she can do is feel as her body is wracked with emotion for reasons she doesn't understand. Of course Emma didn't expect her to be alive now, she would be close to one hundred by now but she didn't expect was for her to be one of the last people on this Earth to see the woman alive. To feel her touch or be captured in her eyes. Everything suddenly felt so wrong. As if Earth's axis had tilt but she only now had understood what that meant.

Henry says nothing as makes his way to the curio cabinet that is nestled in the corner of the room. "I want to show you something." He says pulling out a small yet delicate music box. It's solid white with a gold trim and a swan is painted on the cover not dissimilar to the locket she now wears.

"This was hers." He says sliding the box into her still shaking hands, "Created in memory of her first and only love." He winds it up, turning the knob over and over again until it can't anymore. His fingers lingering on the lid.

"Really? Who was he?" She asks, tears pricking at her eyes and Henry barks out a deep belly laugh.

"No no no. Not a he , a her. This was made for her." He says and before Emma can ask another question Henry opens the box and the melody begins to play. She has to hold herself back from letting a gasp escape her lips. Her head feels like it is spinning and she doesn't understand anything at all.

Emma was young when she first heard this song. One of her foster families had an affinity for classical music, said it helped to nurture the soul or some other claim she had dismissed. Although she would admit she found them odd at the time, they were one of her better foster homes. Throughout the house the radio would play these songs that Emma used to treat as background noise, playing no mind to the orchestras that echoed. That was until one day she heard this melody on the radio. She must have been around ten or eleven years old at the time. Emma had been sent home early, consequences from being apart of a school fight and she sat on the couch anxiously awaiting to tell her foster parents even though she knew the school had called them already.

She sat there as she nervously gripped the couch, her knuckles turning white, the anxiety in her growing like a volcano and ready to explode at any time. She never finished her homework on time, she would spill the milk at dinner, she didn't get perfect grades, there was no way they would overlook this. She knew that when she told them that she would be sent away to another school with another family in another house that would never feel like a home. Discarded carelessly as though her life had meant nothing at all. Yet despite these thoughts shooting through her mind, Emma nearly forgot them all as this song came to play on the radio.

The song seemed to wrap itself around her, soothing all her fears and anxieties. Each note danced and melted on her skin, leaving her body feeling calm yet bright. As if everything was going to be okay somehow. It was what she imagined love to feel like; this strong and confident thing which burrowed itself inside and gave you reasons to live, reasons to be happy. The song played through the empty house and at once she felt peace, hope, feelings she scarcely ever allowed herself to feel , even now decades later. Since then this song has always been hers and the last thing Emma expected was to hear it from the music box of a stranger who seemed to be becoming less and less of one.

"Emma, are you okay?"

She looks at him, tears threatening to spill from her eyes, "I'm fine." She says but her lips are wavering and she's trying hard to keep her voice even. Henry looks at her patiently, a secret wisdom bubbling up from inside him. "It's just that this is my favorite song in the whole wide world."

"Huh. What are the odds of that?" But Henry doesn't sound surprised and Emma is too compromised to notice.

"Who was she?" She says, staring into his eyes, "This woman that she loved?" She asks as she wipes her tears on the sleeve of her red leather jacket, struggling to compose herself. She was never an easy one to cry yet it seems this place has opened up heart and all Emma can do now is feel.

"Oh, I don't remember." He says nonchalantly, his eyes sweeping over to look anywhere but her, "I was only five at the time." He says and for some reason her inner lie detector rings but she's not sure why he would lie about this.

Henry speaks again, his voice low and sad, "I actually had forgotten what she looked like until recently, it's been so long." He stops, pain flickering behind his brown eyes, shame clouding his features, "I don't know how but time it seems had nearly erased her from my memory. A woman who brought so much joy to my life and most of all Regina's. That locket was the only thing Regina had to remind herself of her. It was her most prized possession."

Emma says nothing as the song finishes and she hands Henry back the music box. "But none of this makes any sense. Why would she give me this locket that she cared for so deeply to a complete stranger?"

Henry shakes his head, unable to come up with an answer, "You would have to ask her that yourself. I honestly have no idea." He says as he stands up and makes his way to the door.

She continues to sit there a moment, catching her breath and calming herself down, "Do you mind if I stay here for a while. Just for the day, I promise I won't break anything."

Henry looks at her sympathetically, before nodding his head, "Of course, Emma, stay as long as you need." He says before opening the door and leaving the blonde alone with her thoughts.

He returns later that night, knocking lightly on the door before turning the knob, "Emma?" He says as he walks into the room. The moonlight had trickled through the thin, white curtains, providing little illumination to the otherwise dark room. Books and images were scattered along the floor, articles published about her work as an actress and her life, detailing her career from the age of eighteen until the moment she quit. Pictures of her through her childhood which seemed to be numerous until her late twenties where they soon became few and far in between. Emma had also managed to find an old newspaper clipping from her junior college days. The article detailing her competition win was still intact but the image above it was gone.

He spies the blonde laying on the couch, an arm resting under her head and the other on a picture in front of her face. It's an image of Regina. The same photo from the room down stairs but shot at a different angle and perhaps a different person. It's still Regina smiling that brilliant smile but this time she is looking towards something or someone rather. The face of the person unseen but a wave of long blonde hair visible in the corner.

Henry smiles to himself, he hoped that she would find this, as he grabs a blanket from the couch and drapes it over the sleeping woman, "Emma." He whispers, "Her name was Emma."