Robin Locksley sat staring at a blank canvas. He was an amateur painter who loved to paint, but lately, he'd been lacking inspiration. It seemed that he had painted everything he possibly could, from the most picturesque landscapes to still life paintings. His best friend, John Little, who always enjoyed his paintings and told him that one day he would be the next Picasso, was begging him to come up with another masterpiece so he could hang it in his home or give it as a gift to someone. John's wife, Marian, enjoyed artwork, so John was always asking Robin to paint for her, and those pieces inevitably were hung throughout their home, an act which both embarrassed and pleased Robin.
The problem was, Robin didn't have many people in his life that he could use as inspiration for his artwork. He had never been married and had always wanted children, but feared he'd never be able to give them everything they wanted, so he had never adopted. Both of his parents had passed away in a car accident when he was only fourteen as well and he had no siblings, so he had no family. So although he enjoyed the company of others, he was lonely because he had no one special to share his life with. John and Marian were his only friends, and he never wanted to bother them often because he knew they enjoyed time spent together as much as their time with him.
Looking out onto the bustling street below, Robin decided to go for a walk. Surely, the avenues and alleys of his busy town would be enough to provide inspiration for his next painting. Grabbing a sketchpad and pencils, he walked out the door.
He started meandering through the town, trying to find a good vantage point from which to sketch whatever aspect of the scenery around him caught his eye. He settled at an outdoor table in the central square, one with a perfect view of the fountain that resided in the plaza's center.
The fountain was made of granite, a gift from a wealthy benefactor to the town many years ago. It had always fascinated Robin. Artist that he aspired to be, whether that was through words or pictures, he couldn't help admiring another artist's work, even if sculpting wasn't his preferred medium. A bottlenose dolphin leapt from the base of the fountain, streams of water flowing from its mouth and fins, creating ripples in the water below as children dipped their fingers in the fountain under the watchful eyes of their parents and guardians. While some smiled at the scene, others quickly hurried their children away, pulling out hand sanitizer for the younger generation's reluctant use.
Robin, like all the best artists, learned and worked best through observation. As he sat watching the square around him, he spotted a young boy who was perhaps eight years old running up to the fountain. The boy had brown hair and fair skin and was wearing a red sweatshirt and jeans, with tennis shoes that matched his sweatshirt exactly. As Robin watched, he took something, likely a coin, from his pocket, holding it in his hand. Robin watched the boy's profile as he held up the coin, which Robin now saw was silver, closed his eyes, and after a moment, tossed the coin into the fountain.
To Robin, it seemed as if the coin fell in slow motion, casting a blinding light as it caught the light of the sun when it spun in the air before falling into the rippling fountain below. It made a splash that caused the boy to laugh with delight, a joyous smile on his face that Robin couldn't help but envy. He wished that he was that happy again, full of a childlike innocence that the events of his life had stripped away from him long ago.
A moment later, Robin and the boy were both startled by the sudden sound of a woman, presumably the boy's mother, as she called, "Henry, time to go home!"
A woman walked up to where the boy, whose name was apparently Henry, was standing by the fountain's edge. Once he saw her, Robin found that he didn't have the strength to look away, even if he had wanted to.
The woman was dressed all in black, and the pristine appearance of her outfit spoke volumes about her that a casual observer normally couldn't determine from an outfit alone. However, to Robin her immaculate appearance told him that she was someone who always had her life under control, each day's activities planned precisely so that not one minute was wasted. She likely worked in an office, a nine to five job that left no room for creativity. It was quite possibly the polar opposite of Robin's occupation as a freelance writer: he could write whatever he wanted whenever he wanted.
Her hairstyle added to the assumption that she was a force to be reckoned with. The curls that fell just shy of her shoulders added to the impression that she was not someone who let her imagination run rampant. Robin imagined that she was also not someone he wanted to cross, her temper fiery once someone had managed to get on her bad side.
As she turned toward him, taking her son's hand, her face confirmed his last two hypotheses. Her guarded expression clearly stated that anyone who wanted to approach her had to work to earn her trust. The thin line of her mouth and her chocolate eyes had that same air of mystery about them, but layered beneath the mystery was a sadness so profound that Robin wanted to walk over to her, ignore all decorum, and take her in his arms, shielding her from the world and the cruelties it dealt out as easily as a hand of cards.
The realization that all that would likely get him was a fist in the stomach shook Robin out of his reverie. He shouldn't be staring at this woman and her son. If anyone caught him, they would think he was a stalker.
Even with that knowledge at the forefront of his mind, he couldn't stop staring at the woman and the child at her side. He noticed that every time her gaze focused on the young boy beside her, the dark-haired beauty's expression softened, and a smile appeared on her lips that Robin longed to kiss. Not only that, but he wanted to be the cause of as many of her smiles as possible from this moment forward.
To that end, he stood and started walking in their direction to introduce himself. However, a crowd of giggling teenage girls got in his way, and by the time he made his way past them, the pair that had held his attention not a moment before were gone.
Dismayed, Robin returned to his previous position, quickly opening his sketchbook and making an outline of the woman's figure, each curve engraved in his mind's eye as if she had carved it there herself.
"What are you working on, boy?" Granny, the owner of a nearby diner, asked as she walked up to him.
"See for yourself," Robin said as he turned the sketchpad toward her and leaned aside so she could look at his sketch of the woman who had captivated his attention.
"Why are you drawing a picture of Regina?" Granny asked protectively. Clearly, she was familiar with the woman who had captivated Robin from the moment he laid eyes on her. She also knew that Robin was a loner, so she was likely aware that Robin didn't know her. Just in case, he decided to clarify.
"I saw her with a little boy by the fountain earlier-" Robin started to explain, but Granny cut him off.
"So you decided to sketch her. I understand that, but be careful, Robin. That girl has been through enough without you adding to her worries. Life's given her enough demons as it is, no need for you to supplement them by stalking her."
"I'm not!" Robin protested. "I just- she just… fascinates me. The look in her eyes, that smile…" He trailed off, embarrassed by the inadequacy of his words. How could anyone sufficiently describe that woman through words, when visual artwork was so obviously the only way to do so to capture even a fraction of her beauty? A picture was worth a thousand words, after all, and this was one of the times where he felt that words couldn't do the woman he had seen justice.
"I'll say it again: be careful. She's not one of your paintings or stories, she's a human being, and deserves to be treated like one."
"Of course she does, I know that," Robin assured her. "I just… she just…"
"Mesmerizes you?" Granny asked. When Robin nodded, she continued. "Then do her a favor and stop while you're ahead. I'm guessing you didn't even know her name before I told you what it is."
Robin shook his head, confirming Granny's suspicion.
"Then do both of you a favor and don't go near her."
Robin nodded and told her he wouldn't. But as he walked back to his apartment, he thought of nothing but possible ways to meet her.
That night, he fell asleep with only the image of the woman he had seen by the fountain in his head, her elusive smile the last thing he saw before he fell asleep.
After work the next day, Robin started working on his painting almost immediately. He returned to the plaza, bringing his paintbrushes, an easel, and a blank canvas. For a week he sat at the same table he had occupied on the day when he had seen the woman who now occupied both his waking moments and his dreams and painted her as he remembered her: a vision in black, not a single hair out of place, the sweet smile she had reserved for the boy on her lips. Initially he debated about the background of the piece, but he decided not to paint her in the plaza as he had seen her, but set her against a background full of faded color, red, yellow, and blue, as a contrast to the darkness of her hair, eyes and clothing.
By the end of a long week where he had worked harder than he ever had in his life, his masterpiece, the painting of Regina, was complete. He put the finishing touches on the canvas in the dying light of a vibrant sunset, then walked over to the fountain, fishing a coin out of his pocket and holding it up just as the little boy he had seen with Regina (Henry, he thought his name was) had done just days before. Looking down at the painting, he closed his eyes and made a wish that this stunning woman, the woman that filled his mind while he was both awake and asleep, would somehow be his someday.
The coin he held left his hand, moving as if in slow motion as it spun in the air and landed face-up on the granite floor of the fountain with a splash.
That splash alerted Robin to the fact that he wasn't alone. People, especially children, surrounded him, talking and laughing while he stood holding what he thought was his finest work. But only time would tell if it was in fact his best painting, as John was arriving at his house the following day to look at the painting he had been working on for the past week, curious as always about his friend's work.
With one last glance at what he thought was his best painting by far, Robin packed up his supplies and headed home. Once there, he set the painting in the place of honor reserved for the pieces he showed anyone who asked about his hobby. Shortly after that, he went to sleep, once again dreaming of the woman he had seen by the fountain, Regina. In research for his piece, he had discovered that her name meant "queen," and she seemed to truly fit her name, in every way. He just hoped he had the chance to tell her that one day in a way that wouldn't alarm her.
As he slept, in his studio, the air around the painting began to shift. Clouds of mist the same colors as the painting's background swirled around the painting, filling the room until nothing could be seen.
Out of the mist stepped a figure who immediately started exploring the room around her, waiting to be found by her creator.