"Hey, Em. You ready?"

Beth pasted on a stiff smile and walked past him, to the front door. "Mhm. Let's go."

"All right, bye, Grandpa." Henry called over his shoulder. "I'll have her back in a few hours."

Beth was halfway down the stairwell when her brother caught up with her. "Whoa, slow down, Em. What's the rush?"

"Nothing. I'm just eager to get started with my lessons."

"O…kay?" He adjusted the strap of his book bag as he struggled to keep up. "Did you want to stop in at Granny's for French Toast?"

"I'm not hungry."

"All right, munchkin, hold up." He came to a full stop, pulling Beth back by the arm. "What's up with you? Since when do you pass up Granny's French Toast? And skipping out without so much as glancing at Gramps or anyone else? Does your dad even know you left?"

Beth sighed, avoiding Henry's all-knowing gaze—something he apparently shared with their mother. "Promise you won't think I'm crazy?"

"Pinky swear." Henry extended his hand, holding out the appropriate digit.

With a slight roll of her eyes, Beth wrapped her littlest finger around his. Honestly, when was he going to accept that she was much too grown-up for such things? All the world saw her as some poor motherless child who didn't know her arse from her elbow, as her dad was prone to say when he thought she couldn't hear.

She'd have to remember to put a dollar in the swear jar when she returned home.

"Last night, when I…when I—"

"Wouldn't stop screaming." Henry finished for her.

"Right." She fidgeted with the hem of her pea coat, tugging at a stray thread. "I had sort of a…vision."

"Of?"

So far so good—his eyes hadn't glossed over yet. He hadn't heaved an exasperated sigh. And his eyes remained firmly locked on her and not the sky. She should've known, if there was one person who would always believe her, it was her big brother.

"Well, that part's a bit strange."

"Stranger than a seven year old having visions?"

The sarcasm, she'd been told as well, was an inherent Emma trait. Opting to ignore it, she continued on with her tale.

She rounded the corner, entering the living room from the hallway that led to her dad's room at the back of the apartment—part of several additions made to accommodate their ever-growing family tree—only to find upon arriving that there was a door where the kitchen should have been. It shimmered like rubies, glowing brighter as she neared. When she reached for the handle, the gems disappeared, replaced by transparent glass. On the other side, she saw her father, and she waved.

His eyes were empty, unseeing, and he regarded the glass as though picking apart his own reflection.

"Daddy?" She knocked but received no answer.

A low chuckle sounded behind her. Turning, she was surrounded by walls, each made from the same transparent glass, each displaying a different scene, each a face she recognized. Grandpa David and Henry and Uncle Neal—

"Daddy!" She pounded on the glass. "Help me! Daddy, I'm trapped, I can't—"

That same chuckle echoed in her ears, loud as thunder, with a voice to match, "You're a long way from home, princess."

Terror rose in her throat, escaping in a scream that shattered her glass prison.

"Is that it?"

Beth shook her head. "This morning, I walked in on Dad in the bathroom."

"Uh, Em—"

"He was cleaning up broken glass, from the mirror."

"Oh."

"He said it just shattered."

Henry's expression was a mixture of consideration and concern. Like when she asked her dad if she could watch Peter Pan.

"I like it when you call yourself a codfish."

"I've not uttered that word a day in my life." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Okay, maybe once—twice, at most. And never in such a grossly flamboyant manner."

"It's just a cartoon, Daddy."

"Was there anything else?" Henry asked.

"I knew someone was coming for me, and that they were going to hurt me because I'd disobeyed."

"Disobeyed?"

"I can't explain it—I just knew. And I…Okay, this is where the crazy comes in."

"We haven't reached crazy?"

Beth bit her bottom lip, afraid to tell him the rest. But if she couldn't tell Henry, who could she tell? "It was like it wasn't me."

Henry remained quiet, waiting for further explanation.

"It was like I was seeing through someone else's eyes. Someone who's trapped…who has maybe been trapped for a long time…"

"Em…?" He said slowly, as though he followed her train of thought but was hoping to be proved wrong.

"I think it was Mom."

—

They waited without speaking, Beth tugging the same loose thread, Henry's expression unreadable.

"I see." Regina gave a tight-lipped smile as she smoothed down her pencil skirt. "And what does your father have to say about all this?"

Beth averted her eyes.

"She doesn't want to upset him," Henry interjected on Beth's behalf, "if it turns out her theory is just that."

"He'd be too stubborn to even listen." Said Beth.

"I'd say that's appropriate." Said Regina. "What is it you expect me to tell you, dear? That your mother's alive and living as the hostage of some evil sorcerer?"

"Sorceress."

"Excuse me?"

"It was a woman's voice."

"Gender notwithstanding," said Regina, "You need to understand the gravity of what you're asking."

Beth frowned as a queasy sort of feeling entered her stomach. "My dad told me stories about you."

Regina's posture went rigid; she opened her mouth to respond, but Beth cut off what was sure to be a protest—insistence that she wasn't the person she once was, no matter what Beth's pirate father said ("I'd consider the source on that particular philosophical gem.").

"He said that no matter what overwhelming odds you came up against, you never gave up. He said that when Henry was in danger, you moved heaven and hell to save him. Can't you understand why I have to know? What if I'm right and she's trapped somewhere and I'm her only hope? What if it were Henry or Uncle Robin or—"

"Okay, dear, settle down." Regina held up her hands. "You've sufficiently tugged at my heartstrings."

Beth bit back a small smile. "So you'll help?"

Regina looked at Henry as though pleading for him to talk her out of it. When he didn't, she sighed. "It would appear so."

—

"Are you sure about this?" Henry asked as Regina led the way down the spooky staircase to her vault.

"At this point," Regina brushed the dirt from her palms, walking deeper inside the crypt, "the only thing I'm sure about is that we'll see a resurgence of Captain Hook if he finds out we've gone behind his back, and for what purpose."

Beth swallowed thickly. He was going to kill her. And then Regina. And then her again.

"Not if we succeed." Said Henry, trying his best to be encouraging.

Regina stopped before a large object covered by a white sheet that, like everything else in the dank space, had collected a healthy layer of dust. "Succeed at what, exactly? If we're right, Emma's been held prisoner for the past seven years, while the rest of us have gone on with our lives as though…" her words trailed off as she looked to Henry and then Beth. She cleared her throat, kneeling in front of the child. "Whatever happens, we'll find a way to make it right. You have my word." Beth nodded, and Regina patted her knee before returning to the mystery object. "Henry, if you would." At her gesture, Henry moved to the opposite end and aided her in removing the linen.

"It's a mirror."

The largest Beth had ever seen. It spanned from the floor all the way to the ceiling, and half the width of the room. The frame was nothing special—Beth was certain she'd seen more elaborate designs on the shelves at the market. The mirror itself was like any old looking glass.

"It was once used as a portal between worlds. I just hope there's enough residual magic for what we need."

"Which is?" Asked Henry. "You know, Mom, you haven't exactly clued us in to the plan."

"First, I need more details regarding this…vision." Turning to Beth, she asked, "What were you doing immediately prior to your change in surroundings?"

"I'd just come from my dad's room." She looked to Henry, uncertain. He gave her a reassuring smile. "We were talking about Mom, about how they first met, and…" Her gaze moved to Regina.

"Go on, dear, you're doing fine."

"I asked him if he thought she'd like me." The look Henry and Regina shared wasn't lost on her, nor were the traces of pity in their eyes. Moving right past it, she continued, "He told me about her being the Product of True Love, and what that meant for me and my magic."

"How did this conversation make you feel?" Asked Regina.

"I don't know." She shrugged, wishing there was some place to hide. This whole thing had been her idea, but suddenly her own emotions were overwhelming. Sensing her discomfort, Henry took her hand. "I felt like I always do when we talk about Mom—like I wish I could've known her. All I have are stories from everyone, and pictures, and Henry's videos, but…" she hid her gaze amidst the floor, turning the toes of her boots inward toward each other.

"It isn't enough."

Beth shook her head, wiped an errant tear away with her sleeve.

Regina tucked a gentle hand under the child's chin, persuading her to look up. In doing so, she was surprised by the expression clouding Regina's expression. No words could've adequately conveyed as much understanding.

"What do you think, Mom?"

With a deep breath, Regina stepped away, arriving once again at the mirror, "I think that in order to replicate the events of last night, we have to elicit a specific emotional response, the same one that triggered the first vision."

"Make her sad."

Regina's voice took on a tone of regret. "I'm afraid so. Stand here, please, Elizabeth."

Beth did as she was instructed, occupying the space to Regina's right, directly in front of the mirror.

"How do we accomplish that?" Asked Henry.

"By talking about Emma."

Henry tensed at the suggestion, but complied nonetheless. "Where do we start?"

"Anywhere, I suppose."

"Okay, um…" Henry ran his hands in a downward motion along his jeans, as though drying them, "…as you know, Emma didn't always believe in magic or fairytales—she sure as hell didn't believe in True Love." His demeanor softened with a slight smile. "She was more stubborn than Killian, if you can believe that."

Beth smiled despite the ache in her heart.

Henry glanced at Regina, who signaled for him to continue.

"I think deep down, she was afraid to want these things, because if she let herself believe in the impossible, it would have the power to hurt her."

A second tear fell, unbidden, when Beth closed her eyes.

"For someone so guarded, she had the brightest smile of anyone I know. When she found out about you, I don't think she stopped for months on end." Henry laughed. "She couldn't wait to meet you."

A surge of power rippled below the surface of Beth's skin, stemming from that place deep inside, erupting from her fingertips and springing forward. Tremors shook the earth, bright flashes of light enveloped her, and she opened her eyes.

To the astonishment of all, the looking glass undulated, swelling like vengeful waves, outward from its centermost point toward the gilded frame, its reflective surface turned transparent.

Regina gasped and Beth choked back a sob as Henry whispered, "Mom?"