Sherwood Manor, 2016

The ball fell from his hands, shattering on hardwood. His heart was beating out of his chest, and he grabbed the edge of the table to steady himself.

"What the hell, kid?" Her son had never looked so terrified, she realized, as he continued to stare at the shards of glass on the floor.

"You didn't see that?" His voice was shaky, clearly in a state of shock.

"No, I saw you pick up the ball, scream, and drop it like it was on fire. What happened?" Before Henry got a chance to answer, the green mist reappeared, swirling around them.

"Horntoads and lizards, fiddle and strum. Please answer the role by beating a drum!" They could feel the air get cooler and denser around them, but they were frozen in place.

"…Rap on a table; it's time to respond. Send us a message from somewhere beyond." The house started to shake, startling the both of them.

"What is going on?" Emma shouted over the noise, bracing herself using the doorframe.

"…Wizards and witches, wherever you dwell, give us a hint by ringing a bell!" Books were flying everywhere, windows were breaking, and all the air felt like it had been sucked out of their lungs.

"Mom- we have to leave now!" Emma agreed, but their only exit point was through the newly shattered bay window, which lead out into the garden. Grabbing Henry, they made a break for it, narrowly escaping the wrath of an enraged psychic.

The garden was peaceful by contrast. Centered around a tiered fountain, pathways lined with red and white rose bushes guided the visitor on their tour, occasionally assisted by grand magnolia trees and iris flowers. Untouched by Zelena's dark spirit, the area was reminiscent of a sanctuary long forgotten. While mostly overgrown, the plant life concealing most of the brick wall infrastructure, it seemed like a good place to rest- both Emma and Henry needed to recover from their ordeal. They settled on an iron gazebo hidden in the shade of a large oak tree.

"Are we going to ignore what just happened back there?" Emma asked, breaking ten minutes' worth of silence. Henry shifted on the nearby bench, finally looking his mother in the eye.

"How do you think she got trapped in the ball?" That wasn't the response she was expecting.

"Who?" Henry mentally cursed- obviously Emma had no idea what he was talking about.

"That voice in the library causing the destruction. She was in the ball. I think I released her when I dropped it."

"So we almost die in a haunted mansion, and all you can think about is feeling sorry for some random ghost?" Emma arose from the opposing bench and was pacing.

"We don't have the whole story. First it was the hanged man, and now the floating head in a crystal ball. What actually happened here?" That was a good point, she had to admit.

"Well, we're not going to find out just sitting here. Look for some clues."

Aside from the broken window glass that now littered the lawn, nothing was amiss. No bloodstained bricks, no partially dug up bones, nothing. And it was starting to wear on the novice sleuths quite a bit.

"Anything?" Henry yelled, kicking over yet another rock.

"No!" She was just about to give up when her eyes noticed a figure by the random, out of place apple tree. That was weird. As far as she knew, her and Henry were the only ones here. Emma decided to approach the stranger, curiosity getting the best of her.

"Excuse me, hi, I was just wondering if-" What Emma had planned to say died in her throat. The woman tuned around, and Emma had never been so terrified. The stranger's ebony hair fell around her face in loose, unkempt curls, highlighting her unnaturally pale complexion. Her eyes were piercing, but that's not what unsettled Emma the most. The blonde's eyes traveled down, falling upon a wedding dress that had been ripped, torn, and bloodstained. Then it hit her: this woman was most definitely dead.

"Who are you?" Emma blurted out, kicking herself for the impulsive response. The woman said nothing, instead choosing to disappear.

Henry rushed over, disappointed that he missed the ghostly encounter. "What happened?"

Emma stood staring at the spot the ghost vacated, ignoring her son, until she remembered something.

"I knew she looked familiar!" Henry was massively confused, trying to avoid Emma's flailing limbs.

"Slow down. What are you talking about?" Right. Henry didn't see her.

"It's the woman from the portraits in the parlor and the library! You know, dark hair, dark brown eyes, pale complexion. I forget her name." But Henry hadn't.

"You saw Regina? Did she say anything? Give us any hints?"

"Negative. But I have a few ideas." Henry sat down on the ground, leaning against the base of the apple tree.

"Yes, Sherlock?" Emma rolled her eyes.

"She was definitely important to Lord Gracey- why else would her portraits be everywhere?" This made sense in Henry's mind, but was it familial or marital?

"Like his wife, or something?" Emma considered it, it was logical, but unlikely.

"Here's the thing. If they married, she would have adopted his aristocratic title. Her pictures were only labeled 'Regina', right?" Henry nodded.

"But, I think that was their intention. She was wearing her wedding dress. Probably got murdered on her wedding day- god that's horrible." They sat in silence for a while, imagining all the gruesome ways Regina could have died.

"The garden must mean something to her." Henry mused, picking an apple off the tree and biting into it.

"Do tell, Watson." Emma grinned, continuing the joke.

"She could have appeared in the house like the others, but didn't." He had a point.

"True. I guess we'll never know." Emma went to brace her hand on the ground to stand up, when she brushed a block of cold stone. Upon further inspection, she chuckled.

"Spoke too soon." As Henry read the inscription, the tragedy of the mansion was beginning to unravel.

Regina Mills

(1855-1880)

Fairest of them all