A/N: The song being played is called Musique Pour La Tristesse De Xion by Yoko Shimomura. I advise that you listen to the song while reading the story flashback.

"Grammy, can you tell me the story again?" the small brunette asked.

"Again, Reggie?"

"Please Grammy? I wanna here the story again!" The old woman sighed.

"But I tell you the story every time I see you, don't you want to hear a different story this time?" Reggie jumped from her place on the burgundy carpet onto her grandmother's lap, nestling into the old woman's long white hair.

"Nuh-uh, I wanna hear the story about my other Grammy." a warm chuckle bubbled up from the grandmother's chest.

"Alright, alright. I'll tell it again. Did you know this is the story of the woman you were named after?" The small girl frowned.

"You tell me every time you tell the story, Grammy. 'You were named after the love of my life, Regina Mills.' I know already, will you just tell me the story now?" Reggie huffed.

"I'm getting there, kid, hold your horses."

52 Years Ago

I had never heard anything so beautiful in all my life. It was like I had never lived at all until that moment, where this melodically beautiful piece was touching the very core of my being.

I had never been very fond of instrumentals, but if I could've heard it played like she had played it then, I would've listened to them until my dying day.

Back then I was very brash, so of course I rushed in to see the pianist. And there she sat. Short brown hair mussed in every direction, her back rigid, and her arms moving spontaneously as her fingers danced wildly across the keys.

I couldn't understand for the life of me why there was a white grand piano in the center of an abandoned warehouse, and I couldn't understand even more why she was there at 2 am.

But I couldn't have cared less, because more than anything, I thank god that she was. Standing in the shadows of the doorway, I watched her play like she was Beethoven himself. It was so amazing, how such a small fragile woman could play something so intricate.

She was wearing a beat-up hospital gown, her feet bare. Was she homeless? Had she broke out of a hospital? An asylum? Where was she from?

And why wasn't she a billionaire composer in some luxury mansion? I had so many questions, but I didn't want her to stop playing. Quiet sobs started to echo throughout the abandoned warehouse, blending in with the notes from the piano.

She was . . . Crying. Her body began to shake as she moved furiously, now striking the keys harder. My god, it was the most heart felt thing I ever did see.

I slowly stepped towards her, trying with all my might not to make a sound, to not cry along with her. At that moment, I vowed to find out everything I could about this girl.

No, she was more than a girl, a young woman? She was definitely younger than myself. I was nearly right behind her now.

She was so caught up in playing that she hadn't heard or felt me move at all. I could see her hands now, in the dim light.

Lithe fingers swam across each key, I could barely make out each movement because it was so fast and precise. The melody began to slowly fade out now.

"Please don't stop playing." I whispered. She nearly jumped ten feet in the air. The woman scurried off the piano bench, turning to face me.

"Who are you?" she asked. Her face held tear tracks, making lines down her dirt stained face. She looked a mess, but somehow I still found her to be breathtaking. "My name's Emma. I didn't mean to scare you, but you just play so beautifully." I couldn't make out every detail of her face, being that the only light was that from the moon shining through the wholes in the roof. But her eyes . . . . I could see her eyes. They were big and brown, with more emotion than any creature to ever walk the planet. The woman slowly backed away, turning to run before I could grab her.

"Wait! Please, tell me your name!" I yelled. But she had already disappeared into the darkness.