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parttime-creative · 3 months

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The Portrait of Regina Mills - Part 3

This is based on this prompt by @italymystery-swanqueen

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pairing: SwanQueen

fandom: Once Upon A Time

setting: AU

chapter summery: Emma and Henry have some mother-son bonding time with each other and the old manor. However staying here starts to become creepy as Emma has an unlikely nightly encounter and makes an interesting discoverey...

WC: 3703

prev / next (coming soon)

read on AO3

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CHAPTER 3: The first full moon.

The first week of their stay at the late Mills manor was nearing its end and Emma finally dared to say, the old house started to feel like a home again. She could see their three months here turning into something like a vacation. Being a house sitter wasn’t at that hard after all, she determined proudly. Now that she had eliminated times dusty grasp on the manor. The old keeper really hadn’t done a great job at maintaining it. She blew out her feather duster like a sheriffs revolver and winked at the pair of golden eyes of R. Mills in front of her.

The paintings brown eyes sparkled in amusement.

“Don’t worry, Darling, I am your knight in maid’s armor. Those dust bunny armies have nothing on me and my Excalibur. Pew, pew, pew!” She fished some cobwebs of the paintings corner.

“Hehe! Emma Swan, manor maid magnifique!” She stopped abruptly. “Okay no. That sounds atrocious.”

“Don’t you laugh at me! Not my fault this house is such a dust bin! Couldn’t you have lived in a smaller one?”

Her ladder wobbled as Emma shifted her weight and she yelp as she held onto it.

“Woah! Okay, okay! I didn’t say nothing! Your house is beautiful. Peace, okay? No ones gonna clean here, if I fall. Certainly not Henry!”

“Moooom! I am done dusting the living room!”

Emma could have sworn the paintings eyebrows rose ever so slightly. She rolled her eyes.

“Okay, usually you wouldn’t get him to clean anything. Have you seen the room of a teenager these days?”

“Mooom?” Henrys head appeared in the doorway to the entrance hall. “Who are you talking to?”

“Uhm, no one…. ?”

Her son raised his eyebrows in a way that made it abundantly clear he was not convinced.

“Are you losing it? Do I need to call the nice people in white?”

“Oh yeah! Ruth really is. Especially for brainstorming story ideas. She really has good ideas, unlike someone …”

“Ha.ha. Very funny.” Emma climbed down the ladder.

“If you must know, I was talking with Mrs. Mills. She is an excellent listener.”

“I don’t, but Ruth? Really?”

“Henry, give me a break! No everyone can have a mind like yours, also…. Ruth? Why Ruth?”

“ R dot Mills? Or do you know her name?”

“What? It starts with “R”!”

“Sure, but have you looked at her? She doesn’t look like a Ruth at all!”

“She totally does!”

“No way!”

“Okay what do you think is her name then?”

“Absolutely!”

“Never!”

Emma hesitated. She looked back up at the enormous painting of the dark haired woman. Her dark eyes looking back down at her. Their brown iris seemingly almost golden in the midmorning sun. Her expression regal. She looked like a queen ready to rule over her subjects, watching her residency. She looked refined and respectful.

“If she’s old, what am I then?”

“I don’t know, something powerful and elegant, like… Rose or Raven … maybe even Raegan.”

“Nahhh, those are too modern. She’s old!”

“Not in that picture, mom! But have you looked at this place. These portraits are painted like what, a hundred years ago? No one lived in this place for ages.”

Henry was right and Emma had cleaned the dust to prove it. But still, it felt utterly wrong to call a woman like that old. It felt disrespectful and somehow…. Unfair?

“Still, Ruth? That’s not it. Maybe Roslynn?”

“She so does NOT look like a Roslynn! You really bad at naming people, it’s embarrassing.”

“Hey! I named you!”

“Mum, my name is Henry. As in your grandfather. Reaaaaal creative!”

“OH, SHUT UP YOU LITTLE-!”

Her voice got cut by her son’s yelp as she began chasing him into the living room, waving her duster like a baseball bat. Henry giggled and laughed as he ran from her until his escape came to a sudden halt on the big sofa.

“I, Henry Daniel Swan, shan’t be afraid of a mere woman, waving about with a toothpick. Face me wench, ENGARDE!” and he pulled his own feather duster from in between the sofa cushions, holding it out towards his mother. Emma was taken aback for a second then, she grinned.

“You have overstepped your welcome boy!” she taunted, lightly tapping her duster against his. “I shall accept your duel, for I win, tonight’s dinner shall be server by your hands, child!”

“Wretched maid, so it shall be, for I win, it shall be paid by your gold in the fine woman granny’s establishment!”

“So it shall be!”

“AHHHH MOM AHAHAHAH NO, STOP AHHAH I can’t,I yield…. I YIELD!!!”

With a quick flick of her wrist Emma gave Henry a mouthful of feathery dust. Her son coughed and yapped and glared at her.

“The wench plays unfair. So be it!” he tossed a cushion at her and followed it up with a big jump from the sofa onto her. Emma managed to avoid the pillow but couldn’t dodge her son. Immediately she felt his bodyweight in her arms and sputtered to get the dusters feathers out of her mouth.

“Take that, evil queen!” he laughed as he kept tickling her nose with the old feathers.

Emma couldn’t speak, her mouth still full of feathers, her nose itching from the dust and with a gigantic sneeze she threw her son back onto the sofa. He yelped. Emma sneezed again before her fingers found their way under his arms and began tickling the boy relentlessly.

“Take that, ungrateful peasant.” Emma grinned. “Dinner’s on you tonight.”

Henry grumbled and sat up.

“That’s so unfair.”

“Hey, I won fair and square. You gave up.”

~*~

In the evening Emma and Henry settled on the huge leather couch. Both grasping a cup of cocoa with cinnamon in their hands and huddled around Emma’s old Laptop for a cozy Netflix session. The manor didn’t have a TV, which wasn’t all that bad, Emma reconned. It was a good reason for Henry to try out new things and activities that he couldn’t do in the city.

They had settled for Star Wars, both of their favorite movie franchise - also the only movies Emma had still downloaded on her laptop. Their love for movie nights was one of Emma’s favorite things she shared with her son. That and hot cocoa with cinnamon of course. She loved it when Henry snuggled into her. She’d miss this terribly once he’d be all grown up, maybe even moved out. So she took every second of his cuddling, even when it meant she’d have to watch Start Wars for the millionth time.

“Huh… I don’t remember there was a piano in the score in that scene…” Henry suddenly mumbled.

“What do you mean?” Emma asked confused. Her mind had drifted off, lulled in by John Williams’ music and the constant light saber noises.

“Don’t you hear the piano? I don’t remember there being a piano.” Henry repeated and this time Emma heard it too.

“You’re right. I never noticed before.”

“ ‘Cuz there usually isn’t!”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely!” Henry kept insisting and finally just paused the movie. His and Emma’s eyes grew wide as the faint sound of the piano continued.

“What, it wasn’t in the movie?” he whispered, his voice audible scared.

“No, I am coming with you!” He demanded. Emma chuckled.

Emma shifted on the couch and sat up.

“Sounds like it’s coming from the music room. I probably forgot to turn off the radio after cleaning this afternoon. I’ll get it. You can continue the movie, if you want.”

“Are you scared?” she teased.

“Maybe a little…” he admitted, his hand slipping into hers.

Emma held her tongue. It was not fair to tease her son for being scared. He was a child after all and the stories about the manor being haunted probably hadn’t gone past him either. She felt a small bit of anger rise up in her chest again. Small town folk really was the worst. Never the less the two of them made their way to the music room, following the soft piano notes.

“Did… Did that piano… just play on it’s own?” Henry whispered, his voice quivering.

“Mom… that doesn’t sound like the radio”, Henry whispered and she felt him hugging her arm. It in fact did not sound like the old radio sitting atop the fireplace. There was no crackling or statics within the sound.

“I know that song…” Emma mumbled.

With determination in her step she walked over to the old piano and opened the wooden lid atop it’s key. Within moments the music stopped, but Emma could have sworn she had seen the keys below the cover move, when she lifted it.

“Almost seems like it. But hey, that’s not unheard of” Emma tried to reassure him.

Henry nibbled on his lower lip and eyed the instrument from a safe distance.

“But, it’s a piano!”

“Well it could be a pianola.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a clockwork instrument, like a hurdy gurdy. Some rich folks or like restaurants had them to simulate life music. They have a small metal cylinder with bumps on it, that turns and basically pings the right strings of the piano to play the notes. It’s all mechanical an no magic.” She winked. “We probably activated it this afternoon. Nothing to worry about.”

“Okay…”. He didn’t seem convinced.

“So it did play on it’s own! The piano is haunted!” Henry shrieked and immediately duck behind the Chaise in the middle of the room.

“Come, look if you press the key, you can’t hear anything, it’s dead-“ her voice got cut short when the soft pling of the piano note sounded through the room.

“What the-“, she mumbled. She pressed the key again. The note was slightly out of tune, no one, it probably hadn’t been played in years, but this… definitely wasn’t a pianola.

Emma had to admit, she was at a loss for words. There was no reasonable explanation. If that piano was a simple, regular old piano – was there really a ghost in these halls? She just stared at the wall against which the piano was placed. It wasn’t an outer wall. She couldn’t find anything that could explain the notes. No mold, no water, no signs of mice living in it, no wind blasting through the walls. Just a regular old piano, against a wall decorated with paintings. There even was one, where R. Mills sat on a very similar one, eyes closed lost in the music she probably was playing. Maybe this was the same piano? Was it really haunted by the late owner? Maybe she missed hearing its sound.

Without much of a thought Emma slit back the stool placed in front of the instrument and sat down. It had been sometime since she had last played, but some songs had been so engrained in her mind that her fingers still remembered them. Within a few unsure notes, she started playing Für Elise. The piano was out of tune, yes, but not so bad that it was horrible to listen to. The notes were some halftones lower and gave the song a deeper, kind of sorrowful sound to it.

“What are you doing, Mom?” Henry asked after some lines.

“Are you not scared?”

“I am playing the piano. If there really is a ghost, he very obviously wanted the piano to be played again. I might not now all the notes to the Bone Waltz, but I guess that’s the next best thing to it, don’t you think?”

Henry was quiet, but she saw him come up from his hiding place.

“Maybe a little.” She winked as she continued playing.

“What if the ghost doesn’t like it?”

“Then he should request a song I have the sheets for next time.”

The soft laughter of her son warmed Emma’s chest and her fingers grew steadier.

“I didn’t know you could play the piano.”

“There is a lot you don’t know about me, kiddo.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked.”

“Can you teach me?”

“Sure! Come here.”

She made room for her son on the piano stool and Henry slipped beside her. She took his small hands and placed them on the key.

“These are the base octave, called C-Dur.” She played the notes. “And every 8 keys up and down the line there is the same but an octave higher or lower.”

“What are those then?” he pointed to the black keys.

“Look if you press a key it makes the sound and slowly fades again, because the string in the piano is stopped from vibrating once it’s hammer is pressed onto it again.”

“Those are halftones”

“For what do you need these pedals?”

“For special effects.” Emma made Jazz hands and Henry laughed again.

“There are strings in a piano? And hammers? Don’t they break it?” Henry’s eyes were big and Emma realized he really had never learned anything about a piano before. She chuckled

“Of course not.”

With that their movie was forgotten and the two of them spend the rest of the evening on the piano. Emma teaching her son how to play some simple scales and how to use the pedals. As usual Henry was a fast learner and Emma played with the thought of getting him a keyboard, once they were back in the city.

For the rest of the evening the piano did not once play by itself again.

When Henrys yawning got more frequently and the full moon already shone bright through the windows of the music room, Emma decided it was time for her son to hit the hay. He did protest, of course, but by now she was pretty experienced in shutting him down.

“Okay. Good night, Ruth.” He waved the portrait above the piano. “Looks like she liked our jamming session.” He grinned and left the music room.

“We can continue tomorrow. Maybe we can find some old music sheets in the shelves then. But I am pretty sure we’d need sunlight to read them.”

He rolled his eyes, obviously looking right through her bad argument. The manor had electricity after all.

Emma followed his wave n confusion. The raven-haired woman was leaning on the piano, a brown dog curled up at her feet, her head resting on her hand, the other softly resting on the piano top. A soft smile playing around her lips and her dark eyes gently looking down at Emma, who stared at the portrait.

She hadn’t noticed the dog before, and hadn’t Mrs. Mills been playing the piano before? Her eyes closed and her hands on the keys? Emma rubbed her eyes. She must have imagined that. The painting was still gently smiling at her, blinking softly. Blinking?!

“What the-?!” Emma jumped from her seat. “I guess I should go to bed as well.” She decided and almost sprinted from the room. She must be tired. Portraits don’t blink. Well, usually people also don’t talk to them, like she had done for the past week. But that was different. She didn’t think Ruth would answer! Maybe she had acted to much like the portrait could listen. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. Her mind was most definitely playing tricks on her! And yet, when she reached her room, she still threw a blanket over the portrait hanging above her dresser. In this one Mrs. Mills was sitting in the room’s armchair, reading a book. The same chocolate brown dog from the piano painting curled at her feet. No, if this woman really haunted the manor, she would most definitely not be watched during her sleep. Emma made sure the blanket was secure and wouldn’t slip down during the night.

“Ghosts aren’t real…” she mumbled.

But she still pulled her blanket over her head tonight.

~*~

Within seconds she was wide awake. On tiptoes she sneaked to her door, in her hand she held the first things her fingers had reached – her bedside lamp. Upside down.

The old grandfather clock down the hallways chimed when Emma suddenly woke up.

There was someone in the house. She was sure she hadn’t just dreamed the sound of footsteps walking down the hall outside of her door.

She held it close like a baseball bat, ready to swing at whoever came her way.

“Henry, is that you?” she whispered into the darkness. Well it wasn’t all that dark really. The house was lit up by the full moon shining through some of the windows Emma hadn’t bothered to close all the way.

There, in the pale silver light stood a figure over the sink. One of the sharp kitchen knives glistened in the moonlight as the figure appeared to … cut some apple slices???

Again, there were sounds coming from downstairs!

Emma gripped her lamp tighter and tiptoed down the stairs. A metallic clanking made her turn towards the kitchen.

“Hold it right there!” Emma called out, her lamp raised high, ready to swing.

She heard the figure gasp as she turned around. It was most definitely a woman. Dark hair. A bit smaller than Emma. For a long woman the two of them just stared at each other than the woman bolted from the kitchen towards the dinning room. Emma’s lamp broke on the floor as she sprinted after the intruder.

Suddenly Emma stood in a room where she hadn’t been in before. She was sure this room had been locked before. It looked, however, like a study. One wall was a single big book shelf, a second a single window front. In the middle of the room facing the door stood an enormous desk. Its dark polished wood reflecting the moonlight shinning directly into the room.

“Stop!” she called after her, but the woman literally burst trough the dining rooms double doors into the entry hall. Emma could barely follow. She ran full force into the big swinging doors and could just see the woman’s feet bolt up the stairs. She immediately ran after her. Almost on all fours Emma ran up the stairs and down the hall way. Past the grandfather clock, past Henrys room, past her own and through the door at the end of the hallway.

Emma leaned with one hand in the door frame, panting heavily.

Where did that woman go? She was no where to be seen and this was the only room that had been open. There was no second door out of the room, no window open. It was as if the woman just disappeared into thin air.

“This can’t be…” Emma mumbled. “You don’t get to disappear like that, Missy. I have found quicker people than you again!”

So, the young mother took to exploring the room, searching for any clue where the woman had disappeared to. The bookshelf resulted into no hidden staircase. The desk had no obvious hidden compartments. Or at least none, that would be big enough to house a human. There were no closets in the room Just a dresser on the third wall, opposing the bookshelf. Above the dresser hung another one of R. Mills’ portraits. This one however looked different than the other. It was the same woman, undoubtedly, as in the other pictures all over the manor. But she didn’t smile. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes had a sort of panic in them. She looked uneasy, agitated, as if she was waiting for something - something bad. She sat at the edge of the huge desk, her arms crossed in front of her chest. Her posture however wasn’t straight, now regal. She looked as if she had hurried to be on time to an appointment and just waited to jump up again to get to the next. Below her feet der was the rugs corner folded back as if she had just stumbled over it and the painter had decided to capture this exact moment to paint. A truly remarkable painter. This portrait looked so much more life like than the others. It felt like it had just dried moments ago. No, as if the paint was still fresh, still dripping. Emma leaned closer. She could almost feel the emotion of the hurried women in it. Hadn’t she just had a similar situation? R. Mills almost looked like she held her breath in order to not pant.

“Huh, you really must have had a busy life. But why decide to keep a painting like that? Well, I guess I know why you locked it in here, huh?”

Finally, Emma gave up on looking for the intruder. She must have fled into anther room and probably had already jumped out an open window or left the same way she had come. Emma decided to looked for her exit in the morning and swore herself to control every room from now on, so no one could come in uninvited. She probably shouldn’t have been so sloppy with it. After all, hadn’t that been on of Mills’ rules?

She turned on her heels giving the room one last once over before heading back to bed. On her way to the door however her food caught on something and she stumbled. Looking down it was a corner of the old rug, that was folded back. Huh, she must have lifted it, when she had burst into the room. When she kneeled down to fix it her eyes noticed a small indent in the sideboard of the enormous desk. Curiously she let her fingers glider over it. Wait – that was a button! Curiously she pressed it. With a soft click opened the desks side panel. Emma nudged it open fully. It was a small compartment between the inner and the outer panel of the desk, just deep enough for a small book to fit in it. Marveling at the craftsmanship of the desk Emma took out the book from its hiding place.

It looked to be a handbound notebook. Its neat canvas surface was dusty. In the moonlight Emma could read the words on the cover, written in an elegant cursive handwriting:

The diary of Regina Mills.

#SwanQueen #swanqueen #SQ #Once upon a Time #OUAT #ouat #Regina Mills #Emma Swan #The Portrait of Regina Mills #the mystery behind the portrait #my fanfictions #Sorry this took me so long #I am not a really regular writer #but the muse of the story bit me again and this was a lot of fun writing #also i still have my outline sooo good chance i'll actually finish this sometime

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