You’ve always felt a strange pull toward Storybrooke, like fate itself is nudging you somewhere you don’t fully understand. That pull grows stronger when you find yourself standing in front of Regina Mills’ storefront—her elegant boutique, the bright “Once Upon a Time” sign sparkling under the sunlight.

You push the door open, and a soft bell rings. The air inside smells faintly of old books and roses, a mix as commanding and precise as the woman behind the counter.

Regina looks up from a book, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “I wasn’t expecting anyone today,” she says, her voice smooth and even, though there’s a flicker of curiosity behind it.

“I… I just wanted to see the town,” you murmur, brushing your hair behind your ear nervously.

She tilts her head, scrutinizing you like she can read every thought behind your eyes. “Storybrooke isn’t a place people stumble into. Something brought you here. Something… intentional.”

You blink. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”

Her lips curl into the smallest smirk. “Of course you don’t. Fate has a funny way of hiding the truth until it’s ready to reveal itself.”

Before you can respond, a gust of wind whirls through the store, and a single, golden leaf flutters toward you. You instinctively catch it. The second your fingers touch it, a strange warmth spreads through your chest, almost like magic.

Regina’s eyes widen—just slightly—and she takes a careful step closer. “You felt that, didn’t you?”

“I… I think so. What is it?” you ask, unsure if you’re ready for the answer.

“That,” she says softly, “is fate. Twisted, complicated, and somehow… tied to both of us.”

You stare at her, the weight of her words sinking in. There’s a tension in the air, an electric pull you can’t resist. You want to step back, but some part of you knows stepping closer might be inevitable.

“Why me?” you whisper.

“Why anyone?” Regina counters, her eyes locking with yours. “Fate doesn’t choose the obvious. It chooses the… inevitable.”

A silence stretches between you, full of questions neither of you dares to voice. Then, almost imperceptibly, she reaches out, her hand brushing yours. It’s light, deliberate, and it sends a shiver through you.

“You’ll learn,” Regina murmurs, “that the paths we think we control are rarely our own. But maybe… if we’re clever, we can bend them together.”