This close to midnight, the beach was deserted.

In the crisp quiet of the autumn night, the musical whisper of the waves rolled across the shore. The soft sighs of the wind caressed the sands, eddying out to sea beneath the bright liquid light of the full moon. Lunar reflections waltzed slowly across the ripples of water in long silver ribbons, lazily dancing away the night as the witching hour drew near.

Across Storybrooke, the town clock carefully ticked away the seconds. With a long, mournful peal of its bell, the first strike of midnight rang out.

The sea shuddered.

With the second peal of the clock, a shivering energy woke the waves. The wind flurried in distraction. The dance of moonlight upon the waves grew frantic, giddy. The sea began to roil.

At the ninth peal, the waves smashed themselves against the shore. Beneath the tide, a scarlet glow ignited, and the seafoam frothed upon the waves like blood.

The light brightened, turning the entire churning sea as red as a fresh-picked apple. At the eleventh peal, a great wave reared up beneath the howling wind. Upon its crown, froths of foam billowed, shot through with red and silver as the moonlight warred with the glow from beneath the sea. The wave pulled itself higher, higher, beneath its silver and scarlet mantel. It roared forth toward Storybrooke.

At the twelfth stroke of midnight, the wave reached the shore.

With a thunderous crash, it spent its immense power upon the sand. Froth and foam sprayed high into the dark air, raining back down in a cascade of crimson and silver. The froth of foam shuddered upon the shore. Slowly, the water slipped back towards the sea. The last echoes of the clock tower faded to silence.

The night became eerily quiet.

In the wake of the wave, the last wisps of seafoam drew themselves together, lit brightly from within by glowing red and silver light. Delicately, they spiralled upward from the sand. Strands of foam misted and thickened; solidifying and shining with magic. Light and foam, and magic, coalesced into a shadowy form. At last, the slender figure of a woman flickered into focus, crouching down upon the sand as she slowly caught her breath.

The last remnants of scarlet light gathered in fickle ribbons around her, drawing with it the moonlight. Melding, shimmering, it morphed itself into tangible form. A dress of the deepest red began to condense across the woman's shoulders. A shimmering corset fitted itself snugly against her chest, cut low enough to be daring. The remaining light dripped downwards, pooling at her feet in a long scarlet train laced through with stolen silver strands of moonlight.

Still crouching, the woman took a long, careful breath as the mirage became real. She glanced down in mild curiosity at the feel of coarse beach sand beneath her fingers. Closing her fist around a handful, she lifted it slowly. Like powder through an hourglass, it trickled through her fingers.

When the last grain had fallen, darkness had settled back into the night.

She closed her eyes and turned her head slowly from side to side; feeling, sensing, seeking... something. Then, she felt it; the pull. Her moonlight-grey eyes snapped open, sparkling like starlight in the darkness. She lifted her chin in the direction of Storybrooke, and a slow smile spread across her ruby lips. Her silvery eyes were as intent as a hunting osprey, and her power, her purpose, rose up in her breast.

She knew.

She knew who she was, and why she had come.

Purring with power, she rose to her feet. Her stunning red dress smoothed itself around her of its own accord, and she paused with her keen gaze fixed unerringly upon the town.

Yes, she knew exactly who had summoned her. In the quiet darkness, before she took her first step, one whispered word dropped from her lips.

"Regina."