And then the Slave appeared in his swirl of purple mist.
“What wouldst thou know, my Queen?”
“Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”
“You, my Queen, are the fairest in all the lands, now that Verona has set foot on distant sands.”
The Queen felt all the tension flow from her body, and every muscle in her body relaxed. She took a deep breath and sighed. But something within her was still unsettled. What was she becoming? How was it that she chose her own beauty over her dearest companion?
“Slave, I’ve another question for you,” she said.
“I am bound only by honesty, my Queen.”
“Perhaps I am fairest in the land. But how is it that I can once again be happy?”
“Happiness is beauty, and beauty is happiness. Beauty brings joy whether possessed by man, woman, girl, or boy.”
“How I wish that were true,” the Queen said.
A day did not go by after Verona’s departure when the Queen did not submit to the compulsion to consult the Magic Mirror. Hearing her father tell her how beautiful she was helped lift her spirits. But she felt more alone than ever.
Perhaps it was the loss of her husband and her loneliness that brought her to the mirror each day, but she felt there was something else that compelled her to seek her father’s approval and love. Sometimes she felt she had to look in the mirror simply to reassure herself she was in the world. That she was human and not simply a floating gray mist haunting the walls of the castle. She felt real and alive when she looked into the mirror; she felt empowered by her beauty.
No, not just empowered, but invincible.
The Queen’s life became a monotonous routine. Each day after she consulted the Magic Mirror, she would retreat to her dungeon. It wasn’t until long after the sisters’ departure that the Queen had remembered the gift the sisters had spoken of during their last visit. She had been so consumed by the mirror that she thought of little else. But months later, a note arrived from the three reading only:
HOW ARE YOU FARING WITH OUR GIFTS?
The note had reminded the Queen that the sisters had left something for her in the dungeon. Perhaps it was something that might take her mind off of the mirror. Or maybe it was something that possessed a similar power and might only accentuate her magical abilities.
In the dungeon, the Queen discovered a worn old trunk. She opened it and bats flew out at her, and she quickly lifted her cape to guard herself from the sickening beasts. Then she discovered the gifts: books of spells and incantations; vials of strange things—mummy dust, toad eyes, sleep crust; beakers and mortars and pestles. And a cauldron. The Queen quickly became greatly interested in the books, and soon learned how to use them in concert with the strange things the sisters had left behind.
Her first spells were clumsy and didn’t work very well, when they worked at all. Early on, she attempted a spell to make her hair—already black—darker than the raven’s feather. But instead of transforming her hair to the color of the bird’s wing, it imparted the texture, and the Queen spent days attempting to hide her feather-covered head from the court until she discovered a way to reverse the spell. Another time, she inadvertently dyed her hands green and scarred them with warts. And then she attempted a potion that would make her voice more mellifluous than anyone in the lands, which resulted in her croaking like a toad. When she tried to create an antidote, she sang like a bird and hissed like a serpent, before she at last regained her own voice.
What the citizens of the kingdom assumed to be just another of the Queen’s lapses into reclusive sorrow turned out to be week-, then month-, then yearlong retreats into her chamber, antechamber, dungeon, and the morning room to practice the mystical arts.
Apart from her chambers and the dungeon, she spent a great deal of time up in the parapets, surveying the kingdom. Perhaps searching for anyone—anything that might be a challenge to her beauty.
It should have bewildered the Queen that she had become so closed off—so cold. But she reasoned it was understandable; she never wanted to experience the pain she suffered when she lost her husband. Never again. And she wasn’t without everything. In her beauty, she had something that would make people love and admire, perhaps even fear her. And she intended to keep it by any and all means at her disposal.
She imagined her heart as a broken mirror, its pieces jingling inside her, a thought that made her feel entirely inhuman. She had become distant with those she once loved. Even her daughter, Snow White, was held at a remove, for the Queen’s fear of shattering her heart altogether should anything happen that might rip Snow from her world. She couldn’t bring herself to spend more than a few moments in the girl’s company. For with every passing year Snow’s beauty increased, and the Queen began to feel something other than love for the girl. Something terrible. But she could not think about that.
One early morning, years after the King’s death, a knock came at the Queen’s door. It was Tilley, the Queen’s lady-in-waiting since Verona had been sent away from the court so long ago now. Tilley always spoke quietly, and this—the very thing that Snow loved about the woman—was resented by the Queen, who viewed it as evidence of a weak nature.
“My Queen, where would you like to break your fast?” Tilley asked.
The Queen looked frustrated and Tilley winced in anticipation.
“In the great hall of course, stupid girl. I have been taking my meals in there since you have been here.”
Tilley looked distraught.
“What is it, Tilley? Come out with it!” the Queen barked at her.
“It’s just that Snow White mentioned wanting to have breakfast in the morning room. She thought it would be a nice change.”
The Queen smirked, and she asked the poor girl, “Is Snow White queen of these lands?”
Tilley looked nervous, “No, my Queen. You are, of course.”
The Queen went on, “Then please have my meal brought to the great hall and tell Snow White she is expected to break her fast with me.”
“Yes, my Queen. I will have one of the women bring in your bathwater now.”
“That will be all, Tilley, thank you.”
The Queen wondered how she could be surrounded by such featherheaded women. Surely she wasn’t so insolent when she was young. Breakfast in the morning room, indeed!
The Queen emerged from bed, opened her curtains, and looked out on the courtyard. Snow was sitting at the well—the Queen’s well—feeding the bluebirds. She had become a beautiful young woman. Snow didn’t seem to notice, but a handsome young man was riding by on the grounds and stopped his horse so he might look upon her. He seemed spellbound by her loveliness. Indeed, he looked as though he was falling in love right there and then. The Queen shut the curtains with a firm pull and went to her mirror.
“Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”
“You, my Queen, are fairest.”
The Queen smiled, but something within her felt cold and icy. Something disturbed her about this man approaching Snow White. Jealousy? Was that what had compelled the Queen to rush to the mirror? Was she resenting Snow for her beauty? Her youth? Or was it more benevolent? Was she protecting Snow from love? After all, look where love had left the Queen.