Suddenly, the little men came crashing into the garden, they’d known what had happened and were crying out for the Queen’s death. The shock jolted her out of any sentimental reverie, and she was once again wicked—now concerned only with preserving her own life.
She scrambled to her feet and ran as fast as she could. The men looked nothing like she had imagined. Their faces screwed up in anger, they knew why she was there, they knew what she had done; somehow, these men possessed a magic of their own.
She ran from the men in a panic, her heart racing and terror gripping at her. Her strides much wider than theirs, she had managed to gain a fair amount of distance on the tiny men, even running in the pouring rain in her weakened state.
The men did not relent, and they pursued her into the forest. Still, she maintained her lead on them.
And then she came to a split in the path. One path led up a cliff, at the top of which was a huge boulder. The other continued farther into the woods. If she ran into the woods, perhaps she could lose herself among the trees. If she ran up to the top of the cliff, she would be trapped.
And then, the sisters appeared again.
“My Queen, we can guarantee that taking the path that leads to the boulder will mean certain death for you.”
The sisters were more serious than the Queen had ever heard them before. Their voices were devoid of eerie laughter.
“We implore you, take to the forest. You will be safe there. We can find you and reverse the hag spell. Forgive our dishonesty….”
The Queen considered her options. The forest—safety. A haven for her. A new chance at life.
But what kind of life? She thought back to the day she had met the King at the well. She remembered how warm his hands felt on hers—how she had never been touched that way before, how no one had ever loved her—ever. Her wedding day came to mind, the joy she had felt and that which emanated from every corner of the kingdom—nay, all the lands.
And then there was Snow White.…Ah, she loved the child. She loved her as the daughter she was by right of marriage. So beautiful and pure. Such a precocious little one. A real beauty who loved the King and honored his memory by living life in full even after his death. Unlike the Queen who allowed treachery, pain, and vanity to destroy her. She remembered holding Snow when she told her the King had been killed…and the Apple Blossom Festival, and all those days with Verona, and all the picnics and breakfasts in the morning room.
The Queen had had so much promise within her—so much power to make the world better. But instead she allowed darkness to guide her, blind to any other way.
The men were now close behind her. The sisters had again vanished.
The Queen glanced at the cliff as the clouds battered her with rain and the sky whipped at her with lightning lashes. She looked up and she knew what she needed to do.
After all, she had chosen her path long ago.
Snow White blinked her eyes and woke to Love’s First Kiss.
She felt weary and odd, but ecstatic. Her Prince had come. He had broken the spell. He had saved her. Perhaps the old crone’s apple was truly magical after all, for Snow White’s wishes had come true.
The two were married soon after, and on the night of their wedding the trees were filled with fireflies blinking in the darkness. The sky was full of glittering starlight, like shards from broken mirrors scattered over the ocean. The castle was decorated with her favorite flowers, the scent bringing back lovely memories. Snow danced with her husband in the great hall, imagining her mothers dancing with her, smiling, and wishing her well as the Queen’s mirrored cylinder spun, casting gorgeous patterns on the stone walls. She kissed her Prince.
Bliss.
Snow White held her Prince’s hand, wondering what her new life would be like. With her stepmother gone, she was now queen of her kingdom. And she thought she would rule as justly and passionately as her father had, and as her stepmother might have if things had been different.
She kissed her Prince again and looked to the stars, feeling a sense of love she’d never felt before.
She was happy.
The only thing she longed for that day was her father and mothers. She had lost them when she was very young—at least that is how she thought of it. No one understood why she still loved the Queen. But to Snow, her stepmother had died the day her father was killed, and up until that day the woman had been a guardian angel to her.
Later that evening, alone in her chamber, after a long day of wedding festivities, Snow White noticed that her chambermaid had piled some of the wedding gifts next to her fireplace. She curled up in an overstuffed velvet chair, tucking her feet to one side and suddenly feeling very small—like a little bird.
Little bird. That is what her stepmother used to call her.
How she wished she were here now. How she wished she hadn’t been destroyed by her vanity and grief. She dragged one of the larger packages from beside the bed and tore it open.
It was her mother’s favorite mirror. The one she looked upon obsessively.
Snow White was taken aback as the glass filled with lapping flames, followed by a swirl of mist.
And then a face appeared.
“I love you, my beautiful little bird,” said the Queen from the Magic Mirror. “I always have, and I always will.” The Queen blew the girl a kiss. And Snow White smiled.