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She could not help but laugh to herself. And now she would formulate a special sort of death for one so fair. What would it be? She felt around in her cloak, which still contained the apple Snow White had brought her. A poisoned apple! The Queen remembered back to when Snow White was a child, and the tale she told the Queen in which the sisters had mentioned enchanted fruit.
She flipped frantically through the sisters’ book of potions and found it at last. One taste of the poisoned apple and the victim’s eyes would close forever in the Sleeping Death. The Queen rummaged through the vials and canisters that were stored about the dungeon. She filled her cauldron with a healthy amount of skunk stock, and then added the rest of the formula—mostly herbs like foxglove and wolfsbane—with a dash of things much less ordinary, things found in mortuaries rather than forests.
Before long, her cauldron was bubbling with a green-gray liquid. The Queen considered the apple and smiled. Then she tied a thread around its stem so that she would be able to lower it into the elixir without touching the deadly potion. All she need do now, according to the sisters’ book, was recite the incantation and lower the apple into the cauldron. Then the spell would be complete.
“Dip the apple in the brew, let the Sleeping Death seep through!” she recited.
And with that, she dipped the apple into the cauldron. When she did so, the green liquid turned a sickly blue, and as the now-black apple emerged from its bath, an ominous mark appeared upon it—the death’s-head. This was confirmation that the spell was a success—just as the sisters’ book said it would be. She need only recite one more incantation, and the spell would be sealed. “Now turn red to tempt Snow White—to make her hunger for a bite!”
The apple quickly turned from black to the brightest red the Queen had ever seen. She threw her head back and cackled insanely. She was well-armed now. But then she hesitated—what if there were an antidote? She rushed back to the sisters’ book and flipped frantically through the pages. Yes, there was an antidote—the victim of the Sleeping Death could be awakened, but only by Love’s First Kiss. For a moment the Queen was crestfallen and enraged. After all, the Prince would be searching for Snow White. What if he found her, lying there, and kissed her corpse in sorrow. She would awaken. The Wicked Queen quickly put the thought out of her mind. There would be no chance of that. Snow White was in the forest with the Seven Dwarfs. They would find her body and think she was dead. And they would bury the girl alive.
The Queen laughed, startling the crow that inhabited the dungeon.
The Wicked Queen had only one thing left to do—deliver the apple.
She would soon once again be fairest of all.
The Queen packed the poison apple in a basketful of others. It was the sole red one, so that she would be able to identify it when the time came to use it. She gathered up the basket and lifted a trapdoor in the dungeon. She descended the hidden staircase that led to an underground passage, where long ago the King had helped the Queen and Snow to make a hasty and unseen exit from the castle during an attack.
She hopped into the boat and rowed it down the underground river, which eventually opened up onto the castle moat, and finally into the swampland surrounding the forest.
It was still dead of night, and she was sure that she had gone unnoticed—a testament, she thought, to how poorly the castle guards did their job.
The Queen sneaked through the swampland and out into the forest toward the Seven Jeweled Hills. But with her new form—a hunched body and aching joints—it was not easy to navigate the uneven landscape, and she needed to stop often to rest.
And then she came to a clearing that was bathed in what little moonlight had been able to penetrate the clouds.
“Going off to do the deed then?” she heard a voice.
“Who is there?” the Queen asked, still not used
to her own newly crotchety voice.
Three figures stepped from the shadows.
“You!” The Queen gasped.
“You have—chosen the right—path,” the sisters said.
The Wicked Queen pushed them out of the way and proceeded, limping deeper into the forest. She had what she needed—their spells and their potions. She had no further use for them.
“We hope you fare well,” the sisters called after her as she continued her trek toward the Seven Jeweled Hills.
It was after dawn before she finally reached them. She listened for the roar of the seven falls, and followed their path. She carefully avoided wild beasts and creatures of the night. She was forced to climb over felled trees in order to cross roaring rivers and streams which, in her fragile state was not easy. But her determination was so strong, her will to kill Snow White so great, that she managed to arrive at the Seven Jeweled Hills. And just beyond them lay the cottage of the Seven Dwarfs, and in it—Snow White.
The Queen stood as tall as she could atop the hill and surveyed the landscape below. She noticed a worn little path that led into the woods. Chimney smoke hung over the treetops near where she suspected the path ended.
The Queen threw back her head and laughed madly. Then she set out to follow the path.
She was soon rewarded for her efforts. The Queen stood behind a tree and watched the little house. The door opened and the little men the Slave had spoken of set off for their daily work in the mines.
And then, she saw her—Snow White!
The girl had came to the door and saw each of the men off. The Queen was disgusted and filled with venom and hatred. Onyx hair, lips like rubies, skin like snow, heart of gold…bah! The Queen knew better. Snow White was a selfish wench who cared nothing for her father’s memory and was plotting to surpass her mother in the only thing the woman had left in this world—her beauty.
The Queen watched as the men left the house. The sun was streaming through the canopy of bird-filled tree branches. Snow White proceeded to the garden, where she fed bread crumbs to bluebirds. The Queen peeked from behind the tree where she was hiding; her clawlike fingers wrapped around a low branch and made a sickening scratching sound as she dug her nails into the bark of the tree, wishing it were Snow White’s flesh. “Hasn’t changed one little bit,” she whispered to herself in her new raspy voice.
She waited for Snow to go inside before she approached the cottage. She saw her in the open window, happily at work making pies.
