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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.
