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“Truthful mirror in my hand,” the queen would say, looking carefully at their reflected faces, “who’s the fairest in the land?”
And the queen was always satisfied that it was herself, not Snow White.
“Why don’t you ever look me in the eyes?” Snow White asked one morning, her high voice as sweet as ice cream. If you listened to it too much, it gave you the same sort of brain freeze, too.
“Of course I look you in the eyes,” the queen said, looking at Snow White’s smooth forehead.
“No, you don’t. You aren’t right now.”
“Of course I am,” the queen said, looking at Snow White’s perfect button nose.
Snow White began to cry and then ran away to her real mother’s old room. She sat at the window, staring out at the kingdom that should have been hers. She tried to have a good attitude, but it just wasn’t fair. Her stepmother was the worst. She made Snow White do all the work while Jack got to play. And then she let Jack leave, when Snow White was forbidden from setting foot outside the castle grounds. She always dressed Snow White in cheery primary colors, ignoring the fact that Snow White loved black the most. And even though Snow White hated garlic and wanted to throw up at the taste, her stepmother insisted on cooking everything with it. Then there was the matter of her stepmother’s neck. It was always covered! She had even changed the castle uniforms to turtlenecks before firing everyone. No one likes turtlenecks! Especially not Snow White. The wicked queen took away everything that made Snow White happy.
Poor Snow White was lonely, and she was sad, and she was tired and sick from being forced to work in the sun so much.
And she was always, always thirsty.
She stood in the middle of her dead mother’s room. Nothing had been changed. (No one wanted anything that had belonged to the creepy queen. The room was covered in tapestries of bats and cluttered by pillows with stitched-on sayings like “Home Is Where the Blood Is.”)
Snow White opened her mother’s old trunk and pulled out the gowns one by one. Her mother, it turned out, had terrible taste in clothing. She wore entirely pastels with bows. So many bows. Snow White sighed, wishing her mother were here right now. Her mother would never treat her the way her stepmother did!
Surely there was something in here worth wearing, though. Something she could have to remind her of the woman who had truly understood her. Snow White’s hand brushed against something cold and hard in the middle of the dresses. She closed her fingers around it and pulled it out. Metal clinked with dull tones. Snow White smiled, showing each of her perfect, tiny, sharp teeth.
“Thank you, Mother,” she whispered.
The queen woke up aching and sore. She thought she must be coming down with a cold. She unlocked her door, then unlocked Snow White’s. She stumbled to the kitchen. To her surprise, Snow White volunteered to make their customary breakfast of oatmeal and garlic.
(Lunch was tuna fish sandwiches and garlic. Dinner was pasta and garlic, with a side of garlic. The kitchen did not smell pleasant, and, frankly, neither did their breath.)
“It’s a beautiful morning.” Snow White’s singsong voice was sweeter than the honey they never ate with their oatmeal.
“Yes, it is,” the queen croaked. Her whole throat felt like it was on fire.
“You look like you don’t feel well. Let me get us ready today!”
The queen let Snow White brush her hair. She did it so softly, and it felt wonderful. Rather than forcing her to go outside, the queen agreed to let Snow White stay in and read aloud to her.
She really did have a nice voice, the queen thought. Despite everything, she cared for the child. As long as the queen remained the fairest in the land, everything would be okay.
The next morning, the queen awoke even sicker. She felt like a hive of hot lava bees had stung her throat. Once again, she stumbled to her door and unlocked it. But it was already unlocked. That’s strange, she thought. She very clearly remembered locking it the night before. She always locked her door!
Brushing it off as a mistake due to her sickness, she unlocked Snow White’s room (at least she had remembered that!) and was greeted with sympathy. The girl sang and chattered all day, fussing over the queen. But no matter how hard Snow White tried, the queen never looked her in the eyes. Still, Snow White was so attentive that by the time it was night, the queen was almost feeling better.
“See you in the morning!” Snow White chirped cheerily, black eyes bright with feverish intensity the queen could not see.
The queen nodded, patting her affectionately on the head. After locking the doors, the queen draped a small strand of red thread on the doorknob to her room.
When she awoke the next morning, she could
barely move. Her head felt as heavy as a three-story-long snake and her eyes felt as fuzzy as a pig’s chinny chin chin. When she tried to get up, every muscle screamed like a prince locked in a tower.
Her door was still locked. But the thread was on the floor.
Trembling, the queen took out her mirror and stumbled to Snow White’s room. She unlocked the door to find Snow White looking happier and healthier than ever. But the girl’s skin was as white as a blanket of fog.
“Truthful mirror in my hand,” the queen whispered through her tortured throat—which she now saw had two tiny red marks on the side—“who’s the fairest in the land?” She looked at her own reflection, as pale as death (who, being Death, can’t ever get a tan but at least doesn’t have to use sunblock), and then she looked at Snow White’s reflection.
Or, rather, where Snow White’s reflection was supposed to be.
