After their meal the two ladies retired to the sitting room where they enjoyed fine spirits, which helped the conversation along.
“I regret sending you away, Verona,” the Queen said, though in truth only part of her regretted it. “Had I the opportunity to make the decision again, I do not believe I would send you from this court.”
“Oh, but then I never would have met my lord. I am grateful to you, Majesty. You have brought immense happiness into my life, and I thank you for that,” Verona said.
“You love him, then, this husband of yours?” asked the Queen.
“Yes, of course, why would you ask such a question?” Verona said.
“I am just looking after your heart, my dear friend, that is all. It would distress me to see you hurt by the loss of him. He is away on campaign, is he not? You should prepare yourself for his death.”
“I shall not! Why would you even say such a thing?” Verona said, standing up from her comfortable chair.
“Because this is life, my dear Verona. It is our lot to lose our loves and feel our hearts break in the wake of that loss. I would shield you from it if I could, my friend, but there was nothing anyone could have said to prepare me for the breaking of my soul when the King passed from my life.”
Verona’s eyes were filled with sadness. “I remember that day well, my Queen, and my heart goes out to you, it does; but I cannot live in fear of losing him, for fear of not living my life at all. May I speak frankly with you, Majesty?”
“Yes, please feel free to speak candidly as you always have, Verona. You are an old friend and that does have its privileges,” the Queen said coolly.
“You seem much changed to me, Majesty. You are more beautiful than ever, but something within you has shifted. I fear for your unhappiness and solitude.” Verona continued, “Snow White has written me several times, expressing her concern over you. She is worried that you are so closed off from her. She loves you so much, Majesty, and it breaks my heart to think of you both alone in your grief when you have each other for solace and strength.”
“Snow knows how dear she is to me, Verona. I would perish without her,” the Queen said.
“Why, then, do you never seek her company? Snow is a remarkable young lady, Majesty. Even now, after these many years of near-abandonment, she would still be a great friend to you, if only you extended your hand,” Verona pleaded.
“You dare imply that I have abandoned my daughter?” the Queen snapped.
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, I thought I could speak honestly with you.”
“So I said, but it breaks my heart, Verona, to hear these words. You do not know what it is to feel your heart break in the wake of tragedy, and you should pray you never do!”
Verona shook her head. “Please, my Queen—and my friend. Please go to your daughter, she is not long for this court, as she is approaching the proper marrying age, and I would not see her go from this kingdom without knowing her mother’s love.”
Her mother’s love. The words resonated with the Queen. She had abandoned Snow White for magic mirrors and spell books from the strange sisters. Was she so mad, so deranged by the loss of her husband, that she should be too afraid to love her daughter for fear of losing her? This was madness, surely! And why did it take Verona’s words to make her see this clearly for the first time? She should have never sent her friend, this woman she once called a sister, from court—to go so long without her companionship, without her council and her love. Perhaps much could have been averted if Verona were here these many long years.
Then the Queen found something stir within her that she had not felt in a great while. Her shattered heart felt suddenly mended.
“I would be much pleased if you extended your stay, Verona. Please say you will remain here for the entirety of your husband’s campaign. I have been without your company for too long, and I do not wish to see you go from me again so quickly.”
“Yes, of course, Majesty, I would be happy to stay in court with you and Snow White.”
“Thank you, Verona. Shall we make a picnic in the woods tomorrow, like old times, the three of us?”
“That would be lovely, Your Majesty. I’m sure that will make Snow very happy, too.”
“Very well, then,” the Queen answered. “We shall leave that dolt Tilley behind. Never in my life have I been met with such incompetence.”
The Queen laughed, and Verona laughed along. But it was no longer the laughter of camaraderie. The Queen’s laugh was one of power and disdain, and Verona’s was uncomfortable.
That evening, while the Queen was alone in her chamber, she began to feel restless. She had already questioned the Slave today. But that was before Verona had returned.
She needed to call on him again.
She needed to know.
She stumbled through the darkened room, approached the Magic Mirror, and summoned the Slave. Then she asked her question.
“I cannot determine who is fairest with Verona at court, my Queen,” the Slave responded. “Your beauty is so close. Elements of hers almost surpass your own. While elements of yours nearly eclipse hers.”
The Queen fought the impulse to banish Verona—even to kill her. The urge was powerful, but the Queen found an old strength within her, forged around friendship and love, that allowed her to fight harder.
She ripped the curtains from her windows and wrapped them around the mirror. Then she called for Uncle Marcus’s good friend, the Huntsman. He was perhaps the strongest man in the court and could easily perform the task she had at hand. He arrived quickly and she pushed the mirror toward him.
“Take this with you and bury it deep within the forest. Leave no marker to its whereabouts, and never, no matter how I implore you, never tell me where you have buried it—this part is paramount—never tell me where you have buried it! Do you understand?”
“Yes, my Queen,” the Huntsman replied.
“And tell absolutely no one of this conversation or where you have hidden it, and whatever you do, do not seek to know what is wrapped in this cloth. I will know if you have deceived me in any way.”
“I would never deceive you, my Queen. Never. I only wish to seek your favor,” the Huntsman said, bowing.
The Queen watched from her window as the Huntsman rode away on a two-horse carriage, with the Magic Mirror wrapped and stowed in the rear. The Huntsman vanished into the forest, taking with him the thing that had bolstered the Queen since her greatest loss, but which had also become her greatest weakness.
Having Verona at court should have been a great comfort to the Queen, but she couldn’t keep her mind from drifting to the Magic Mirror or its location, and this made her especially bothered and easily agitated.
It was madness that she should be so consumed. Surely if she asked the Huntsman he would have little choice other than to follow her orders. Perhaps after some persuading, he would reveal the location. But would she subject herself to that torment, the knowledge that she was too weak-minded to keep herself from the mirror? And would she have the Huntsman know of this weakness as well?
The days that followed were pure agony. The Queen was so caught up in her need of the Magic Mirror that she was haunted even in her dreams, leaving her sleepless and ill. Every day that she was parted from the mirror, she seemed to become sicklier—so much so that she often felt near to death.
She often woke terrified to a dream that dominated her restless slumber.…
In the dream she was in the forest, frantically searching for the mirror. The canopy of trees obscured the sky, leaving her alone in darkness and in fear. The sisters were there, too—coming and going, and changing shape and form, the way things do in dreams. The Queen would come upon a freshly disturbed mound of dirt and begin digging with her bare hands. Desperate to find the mirror, she would dig for what felt like an eternity, her hands bleeding, her body weak, and her mind spinning out of control. Finally, she would feel something soft and wet covered in cloth. After unwrapping it she would disc
over there, in the cloth, a heart, its blood pouring all over her hands.
“Momma?” she would hear. It would be Snow, a young girl once again, standing there with a look of terrible sadness on her little face, her white dressing gown covered in blood, dripping from where her heart once was. Her face blank; her eyes hollow and blackened, her skin ashen, and her expression reproachful. The sisters were always about, giggling their eerie laughter. The Queen would move to scream, but no sound would come, she was so paralyzed with fear.
Every morning she woke, soaked in sweat, anxious from this exact dream, or a similar one. It sent a tremor through her and made her feel weak. She had no control over her own will.
She felt defeated.
One evening she dreamed of the sisters. “Over—there!” they called, standing in the forest, appearing and disappearing under the moonless, midnight sky. “Dig—here—the—Magic—Mirror—your—Slave—” They chattered and laughed, and the moon illuminated their ghastly doll-like faces with a pale blue glow.
And when she awoke the morning after this dream, she found something wrapped in soiled cloth sitting on the floor beside her bed. Her hands, too, were covered in earth, and her nightdress was tattered and caked with mud.
She thought she must still have been dreaming. Or, had she gone into the forest in search of the mirror while she slept? For the first time in more than a week she felt renewed, her strength coming back to her and her sense of self returning. She unwrapped the large object and there—staring back at her—was her reflection. She collapsed on top of the mirror and embraced it like a lost lover returned.
Something within her had changed. Verona was right. She wasn’t the same woman who had married the King those many years ago; she was something wholly different and it frightened her. But it also gave her a sense of strength and of power. She would never be parted from the Magic Mirror again. Her life, her soul, seemed dependent upon it. She tore open the cloth that covered the mirror revealing its face.
“Magic Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”
“Your beauty is beyond compare, but Verona is fairest.”
“Perhaps then,” the Queen said, smiling wickedly, “it is time for her to go.”
The next morning, the Queen was breaking her fast with Verona in the morning room when the Huntsman brought Snow White in. She looked tattered, her rags soiled and torn more than usual, and her face was badly bruised.
“What’s happened?” the Queen asked as she stood from her seat almost knocking over a teapot. “My horse was spooked, I couldn’t control him.” The Huntsman interrupted Snow, “She was riding Lurid, my Queen, the new stallion. I warned her he wasn’t fit to ride, but she took him out while I was hunting.”
The Queen raged, “You could have died, Snow!
What were you thinking riding by yourself?” Snow didn’t answer.
“You were alone, were you not?”
Snow looked at her shoes.
“You were with him? After I expressly forbade you to ever see him again?”
Snow dropped her head in admission.
“Leave now, before I strike you; I cannot even look at you !” the Queen shouted.
Snow stood her ground. “He told me what you said, Mother! You lied to him, you said I didn’t love him. How could you?”
The Queen slapped Snow square in the face.
Verona looked horrified.
“My Queen, please!” Verona shouted.
The Queen whipped her head around like an angry viper and snapped at Verona, “Silence!”
Snow was in tears, sobbing so hard she couldn’t speak. Verona went to her side and wrapped her arms around her.
“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” Verona said bitterly to the Queen. “You have become a cold, wicked woman, and there is nothing of the friend I once loved within you.”
“Then you will have no trouble with my banishing you from this kingdom, dear Verona. Forever. And I have a mind to banish that incorrigible child along with you. But there is a life for her here. This castle has a use for her. The horse’s stalls have never been so clean. The outhouses have never smelled so fresh,” the Queen said sardonically.
“Majesty…” the Huntsman began.
“Silence! Or you will suffer the same fate,” the Queen barked at him.
Snow buried her face in the Huntsman’s chest and sobbed. He ushered her out of the room and Verona followed close behind. Then Verona asked the servants to gather her belongings, and after bidding good-bye to the familiar faces around the court she hadn’t seen in years, she left the castle.
The Queen watched her go, then quickly retreated to her chamber. She went to the mirror, but she feared the Slave’s reply. She couldn’t bring herself to ask him. She couldn’t bear hearing that she wasn’t the fairest, not this evening. So she retired to bed. And the next morning she awoke feeling a new rush of energy. Verona was far away from court. She was sure the Slave in the mirror would put her heart at ease.
“Magic Mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?”
“You are, my Queen….”
The Queen felt uneasy.
“I sense hesitation in your voice, Slave. Speak to me,” the Queen said.
“You are the fairest, Majesty. But do not ask me to advise on the state of your heart.”
The Queen spat upon the mirrored glass, then whipped up her cape and stormed from the room as the Slave in the Magic Mirror disappeared in a cloud of purple smoke.
“Show me Snow White!”
Snow White was running in the dark forest, full of fear and anguish. She was panic-stricken, alone, and heading back to the castle. Back to her stepmother, who would surely have the Huntsman punished for attempting to hurt her, and weaving lies that she plotted her own daughter’s death.
“Foolish girl.”
The forest came alive; it was visceral and dangerous. It wanted Snow White’s life. The Queen’s rage penetrated the trees, bringing their leafless limbs to life. As if they were hands, the tree branches scratched and grabbed at Snow, entrapping her, pinning her to the ground. They wrapped themselves around her neck, choking her, and clawing at her chest for her heart. The forest would do what the Huntsman could not. Snow’s eyes filled with terror, she cried out, “Momma, please help me!” The Queen’s heart melted in that moment. The trees released Snow White from their clutches.
The girl ran deep into the forest, where the trees obscured the sky completely. She was in pure darkness, surrounded by glowing eyes peering at her menacingly. She was alone in fear, and she ran, not knowing if the path would take her to safety or to death. The Queen’s magic could not go where Snow wandered—she escaped out of the forest and out of the Queen’s view.
The Queen jolted awake. She felt a freezing chill and desired nothing but the warm comfort of her bed. She stayed there for days, conjuring only the energy to make a daily visit to the Magic Mirror, and an occasional walk to the window to make sure Snow White was scrubbing away at the castle, and avoiding that meddlesome Prince.
Even from afar, she noticed how beautiful Snow had become. Not only in outward appearance but, like her father, in her pure heart. It would not be long before…No, the Queen could not permit herself to think it.
She felt alone, forsaken by her husband, and now Snow was away from her as well. No, that was a dream. Or was it? Everything in her life seemed to be tangled up now—dreams and reality, fantasy and nightmares. She felt that she had become something other than human, something completely alien to herself. She wondered if her father had lived his days in such a state. These days she saw much of him within herself.
Late one night she woke with her nightdress soaked in sweat; she felt weak and every part of her ached. She got up and poured some water into her washing bowl to cool herself when she noticed something upon the floor. It was blood—pools of it—mingling with footprints, leading from the Queen’s bedside out her chamber door. The Queen took a torch for light and followed the blo
ody trail out the castle and into the forest.
The forest was blackened, as if ravaged by a fire; there was no light from the moon or stars. It was a dead place, ruined by her jealousy and hate. The only source of light was the torch she carried. The bloody trail finally ended. A heart was clasped within the clawlike branches of a dead tree, looking like a strange, bleeding fruit, blood glistening on the branches in the torchlight. The Queen just stood there, feeling empty and alone, terror gripping her own heart.
“Momma?” The Queen turned with a start.
Standing there was Snow, a child once more. Her face whiter than death, her eyes black holes, and her white dress covered in blood. “Momma, can I please have my heart back?”
The Queen screamed. What had she done?
“Your Majesty, please wake up! You’re having a nightmare,” Tilley insisted.
“My little girl needs me. She came here last night…because she needs me! The forest took her heart!”
Her chambermaid just looked at her, bewildered.
“No, my Queen, Snow White is in the courtyard; she’s fine.”
“But the blood on the floor! It’s there, see!”
“You must have broken something in the night and stepped on the glass. Majesty, you’ve been ill.”
“No, it is Snow White’s blood. She came here in the night, I swear!”
“Look at your feet, Majesty, they’re filthy and bleeding. You’re sick, please go back to sleep, you need your rest.”
“Leave me alone, you idiotic wench.”
“But, Your Majesty, I should tend to your—”
“I said leave!”
The Queen stared at the blood and glass on her chamber floor. Snow had come to her in the night—she knew it! Her little girl was lost and alone and searching for her heart. Although she had been doing little more than sleeping these past few days, she passed out from exhaustion once more.
* * *
“You must kill Snow White if you want to survive, if you desire your beauty back.”
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