Snow Queen
by Lisa Kwan
Written for: The Writer's Tower
Theme: Mirror (June)
Her eyelids fluttered open, kissed
by the sunlight streaming through the windows. Beside her, he stirred, and she
turned towards him, her lips barely brushing his day-old stubble. She blew
gently on his neck, and she was amused to see his eyebrows furrow.
“You awake, darling?” His voice was
hoarse. And sexy.
She wrapped her arm around his belly
in response, and slipped her hand underneath him. She could almost feel his
smile, as he planted a kiss atop her head. “Breakfast?” She spoke into his
chest. “I’ll ring for it,” he said, but didn’t move.
She sat up and stretched, lifting
her arms high above her and exposing her naked breasts, as big as pomegranates,
as the covers slipped from her shoulders. She watched him watch her, his eyes
travelling from her heart-shaped face, to her delicate neck, her small
shoulders, taut stomach and tiny waist, the rest concealed by the sheets. And she
glowed, like the palest moon on the darkest night. She was conscious of his hungry
stare, and took delight in it.
“You’re the most beautiful woman in
the world,” he breathed, as he pulled her down to him, the length of her
pressed against him. Before anything else could happen, however, a little girl with rosy apple cheeks had unknowingly snuck into their room and started bouncing excitedly
on their bed. “Wake. Up. Wake. Up. WAKE! UP! The sun’s awake!”
She swiftly wrapped the sheets
around her, neatly, and pulled the excited little Jack in the Box in a tight
embrace, laughing. “Alright, Snow. We’re up. Let’s get some breakfast.” Her
father ruffled Snow’s hair, and her giggles tinkled like wind chimes in a soft
breeze. She gave Snow a flurry of kisses, and Snow playfully pulled away. “I’m
hungry, Mother.” “Okay, let’s head downstairs to the dining hall and see what
they have for us.”
Her husband had furtively slipped
out of bed and got dressed, already putting on his robes. There was a knock on
the door, and a muffled, “Breakfast is served, Your Majesties.” She watched as
he silently lifted the crown from its place on a purple velvet cushion, and carefully
placed it on his head. He was handsome, commanding, regal—a king. One she had
fallen completely for.
He glanced at her, and winked just
for her.
“Carry me, Father!” Snow’s chubby
arms outstretched, her raven black hair shining as bright as her eyes. “Oof! You’re
getting heavy, little one. You’ll have to carry me soon!” More tinkling giggles.
“Come down when you’re ready, love.”
He kissed her right on the lips, drawing her breath into his own so she was
left breathless. Their laughter disappeared behind the large wooden doors, and
she wondered, fleetingly, if maybe her fortune had been wrong. The old woman
had said that a terrible fate awaited her should she marry the king, someone
who was hers to neither possess nor covet, but this morning had been anything
but.
She shrugged into her robes too,
finally putting her crown on, the jewels glittering in the sunlight. She
hesitated in front of the full-length mirror by her dresser, staring at her
reflection. She held her head up, and reminded herself, again, as she did every
day, that she was the queen. As she turned her back, her reflection watched her
leave the room and heaved an inaudible sigh.
***
She stood, unmoving, before the
mirror, thinking that there must be some kind of mistake. She must have heard
wrong. She took several steps back and crumpled to the floor, sobbing.
He had loved me for my beauty, she
thought. What am I without it?
She missed him. Not a day went by
where she did not; her heart ached remembering his boyish smile, his playful
wink, his touch, his voice, his desire for her, as if it were only yesterday
instead of almost a decade ago.
He had been her everything, her
whole world. That he had left her a mere couple of years after they were
married was a cruel fate indeed. Though she had an enormous castle and
countless servants at her beck and call, she had never felt so alone.
She did not want to live. She hardly
slept, hardly ate. She shied away from the servants, shrank back from Snow, who
only reminded her of what once was, which was too painful to bear. Snow wasn’t
hers to begin with; had been his and that
woman’s—as she took to referring to his previous wife—and though she tried,
she could not truly love someone who, with each day, grew to be more like the
woman she despised.
Oh, she had noticed, certainly, her newfound
womanly gait. The way she laughed, spoke, moved, even the way she unconsciously
tucks her hair behind her ear. At 16, she possessed grace and poise, regal and
elegant, befitting a princess. But she was also opinionated and intelligent,
inquisitive and argumentative, just like her mother.
She hated that. So much that she
drove Snow away, much to Snow’s bewilderment. She hated that Snow was just like
her mother, hated that she was not hers and would never be, hated that she
reminded her too much of her father, her only love, who was gone and would
never return.
Hate. Hate. Hate.
She grew determined. She slowly gathered
her dress about her and stood before the mirror once more. She wanted to hear
it, one more time, to be sure.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s
the fairest of them all?” she whispered, her voice quivering. Her reflection
shifted and swirled before her, morphing into Snow, younger, fairer and more beautiful.
“I am, My Lady,” Snow replied, eyes
downcast, hands clasped before her, as if apologetic.
“No, no you are not,” she snarled,
gripping her fists so tightly they turned white. “I am the most beautiful. He loved
me for my beauty. I was the most
beautiful to him.”
From the corner of her eye, she
spied the bowl of apples the servants had left on a table, ruby red and
gleaming. She remembered the former queen, how she was so easily tempted by the
apples’ crimson glow, took a bite from one that she had offered, without even
thinking twice. Not knowing the poison it held, the death that awaited.
She held her head high, reminded
herself again, that she was the queen. The new queen.
“Mirror, mirror on the wall,” the
queen whispered, “Will Snow White make it after all?”
THE END
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