Flash Fiction Spooktacular

Snow White & The Evil Queen, Part Two - S Liongate

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” I trembled, heart fluttering as I waited for the answer. They called me the Evil Queen. They called me a monster. An abomination.

A dark sheen consumed the surface of the mirror, stealing my reflection. In the crib next to me, my baby cooed, gripping her toes with chubby fingers. The mirror shimmered. A silver face came forth. It stretched out of the mirror's surface with all the features that made a face recognisable - a brow, a nose, cheeks and a chin. Two silver lips moved to speak but there was no tongue or teeth behind them, just liquid mirror that stretched grotesquely with each movement.

“Why, Snow White of course.”

To the floor I fell. A sob slipping from my lips. Rose Red gurgled, oblivious; happy even. Reaching for the goblet I’d left on the side table I was incised to find it empty. Gathering my black skirts I climbed to my feet only to find the jug empty as well.

“Verick, VE-R-ICK,” my screeching brought him crashing into my chambers, “my jug is empty.”

“My apologies, Your Grace.” He bowed.

“I don’t need your apologies, I need more wine.”

“Of course, Your Grace. Right away, Your Grace.”

Verick spun on his heels, making a quick exit, only to be replaced by my deplorable step-daughter.

“What are you doing here?” Venom accompanied my words.

“I’ve come to see my sister,” Snow White spoke sweetly, strolling to the cot. “You look pretty today.” Rose Red giggled when Snow White reached into the cot.

“Who?” I snapped, alarmed.

“You do.” My step-daughter grinned; perfect teeth behind perfect lips.

“I do not. I have never been ‘pretty’.”

Snow White tilted her head, looking at the black silk cloth crumpled on the floor, then she looked at the mirror on the wall. I saw her cheeks bulge with a smile.

“Are you getting another priest?” The beautiful girl asked me, still reaching into my baby's crib. My heart thumped thickly in my chest. Air stagnated in my lungs.

“No.” There were seven heads piled at the side of my throne. Seven bodies nailed behind where I sat.

“Shame, eight is such a pretty number.” Snow White blew Rose Red a kiss, flashed me her perfect smile and left just as Verick returned with my wine. Ignoring the goblet I snatched it from his hands and guzzled it straight from the jug; gulping until my body demanded a deeper breath. There wasn’t enough wine to erase her mocking tone from my mind.

“More wine, Your Grace?”

“More wine, Verick. Always. Always more wine.” I fell into a seat by the lit fireplace. Verick slid the goblet into my hand, pouring generously, before setting the jug close.

“Shall I…? Your Grace?” Hesitation bubbled in his words. Looking across my room I found him paused by the mirror and the discarded covering. I couldn’t recall that he had ever seen it uncovered before. Tiredly I nodded. Verick deftly covered the mirror before hurrying away to fetch more wine.

I drank.

I stared into the flames, stirred them up with the poker.

I drank some more.

Snow White’s words pooled in my mind like the priests’ blood pooled on the throne room floor - stinking and congealed. ‘You look pretty today.’ she said. Pretty. She thought I looked pretty.

Ash lifted into the air rising with the heat.

“I am not pretty.” I told the room. Told the silence. I lifted the white hot poker. “I am not pretty.” I told the ash coated iron. The fire crackled. The poker held its tongue. “I. Am. Not. Pretty.” I told it once more. It was silent but I made it speak. The poker hissed and spat and sizzled against my flesh as I screamed. My face burned, flesh cooking and melting until the poker was ripped from my hands. Liquid was poured over my face, strangling the brightness of my scream; wrangling it to a gurgle. “I’m not pretty.” I told Verick through the tight pain of the burn and my lips that felt fat, blistered from the heat.

“No Your Grace, you are not.” Verick replied softly, hanging the poker back in place.

“I need a hunter, Verick. Take this letter.” I slipped it from my pocket, it was a little damp - stained red in places with the wine Verick had tipped over my face. “Deliver it to a hunter.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” He took it from my hand.

“And Verick?”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“More wine, Verick.” I mumbled with my thick lips.

***

“Come here, baby.” Into the crib I stretched my arms, scooping up Rose Red. Her bottom lip trembled while uncertain tears pushed at her eyelids. “It’s ok my little rose, let’s get you wrapped up nice and warm.” At the sound of my voice, familiar, unlike my raw, injured face, Rose Red settled. With her bundled up in winter clothes and a thick blanket, I took her down to the gardens.

The morning air was crisp, cool on my wound. Rose Red babbled to herself, a happy baby. I tried not to look at the scar I’d left on her face because of how it made my heart ache. My heart ached enough as it was. Listening to her baby nonsense, while the winter sun shone and the birds sang eased the pain.

A barrenness associated with these cold months had taken hold of the Palace Gardens, leaving them looking desolate. It was peaceful. Around the next corner there was a bench. There was a little frost on it but my thick black skirts kept most of the cold at bay.

“Here we are my baby,” the Hellebores were in full bloom, “pretty huh? Pretty flowers.” I cooed. It was hard to speak, my face hurt, but still I sang a little song - hoping that it wasn’t just the babe in my arms that could hear. Beneath the Hellebores, in the frozen winter earth, were two tiny coffins.

Rose Red’s cheeks were extra rosy from the cold. I didn’t want to leave the garden. I didn’t want to face what awaited me in the castle but there was little choice and I couldn’t bear to allow my baby to catch a chill.

“Time to go in,” my lip trembled as I sighed. Back in the castle the wet nurse was waiting to take Rose Red. Verick was waiting for me with a goblet of wine.

“Your Grace.” He handed me a black napkin. For a moment I stared at it, contemplating. Then I realised. “I submitted your request.” He whispered. The letter. Verick sent the letter. I didn’t acknowledge what he said.

“Fetch me a mourning veil.” It would hide my face. Hide me catching the wine from my ruined mouth with the napkin. Verick hurried off, while I continued to the throne room.

It was cold. It stank. Snow White was already there.

“My goodness, Mother, what happened to your face?” Her bright red lips were a shocked ‘O’ but her eyes lacked true feeling.

“It’s nothing, a scratch.” Sitting, I held the napkin to my chin to catch the wine as I drank from the goblet. “Let the first one in.” Snow White made a noise of satisfaction, settling back in her own seat.

“Your Grace.” One of my guards entered, dragging a body. “The pig farmer.” Snow White squirmed next to me, eyes transfixed on the corpse.

“Put it with the others. Next.” I called and drank my wine.

***

Awake. I had been asleep but was now abruptly awake. Rose Red wasn’t crying, she was babbling sweetly. Fear left me paralysed. My eyes were still shut; lids refusing to open. Something shifted next to my bed. A hushed scuff of shoes. A delicate rustle of clothing. A heavy breath.

The stranger, smelling of the musky depths of the woods, stood on the edge of the bed frame. Sturdy wood creaked with his weight. He waited there, lurked on the edge - probably to see if he had woken me but I was already awake. Fear kept me crushed to the mattress, unable to move. It pinned the whimper to the inside of my lungs. Rose Red gurgled, unafraid. That terrified me more.

All at once the stranger threw his weight over me, one leg either side of me, straddling me and pinning me down with his body. Large, hot hands ensnared my throat. Crushing. Squeezing. Strangling. My face grew hot. Blood thrummed in my ears, the whooshing of my desperate pulse. In the gloom this man was a dark unidentifiable mass over me. The only thing that was clear was that he was much larger than I was - I couldn’t fight him off with strength alone. With one arm I clawed at his face, his arms, with the other I reached for the draw of my bedside table.

The angle was awkward. The lack of air brutal. Still I managed to pry the draw open.

My blood was a roar in my head. Heaviness pressed my limbs down. Numbness hindered my fingers in the hunt for the knife. My attacker pressed his thumbs deeper, crushing my windpipe. The extra force pushed my head and shoulders further into the mattress bringing my arm up and away from where I scrabbled for the dagger.

Flailing, my fingers brushed the candlestick. I grabbed it. My hands no longer felt like my own. I swung it wildly, a desperate chaotic move. The man grunted. I hit him again. This time the strike made better contact. His hands loosened, the weight lessened. I dropped the candlestick on the bed and grabbed the dagger.

In the dark, murky, with an outline of the man, I saw two bright red eyes appear over his shoulder. Terror shuddered through me. The glowing eyes narrowed. Hot liquid splattered my face, my chest. It went in my mouth, the distinct tang of blood. It filled my nose. The first breath I took was filled with it. It was inescapable. The man fell. His whole weight on my body.

Crushed, I tried to call out but my throat was burning, the sound barely a wheezed rasp. The dagger fell from my hand, clattering to the floor. I hunted for the candlestick, finding it slick with cooling blood atop the soaked sheets. Aiming to make as much noise as possible, I slammed it as hard as I could, over and over on to my bedside cabinet. Rose Red began to cry and then to scream.

Hot tears squeezed themselves from my eyes. The blood was quickly chilling my skin. His weight, dead weight, had me pinned - trapped. Where were the guards? Where was Verick? Where was she? I couldn’t see the eyes anymore. Across the room I could see the outline of Rose Red’s crib but nothing else.

The slick candlestick slipped from my grasp, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Surely someone had heard the banging? Surely the little Princess’s persistent screaming would draw someone’s attention? Seconds ticked by, but the pressure on my chest, the blood soaking through the bed, the taste of metal in my mouth and the chilling screaming of my daughter made time expand. I grabbed the cabinet, bashing it into the wall, the side of the bed. Tiredness, shortness of breath, the swelling of my throat; it was wearing on me, I was running out of steam. The man on top of me twitched. A spasm of his arms and legs. A raw scream left me; the feeling a blade in my throat, the sound a whispery squeal.

Finally light blared in my chambers as a guard burst in. Through the sudden brightness I squinted.

“Your Grace!” Verick exclaimed with alarm, stepping to the bed and hauling my dead attacker off me. The deceased man’s head moved unnaturally, the neck slit so deeply it was almost entirely severed. “Your Grace, are you injured?” He leaned over me tenderly, lightly gripping my shoulder. Touching my throat, bathed in the dead man’s blood, I tried to school my face to display my usual look of indifference. Verick touched my throat gently, then he took the torch from the guard, and gave quiet instructions. After the guard left, Verick scooped Rose Red from her crib. “The Princess is unharmed, Your Grace.” He held her, rocking her, hushing her.

Relief brought forth a calm. Stiffly, I moved to sit on the edge of the bed. From the floor I took the dagger, placed it in the drawer where it belonged. The dead man was not someone I recognised. Unkempt brown hair, long and greasy. A thick overcoat. Leather breeches. Well worn boots, caked with mud.

“The hunter.” Verick answered my questioning look. He looked haunted. I’d asked for the hunter. Verick had pursued my request. I saw his guilt but knew no fault lay with him. Silence abounded until a dozen guards and maids spilled into my room. A maid gagged. Another gasped and gripped the woman next to her. They all looked to me for direction but there were no words in me. Standing, I pointed to the tin bath, waved a maid to undress me, pointed at a guard to remove the body.

“Put it in the throne room… with the others…” Verick ordered hesitantly. I nodded. In the cold room the maid peeled my bloodied nightgown down my body leaving me naked before all. Verick caught my eye and threw a glance over to the bed. I nodded. “Strip the sheets, flip the mattress, make the bed, clean the floor.”

“Your Grace!?” A maid questioned with genuine horror. I nodded, noting that she looked pretty with her chestnut hair and deep doe brown eyes.

“I will get you your wine, Your Grace.” Verick bowed, placed a now calm Rose Red in her cot and left.

***

I couldn’t ask the mirror. My voice was trapped by the bruising and swelling. It was better to be safe than sorry. The throne room reeked. Each wheezing breath had me tasting it on my tongue. There were flies now. They buzzed loudly. Fat bodies bumbling through the air, landing on walls, guards, my dress, Snow White for a short rest before either being sho-ed away or taking to the air again.

The servants were crying. There was a line. Every servant had been summoned. Little notes that I’d burned after Verick had read them had enabled it all to be organised.

Two guards held a servant girl on her knees. They gripped her head, turning her cheek to me. Fire was burning in the throne room today. A brazier. In it a brand was heating. Behind me, I could hear Snow White fidgeting. She made low urgent noises, watching the scene unfold. From the brazier I took the brand, hovered it over the servant girl's face.

“Your Grace?” Verick spoke, making me pause. “If I may?” He stepped forward. Knelt at my feet. A guard moved to hold him down. I waved them away. Hard certainty filled Verick’s eyes. I regarded his face. He was bland man, unattractive physically. To brand him was unnecessary, but it wasn’t for necessity, it was for loyalty. It was for a demonstration of fealty. Snow White huffed in dissatisfaction.

The brand sucked at Verick’s cheek. Gritting his teeth he made no sound until he stood and bowed. “Thank you, Your Grace.” Verick spoke loudly. I patted his shoulder, returned the brand back to the brazier for a moment, then turned my attention to the kneeling servant girl. Fear still bobbed in her eyes, breaking the surface, but overall she was calmer - partly reassured by Verick’s selfless action.

One by one, each servant received a brand. The maids. The butlers. The cooks. The stable hands. When that was done, it was the turn of the guards. Everyone. Everyone bar Snow White, Rose Red and myself received a brand.

With the scent of burning flesh in my nose and the hiss of it in my ears I went to my room. Verick brought me wine. We drank until the fire burned to embers and the bed was the only place we could escape the cold.

One week later…

“-all, who is the fairest of them all?” The sweet tinkle of a voice I recognised drew me from my sleep. The sweet voice turned to a screech of frustration. My breath quickened, heart stuttered as I observed Snow White standing in front of the uncovered mirror. Reaching back, I grabbed Verick’s arm.

“What is it, Ula?” His sleepy voice sounded next to me.

“Get out.” I croaked as quietly as I could.

“Of course, Your Grace.” Verick’s tone changed upon seeing the Crown Princess in my room.

“Verick, stay.” Snow White commanded. He paused hand on the door, clothes gathered in his arms. “Do I need to ask again, Verick?” She sang out, a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth smile adorning her face.

“Of course not, Princess,” my lover backed away from the door, standing awkwardly holding his rumpled clothes.

“Step-mother?” Her blue eyes flicked to the mirror. She inclined her head, a sharp, unnatural tilt.

“Yes, Snow White.” My voice still a rasp from being strangled. Rising from the bed, I made my way to the mirror. My feet were bare but my nightgown covered me, hanging almost to my ankles. My step-daughter took my arm and hooked hers around mine.

“Ask it.” She smiled up at me. I didn’t smile back. I turned to face my reflection. The bruises around my neck were still dark, clear hand prints encircling my throat. My hair was in disarray, tangled by my turbulent sleep. Across my face the burn from the poker looked angry and red. Snow White was stood right next to me but I saw no raven hair nor blood red lips. There was no blink of blue eyes for no reflection was shown there.

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” A churning rolled deep in my stomach. Nausea had bile creeping up my throat. It had been a week since I’d asked. A week. Snow White held my arm with iron fingers.

“Why, Snow White of course.” The gruesome, silver face answered with cold, pleasantness.

From the way she let go of my arm and the sound she made I couldn’t tell if the answer had soothed her or not.

“Are we done?” I tried to keep my emotions pressed down.

“Verick can go. We have more to discuss, Mother.” Snow White took lazy steps over to the crib. Rose Red laughed and cooed. I kept my eyes on the mirror, not daring to look at Verick and elevate his importance. The door shut softly. Verick was gone.

My baby cooed again but there was another sound; a rhythmic, impatient tapping. I turned. Over the crib she stood, a cruel blade in her hand. Upon the side of the crib she tapped the blade, leaving splinters and notches in the wood. My step-daughter grinned; perfect teeth behind perfect lips.

“Ask it again.” Snow White smiled sweetly.

With my hands balled at my sides I turned back to the magic mirror once again. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” There was a little more confidence in my voice this time.

“Snow White,” the mirror leered, “Snow White is the fairest in the land.”

“Smile, step-mother, such lovely news… don’t you think?” Still holding the blade, she plucked Rose Red from the cot. “What do you think, little sister?” Snow White held Rose Red up under her armpits. The knife was still in her grip, dangerously close to my sweet babe. Rose Red giggled. “Dumb little bitch.” Snow White laughed, her eyes flashed red revealing the demon inside her.

Rose Red screamed.

I needed a glass of wine.

No priest could exorcise her.

The hunter had not killed her, instead he had been charmed.

The mirror would not take it back.

It was all my fault. The gift I’d given with pure intent had been cursed; unbeknownst to me.

I had brought ruin to this kingdom.

It would be my burden to bear.

Considered a villain by all.

Forever and always: The Evil Queen.

***

Find S Liongate on In.ki.tt

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