Blind: A Retelling of Snow White

Red as Blood

That was seven years ago. I have not heard of any trouble from that part of the woods since then. The farmer couple returned to their home, and prospered. The peddler woman also did well. I told my subjects a tragic story of the death of the princess—now every one of them knows how the sickness grew and grew until it claimed her life. There was a period of mourning, and then life moved on. The kingdom was peaceful, and foreign trade increased. Now the neighboring kingdom’s Royal Family itself is traveling here to discuss alliances during wartime. They will arrive tomorrow.

            As I dash around the castle, overseeing preparations, I can’t help but think about how similar these preparations are to those of seven years ago. Watching the servants sweep the floor of the ballroom reminds me of the way I, myself, hung decorations on these very walls for my foster daughters birthday. Sampling the delicacies Cook has prepared reminds me of the beautiful dishes she made, years ago, for a different occasion.

            If I had not killed her, she would be fourteen years old now.

            And as beautiful as the night.

            When the Royal Family finally arrives, I am in a nervous state of mind. For some reason, I have a terrible feeling about tonight.... Somehow, I do not think it will end very well.

            The Royal Family enters the Great Hall with a blare of trumpets and forest of waving flags. From where I stand on the staircase, I can see each of them as they enter: The King, the Queen, two five-year-old twin girls, the prince... and who’s that?

            There is one more figure with them, a young woman hanging onto the prince’s arm. His fiancee? His mistress? I’m too far away to make any good judgment.

            Servants will show them to their rooms. I, myself, retire to my own bed chamber to rest before tonight’s ball.

            I fall, exhausted, onto my bed. I have no idea why I’m so tired, but I don’t even have the energy to pull the blankets over my body. I lie like that for hours, until finally I’m rested. When the door opens, I pay no attention. It’s probably just a servant, come to ask about the feast or the ball.

            But there is no question, Instead, someone says, “Hello, Mother.”

            I gasp and sit bolt upright. It’s like looking at a ghost: the skin is just as white, the lips are just as red, the hair is just as black as it was years ago. She's taller, of course, and slimmer, more graceful. But the way she’s looking at me—it’s a hateful but gloating look, so different from the way she looked at me the last time I saw her.

            She smiles a tiny, beautiful smile. “Are you scared, Mother? Terrified of the vengeful spirit that has come back to haunt you? Oh, don’t worry; I won’t do anything of the sort. After, all, you are my ‘Mama.’ Or you were, anyway.” The smile is gone now. In its place is anger. “Why did you try to kill me again?” she whispers. “Why? I forgave you. I forgave you three times. Three times you tried to murder me—”

            “I didn’t murder!” I yell. “You are evil, pure evil! I had to kill you! It was not murder, it was execution of a criminal! You deserved to die!”

            “Did I? I died my hair black. Is that a punishable offense? I dug up corpses—far more respectful than leaving them to the worms in the ground. I killed useless animals. Is that a crime worthy of the death sentence? I should think not. What did you do? You killed the huntsman, for making the same mistake that you yourself had made. You tried to kill your own daughter four times. You lied to me. You came, you said you loved me, that you forgave me... and then you poisoned me. And now I’m evil?”

            I glare up at her. “Yes. You are evil.”

            She shrugs. “Oh well, if you say so. It makes no difference. Not when my new husband’s army is standing outside your bedchamber door, waiting for my command to burst in and capture you.”

            It takes a moment for me to understand. “No!” I cry. You can’t! Not in my own castle! Never!”

            She smiles again. “It’s my castle, if you’ll remember. I, after all, was born here, and you merely moved here after a marriage. I have all the rights to it.”

            She strides over to my mirror, and I follow her with my eyes, just like I did so many years ago. “Look,” she says. “Look at your reflection. You are not as beautiful as I am. You are fair, my queen, it’s true, but the prince’s bride is fairer far than you.” She laughs at her own cleverness.

            “Why are you alive?”

            She laughs again. “I never truly died, you know. The poison was too fast-working. I fainted, and stayed like that until the dwarves came. They couldn’t wake me up--the poison was too strong—so they dribbled some water into my mouth, fed me food in the same way. They did that for seven years. Seven years. And then what happened? A Royal Family came along through the woods, traveling to this very castle. And who did they have with them? The best physician who had ever lived. He knew the antidote to the poison you used. I’m told it took some time to cure me, but my beauty was worth it. And the moment I woke up, the prince fell madly in love with me. We’re betrothed now. And you are—” she chuckled—”invited to the wedding. It’s likely to be the only friendly gesture you’ll ever get from this kingdom. They aren’t to eager to be allies now that they’ve heard the story of how you tried to murder your own daughter.”

            “It wasn’t murder!” I yell again.

            She leans in close to me. “I know that. You know that. But they don't know that, do they?”