In quiet minutes before sleep claimed her, Lucy often wondered how she had ended up here in this world. She wasn't sure if there actually was an answer that would have satisfied her, but something just felt so off about it.
Lucy had never been 'special' in the way heroes of stories often were - she didn't have prophetic dreams, secret uncontrollable urges, a hidden heritage or unknown parents. No strange birthmarks, no feeling like she was meant for something greater, no unexplained affinity for animals or fire or whatever else could be translated into a power.
She was just her. A reckless, tomboyish child who grew up into that strange phase between being a teen and an adult, social enough to have friends but not enough to become truly popular and trying to figure out what she wanted to do with her life.
It was so common Lucy couldn't have spun it into an exciting tale if she wanted to. And now her life ... was anything but common.
Strangely it was often the mirror she found herself talking to, for the simple fact that it was the only being who was aware of her true identity. And though its presence should have instilled her with caution and she really shouldn't be bonding with a sentient, magical artifact, exposure brewed familiarity like a sickly-sweet potion that lulled her worries to rest.
And so one day she found herself asking: "Mirror, you're all-knowing, right?"
"A phrase used in my crafting, and so it is now part of me."
Lucy nodded absently, her fingers slowly stroking over the parchment unfurled in front of her. Its surface looked smooth but felt strangely rough against her skin. "So tell me - why me?"
There was a miniscule pause, as slight as the beat of a dragonfly's wing, but Lucy had been waiting for it. And with that pause a certainty bloomed inside her: the mirror knows.
"The truth holds no peace for you, My Queen."
Lucy shrugged, strangely uncaring. "I want to know it nonetheless."
The folds of the mirror's figure rustled and dispersed like grains of magnetic sand only to reform in the next second, a steady, hypnotic wave. "Chance."
Lucy was so surprised that the mirror hadn't used any flowery words that the answer took a second to penetrate her brain. And then she blinked. "Chance? You mean ... it was a coincidence?"
"An accumulation of circumstances. Some humans call it coincidence, some call it fate."
"You called it chance."
"As My Queen would view it that way. In your world, there is no set narrative that all life clings to, only untouched potential and constant flux. One decision might alter everything."
"And which of my decisions led me here?" Lucy felt the first simmers of annoyance and did her best to stamp them out. "I certainly didn't decide to wake up in this body."
"You certainly did not."
For a second Lucy was tempted to find something heavy to shatter the mirror with. Instead she took a deep breath. "So, what was it?"
"An untold variation of small decisions, growing and branching into circumstances that My Queen had no thought of shaping but which manifested despite her intentions."
In other, less-cryptic words - coincidence. Lucy was here, in this strange world, faced with a horrible ending, by chance, just like the mirror had first said. "Why does it feel as if the universe just took a big dump on me?"
"My Queen ..."
Lucy waved the false compassion aside. "I should get back to this."
'This' was the long parchment she had been studying for hours, listing different ranks and members of the kingdom's nobility. Lucy was determined to learn them all, trying to channel the same determination that had gotten her through midterms (in what felt like a different life with vastly different worries).
Duke of Worthfield, married to Lady Esther, now Duchess of Worthfield, daughter of ...
Simple coincidence. What a joke.
Maybe Lucy would have felt better if the mirror had told her she was picked because of something extraordinary about her, something special that would mean this adventure had been waiting for her since birth.
Knowing that she'd just been at the wrong place at the wrong time, for lack of better phrasing, ... sucked.
A dull ache throbbed in her temples and Lucy wasn't sure if the cause of her headache was her suppressed annoyance or all the names she was trying to cram into her skull. After staring at them for hours, the elaborately written words were swimming in front of her eyes, curling ink lines turning into wiggling, black worms.
Lucy only realized she was grimacing when the mirror next spoke. "My Queen need not suffer. A simple potion -"
"No potions," Lucy quickly cut in, massaging her forehead. "That's not the plan."
There was no answer, and Lucy hadn't expected one. She knew that the mirror didn't approve of her 'plan', and usually silence or sinnous speeches of persuasion expressed its displeasure. A small part of her wondered why the mirror was so dead-set on seeing Snow White perish by her hands.
Another part wondered if Lucy would survive if she ever agreed to go along with the mirror's plans. Maybe she would succeed where her predecessor had failed - or maybe she would suffer the same end.
Or maybe she was reading too much into everything, trying to find meaning where there was none, seeing as her mere presence here was a coincidence.
The truth holds no peace for you.
It seemed the mirror really was all-knowing.
Chance. The word was engraved in the back of her mind, present and slowly deepening like a festering wound. And Lucy silently wondered exactly what conditions she had so coincidentally fulfilled that she found herself here.
At least Lucy now had a destination she had picked herself, a goal she was working towards. And if the worst pain she had to suffer was a headache, she would gladly take it. Heralding her fleeting attention like a flock of unruly chickens, she once more focused on the bare bones of her plan, taking shape in front of her mind's eye.
"Mirror, for once answer me plainly. Is the huntsman who took Snow White away really gone?"
"My Queen is not in the habit of leaving any threads lying about, in case they are used to braid a noose for her."
Except Snow White, Lucy thought. But to be fair, the Queen had believed herself digesting the girl's heart so she certainly did her best to tie up that loose end.
But Lucy wanted clear confirmation. "He's dead?"
"His flesh is nourishing the roses in My Queen's private garden, his skeleton their vase."
Lucy swallowed against the sick feeling pressing against her throat at that macabre picture. At any rate, it was pretty clear, just like she'd asked.
And Lucy had never been very fond of that rose garden anyway.
"Your Queen sure had a varied use for corpses." At least she didn't eat this one.
"My Queen is resourceful and poetic in her cruelty."
Is. Lucy's eyes flickered towards the reflective surface of the big oval, watching the swirling figure trapped inside it.
It wasn't the first time the mirror had talked about the original queen as if she were still here, never differentiating between addressing her or Lucy. A small, feeble curiosity swam to the surface of her mind, something Lucy had usually been quick to push back down into the dark depths, dreading the answer.
But now she already had one answer she would rather have done without.
Chance.
What was one more?
And so the words that had danced across the tip of her tongue often, only to always be swallowed back, finally escaped. "What happened to your Queen? The true owner of this body? Her soul?"
If the mirror was surprised by the sudden questions, it didn't show. Maybe because it was all-knowing and had been aware that Lucy would ask this question sooner or later. Maybe it was simply skilled at masking its reactions, if there even were any to mask.
"Her essence is resting."
Lucy narrowed her eyes. "Resting where?"
"At her roots, the only space My Queen can occupy within these pages as the only phrase where she truly exists."
"Where?"
"Naturally, her character."
Silence reigned for a few breaths while Lucy tried to decipher the meaning behind the words. Roots, phrase, character ... "You mean ... this body?"
"My Queen's current vessel," the mirror agreed nonchalantly.
"But - how? I'm here, so where would she be?"
"Resting, very deeply."
Lucy wasn't sure if her panic was simply unable to battle against the wave of exhaustion claiming her, or if some part of her had already expected such an answer and it now failed to evoke the right degree of apprehension. Nevertheless, rather than frightened she found herself resigned. "So, the soul - essence - of the original Queen is slumbering inside me. What if she wakes up?"
"Only if My Queen so wishes, will I fan the ember into a flame again."
"So it's your decision."
"As always, My Queen's decision is my decision."
"Which Queen? Me or her?"
There was a silver glimmer running over the smooth surface, maybe a simple reflection of the light, maybe something Lucy couldn't correctly interpret. "My Queen standing in front of me."
"Did you know that talking to you can be really exhausting?"
"It is to my deepest chagrin if I caused My Queen any unhappiness."
Lucy didn't even try to stop her eyeroll. Her thoughts were slowly slotting back into place, the new information nestling into the empty spaces she had previously dreaded like treacherous sinkholes. She couldn't claim that the answers had necessarily made her happy, but at least she had some now.
"Don't 'fan' your Queen back into existence." Lucy didn't even want to contemplate what would happen if the original villainess reappeared and found that Lucy had taken over her body and life. But somehow she suspected it wouldn't be pretty.
"As My Queen wishes."
A small part of Lucy wondered if the original villainess would have approved of her current plan. After all, there was no poison or death to be found.
Simply a hastened return.
Lucy's eyes flicked back to all the names listed before her. She had no time to lose. The mysteries of the original villainess would just have to wait.