Once upon a time, in deep winter, a Queen was admiring the fallen snow when she saw a rose blooming in defiance of the cold. Reaching for it, she pricked her finger and three drops of blood fell. And because the red seemed so alive against the white, she thought, 'If only I had a child as white as snow, lips as red as blood, hair as black as a raven's wings and all with the strength of that rose."

Soon after, a son was born to the Queen and was named, "Ethan." He had hair as black as a raven's wings, lips as red as blood, and skin as white as snow. To many people in the kingdom, they called him by the name of "Snow White." As girly as the name may seem, he did not seem to mind being called by such name. He was adored throughout the kingdom as much for his defiant spirit as for his beauty.

In the woods near the castle, Ethan, who was now at the age of seven, saw a wounded magpie and began to step towards it hesitantly, looking concerned.

"Pick it up, Rory," he had commanded softly as he looked towards the boy he had just spoken to. His companion and best friend, Rory, who was also seven, braces himself, reaches down, then steps back in alarm as the bird starts flapping wildly. He tries to cover his embarrassment by sounding knowledgeable.

"It's dying. It doesn't want to be touched," Rory said and Ethan rolled his eyes slightly as he ignored him, approaching the bird himself. He kneels down, hesitates, then reaches out and strokes the magpie, calming its flapping before he picked it up. He stood up with the magpie in hand and smirks a bit at Rory before turning and walking off towards the castle with his best friend following behind him. As they walk away, another magpie was watching them before it flew away.

Ethan ran, cupping the wounded bird in his hand, Rory dashing after him. The sun was out and the fields and forests are lit up in all their glory. The children sprint through beautiful seaside village, thatched homes with flower gardens, happy farmers, and fair village maidens.

"Hurry, Rory! Hurry!" Ethan called behind him as he continued to run with Rory following behind. They run down the dunes, waves crashing, the sand gleaming in the sunlight, until they see the beautiful castle up ahead.

A single apple tree stands in the middle of the cloisters. It stands out. Ethan and Rory dash past it into the castle. They sprinted through corridors, up staircases, and in narrow hallways, soon reaching his destination. Ethan burst into his parent's chamber, making the King and Queen turn from the window to look towards the door. Two Physicians are in attendance as Ethan and Rory enter the room. Ethan is too young and preoccupied to notice, but his mother's smile is tinged with sadness and his father looked heartbroken. Ethan stepped up to his mother and held the wounded bird out to her as she kneeled down in front of him.

"We found it in the woods," the young boy said with concern in his voice. A worried look deep in his eyes. The Queen took the wounded magpie from Ethan. The King looked on sadly as she pulled a ribbon from her hair and carefully bound the magpie's wing. Rory watched from the doorway, noticing how frail the Queen looked. The magpie's flapping gradually calms, its pain easing.

"It will heal in time," the Queen said softly as she placed the bird back into her son's hands, seeing that his eyes are transfixed on the magpie.

"I'll look after it," he said and looked at his mother with a small smile on his face as he carefully held the bird, steadily rocking it back and forth. The King watched Ethan, hiding his sorrow behind a smile. So does the Queen, holding back her tears.

"You possess a rare beauty, my love. In here," the Queen said as she reached out and touched Ethan's chest where his heart would be, "Never lose it. Hold it dear. You will need its strength to one day become King."

Ethan and Rory, with a small toy bow strapped to Rory's back, climb the branches of the apple tree in the cloister gardens. Rory picks a distinctive red and white apple and offers it to Ethan. He makes a point of the offer, holding it out, nodding. Just as Ethan comes to take it, he pulls it away and takes a huge bite himself, grinning. Ethan shoves him off the tree and they fall to the ground. Up above them, the King and Rory's father, Duke Ross, watch from the throne room balcony.

"My son will need your son's friendship more than ever, Duke Ross," the King had spoken in a polite manner as he turned towards the Duke, "As will I yours."

Duke Ross smiled softly as he turned to the King and spoke, "We are here to serve you, your Majesty." The king nodded and continued to watch his son.

The next winter was the harshest in memory and Ethan's mother passed away. The King stood in the garden with his arm around his son, heartbroken. The garden was covered in snow, but there was no rose now. A single tear rolls down Ethan's cheek. Palace onlookers and mourners, fixed on his face, feeling what he feels, move aside as he pulls from his father's grasp and runs into the castle and up to his chamber, more tears rolling down his cheeks.

A year went by, but the King was inconsolable. Taking advantage of his grief, dark forces gathered on the kingdom's borders. The King gathered his army and soon, horses moved through the forest and enter a clearing, dirt kicking up behind them, leaving small craters in the ground. At the head is the King, with Duke Ross by his side, surrounded by a line of the King's army. They are frozen as they look across the battlefield. On the other side, horsemen are in a line. The riders are silhouetted on a misty plain, a vast shadow army of faceless warriors. The King and Duke Harold trade a look.

"From what hell comes this army?" Duke Ross asks the King as they keep looking forward.

"A hell they'll soon revisit!" the King exclaims. He screams a blood cry, kicks his horse, and rides forward with blind courage, no longer caring what happens to him. The two lines of warriors race, pell-mell to the center of the battlefield. When they meet, hand to hand combat at its most brutal. The King swings his great sword as he fights the enemy and a Shadow Warrior shatters like glass. All down the line the same is happening, Shadow Warriors shattering, evaporating. It seemed strange. Duke Ross shatters an opponent as well and as loud and furious as the battlefield was only moments before, it is now that quiet. The King and the Duke watch in amazement as the rest of the Shadow Army melts away, dissolving into the morning mist until all that is left in the field is destroyed. The unholy army was defeated, leaving the King with the spoils of victory. The King looked around and spotted a caged prison wagon.

'Odd. Not sure how that got here," the King thought to himself. He moves towards it, with little trepidation. When he's close, he gets off his horse, walks closer and dares to look inside. Inside the cage, a woman cowers, her face hidden behind a veil. The King stares at her through the prison bars, then with a mighty blow of his sword shatters the lock and enters.

"You are now free. You have nothing to fear from me," he says cautiously and softly. Duke Ross watches from outside the cage, a bit wary, as the King kneels beside the terrified woman.

"What is your name, my lady?" the King asks as he looks at her with curious eyes. Slowly, the woman turns. For a moment, the King wonders if it's his beloved Queen behind the veil. Gently, he lifts her veil. It's not his wife, but the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

"My name is Erica, sire," the woman said quietly. The King is speechless now, gazing up the face of an angel. So struck by her beauty was the King, that he forgot, for the first time, his broken heart.

Present day. Still as a statue and even more beautiful as cheeks are powdered, eyebrows plucked, and lips painted by several sets of hands. Her eyes stare straight ahead unblinking, her mind elsewhere. Attendants are preparing Erica for her wedding to the King.

"You're so beautiful," a young voice said softly. Erica snaps to and looks into the face of Ethan, reverential, standing a few feet away. Erica's face softens as she looks at the face of Ethan, the kingdom's "Snow White." Erica beckons to him with a look and the holds out her arm.

"Come," she said softly. As Ethan steps forward, the handmaidens withdraw until only one is left, weaving beautiful flowers in Erica's hair.

"That is kind, child. Especially when it is said that yours is the face of true beauty in this kingdom," Erica said softly, seeing that Ethan didn't quite know how to answer that before giving him a warm smile, "Would you like to be dressed up and married one day?" Ethan nodded.

"I hope you'll invite me?" she asked and smiled again as Ethan smiled brightly.

"Of course!" he said politely, enchanted by his new friend. Erica looked at him sympathetically.

"I know it is difficult, child. When I was your age, I, too, lost my mother," she said and looked down sadly.

"You did?" Ethan asked, a bit shocked by this news. Erica nodded as she looked up.

"Yes. A King tore me from her arms, dressed me in lace, and stole my innocence." Ethan's smile dies a bit, making him look confused.

"I can never take your mother's place, but I feel that you and I are bound," Erica said and touched her heart, "I feel it here." Ethan mimics, touching his own heart, and smiles at Erica. It should be a touching moment, but something in Ethan's face – the way his smile lit up the room – gives Erica pause.

Erica, in a stunning dress, walks down the center aisle. All the Nobles in the land are present. Erica looks at them, on either side of the aisle. They are all smiling, nodding appreciation, but they aren't really looking at Erica. She follows their gaze. Ethan, walking behind her, holding the folds of silk from the wedding dress. Ethan looks up, adoringly, at Erica. As the bride and groom reach the altar, the King turns and smiles, looking like the happiest man alive.

That night, the King laid on his bed in his chamber, drunk – half with wine and half with lust – his eyes were fixed on his new wife and Queen. Erica, in a sheer silk nightgown standing near the fireplace, holding a goblet, staring a seductive hole through him. She starts slowly towards him, never taking her eyes off him. He licks his lips, can't wait for her to arrive.

"Who are you?" the King asked as he gazed at her lustfully. Erica smirked as she approached the bed.

"The bane of Kings," she said. When she arrived, she slowly crawls onto the bed, rolls him on his back, straddles him, and offers the goblet, "Sip, my lord." The King drains the goblet, tosses it, and gropes her body.

"Now you are mine," she said, her eyes gleaming in the firelight. The King tries to playfully wrestle her off, but she grabs his hands and holds him down firmly.

"I will destroy you," she says in a dark tone, still holding him down. The King started to love this dominant side of her.

"Indeed, you will," he said, thinking she is still being seductive. She rips open his shirt then bends down and kisses him on the lips. He can't believe how good she tastes.

"As my people were destroyed. As my family was destroyed. As I would have been destroyed," she said, still using a dark tone. The King begins to get slightly confused by this and his face begins to show discomfort.

"But when a woman stays young forever, no man can resist her and the world is hers." The King suddenly begins to choke, his eyes widening in surprise.

"What…?" he said as he struggled for breath.

"First I will take your life, my lord. Then I will take your throne," she said and chuckled evilly. Erica reaches beneath the sheets, pulls out an ornate dagger and brings it down through him. She gasped and panted as she fell beside him, breathing heavily. She had just succeeded in murdering the King.

Several guards line the hallway. The door opens and Erica emerges from the room. As she moves past them, she speaks with authority in her voice.

"The King has laid down his sword for the night," she says. The guards' eyes take her, lustfully, in as she strides away and disappears around a corner. Erica exits the castle and crosses the courtyard with a lantern. A portcullis opens and dark figures emerge from the shadows, entering the castle. Leading them was a tall pale-eyed warrior. He looked at Erica devotedly. She smiles and places a hand on his cheek.

"Welcome, Jesse, my brother."

The shadows of the invaders sweeping through the corridors, putting the King's sleeping soldiers to the sword. In a room down a hall, Ethan lies asleep when he hears a bell ringing. At first he thinks he's dreaming, but then he hears cries of alarm. He sits up curiously, then climbs out of bed. There's panic and chaos outside, courtiers and soldiers running for their lives. Ethan stares in confusion, then runs too. Ethan rushes towards his father's chamber and sees Erica at the end of the corridor. Relieved, he hurries towards his stepmother when suddenly he notices his father's lifeless body lying on the bed. Jesse and his knights appear beside Erica. It takes a moment for the betrayal to sink in, tears of shock welling in Ethan's eyes, before he turns and flees.

The chaos has spread to the courtyard, Duke Ross's knights struggling to hold back the invaders. Ethan hurries out, dazed by the sight of battle, then sees Rory pull free of his father's guards and runs towards Ethan. Rory grabs him protectively when strong arms reach down and lift them both onto the back of separate horses. Duke Ross and his personal guard are attempting to ride out of the castle before the portcullis closes. The Duke rides under the portcullis with Rory. His bodyguard is about to follow when an arrow from Jesse strikes him in the back and both he and Ethan are thrown off their horse. Rory saw everything and panicked.

"Rory! Rory!" Ethan yells and grabs the bars of the portcullis as he looks at his best friend. Rory looks at Ethan and then at his father.

"Father! The Prince!" he exclaims, but it was too late. The Duke ignored his pleas and called out to the Prince as his father and himself rode off. The last thing he sees is Ethan struggling in Jesse's arms, being hauled back into the castle.

Erica walks from the statue to painting to urn, toppling and tearing them from the walls, cleaning the home. Erica's soldiers deliver a large object, then leaving her alone. A beautiful mirror rests against the wall. Erica stares at it.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall. Who is the fairest of them all?" she asks. There's a brief silence, then the surface of the mirror ripples. Liquid spills onto the floor where it reforms into the shape of the mirror man. His body is a veil of reflective bronze, but his face is a distorted version of Erica's own.

"It is you, my Queen! Yet another kingdom falls to your glory! Is there no end to your power and beauty?" he asks and Erica smiles, moving to the center of the room, raising her arms and drunk with power.

All the wedding guests and nobles stand, held there by guards with swords and daggers. Erica stands at the top of the stairs, looking down on them.

"So kind of you all to stay over," she said and the General of her army spoke.

"What shall we do with these?" Erica eyes the noblemen and guests from left to right. Their eyes begging for mercy. There is no mercy.

"To the sword." With that said, there are gasps and screams as the guards move the guests away. Erica notices Jesse, off to one side, his dagger at the neck of Ethan, who stares defiantly at Erica.

"Jesse!" Jesse stops his exit with Ethan and turns. Erica stares at the little boy, not sure where she stands with this one. And then, Erica spoke in an authoritative tone.

"Lock her away. One never knows when royal blood may be of value."

At a young age, Erica's mother placed a spell on her. The spell she had placed on Erica gave her the ability to steal youth and beauty, and indeed all things good, for her own evil purposes. But for every life, there must be death. For every gain, there must be loss, and under the reign of Erica, nature turned on itself and people turned on each other.