Concerning Fairness

by Cat In the Cupboard

The manifesto of Queen Iglaria of Korona, concerning her twit of a stepdaughter, Snow White. May the intelligent world read, and discern.

To Whomsoever Wants to Know:

If you're reading this, you probably know who I am. If you don't, you'll figure it out eventually.

I'm writing this—and I have half a mind to have it engraved in stone on my sepulcher, too—to refute the many scandalous rumors that have been spread about me by my twit of a stepdaughter, Snow White. Not that anyone within the walls of this castle believes her, but the hoi polloi are much more gullible.

Yes, indeed: the fabled "Snow White" is my stepdaughter. I did marry her father, the king. But why shouldn't I? He liked me, I liked him, his first wife—the sainted Queen Eleanor (more on her later)—had been dead for several years, so why not?

Way back then, I didn't have any particular feeling about his daughter ("way back then," would be about ten years ago, when I was twenty-three and more innocent and naïve than I am now). But after a few attempts at "getting-to-know-you" by me, and a few snide comments from her ("Isn't it funny that a gold-digger shouldn't know what to do when she actually encounters it?" she observed, when I noted the magnitude of golden utensils at tea), it became clear that she didn't like me. In fact, she never even forgave her own father for marrying me.

I eventually became aware of this—before the wedding, too—but I wasn't going to let a little child of eight ruin my big chance for happiness. In the spirit of openness, I'll admit that Snow White's little insinuation wasn't quite as false as I wished it'd been. The fact that the King was king didn't exactly hurt his suit (have you seen the manor I come from?). But, in the end, I married Humphrey because I liked him, maybe even loved him. Our royal nuptials were as splendid as they should have been. We honeymooned in a lovely little castle far away from Snow White, we returned home, and then the fun began!

During my first evening in the queen's quarters of the royal castle, while relaxing by the fire, a shriveled old woman, whose duties I wasn't aware of at the time (but I later discovered she was Snow White's nursemaid), hobbled into my presence and regaled me with a rather zany yarn concerning Snow White's mother. Here's what the old crone told me (as best I remember):

"Once upon a time…" she croaked.

"When?" said I.

She appeared annoyed, but did readjust her introduction: "Once, when our lovely princess Snow White was not yet born, the fair Queen Eleanor sat sewing before an open window in the dead of winter,when the snow was on the ground."

"Why?" said I.

At that she did shoot me a look fit to kill, and I held my peace afterward. "And while she sat there sewing, she gazed out the window and by accident pricked her finger with the needle, and a drop of blood fell upon the snow that encrusted the ebony window frame. The Queen thought that the red, red blood looked so pretty next to the black of the window frame and the white of the snow, that she exclaimed: 'Oh! How I wish I had a child who was as red as blood, as black as ebony, and as white as snow!' And lo and behold: nine months later she did bear a child who was as red as blood, as black as ebony, and as white as snow. And that is the Princess Snow White, as the Queen named her. But the Queen died a year later, and that is where it ends…or does it?" She closed with a grimacing grin, and then bowed and lurched out, leaving me with profoundly raised eyebrows.

So: Queen Eleanor sits before an open window in the dead of winter (as if the castle wasn't already chilly enough). She pricks her finger hard enough to bleed, sees how pretty red, black, and white look together, and assumes those colors will look good as a human being. Then she dies…probably of a cold.

To tell the truth, I was a bit unnerved by the tale. It smelled like enchantment, if you asked me, for if the Queen had wished for it, then she had gotten it. Snow White was as red as blood, as black as ebony, and as white as snow; red lips, black hair, and white skin. I had always wondered at her strange coloring (and ridiculous name).

The next day, under the (partly true) prefix of exploring my new home, I wandered over to the portrait gallery to look for a painting of Queen Eleanor. Upon examining one, I was relieved to discover that Queen Eleanor's hair had been black like her daughter's. Her skin was somewhat on the milky side as well. And we did not have any ebony window frames.

I laughed at my credulousness, till later, on an official tour of the castle with one of the housekeepers, it was mentioned that the palace had been remodeled within the last few years, as many of the ebony window frames had been rotten with age…And then, to add to the whole magic thing, there was also the mirror. I'll deal with that one later.

In the mean time, I enjoyed the perks of being queen: the clothes, the jewels, the servants. But there was also Snow White. Upon my marriage, our relationship went from bad to worse. At first, I attempted to simply ignore her, fervently wishing that she would do the same. But what is one to do with a child whose own father had trouble getting a civil word out of? Her snide little comments eventually became full blown insults. Soon I couldn't resist retorting with a few choice words of my own…and lets just say that things inevitably went from there…went quite far. Our first full-blown fight was three months before her ninth birthday, and our last (though I didn't realize it at the time) took place three days before her sixteenth.

One of Snow White's slightly less laughable allegations is that I made her slave away as a common servant. Well, that one's partly true. You see, I did make her attempt to clean up the steps when she purposely—I asked the mirror later—she purposely,I tell you, tripped a manservant hauling a barrel of paint intended for my room! The color I had chosen was a beautiful blood color (no intentional symbolism), which looked lovely in my room but was not especially flattering on stairs.

She launched into her usual defense: "It was an accident! He poured paint all over my dress! He's jealous!"

It was the same tirade every time ("I stole Anna's doll and she tattle-tailed on me! She's jealous!"). Today, I decided that I'd heard it once too often. "Snow White, I know it's difficult for you, but try to get this into your fleecy head: everyone in the world is not jealous of you!"

Her eyes narrowed, and she sniffed, as if offended: "You are!"

"Jealousof what?"

And it went from there. Usually my dear Humphrey could eventually pacify us, or at least order us to separate. But he was away on a trip, and so Snow White and I fought out our differences for ten minutes, in front of a sizable audience of servants lurking behind a corner. For whatever reason, she accused me of being insanely envious of her—specifically her looks, I believe—and I kept insisting I wasn't and even if I was what did that have to do with anything? (Of course, that was how most of our quarrels, like those of many other people, usually unfolded: the relevant crime was almost never what the argument was about).

Finally, Snow White burst into tears. "Everyone is so mean to me and envious of me! I suppose you're angry because that paint is made out of the other beautiful girls you've killed."

Now that was a bit much—and where that come from? I decided the girl was hysterical and needed something to do. So I called to one of the eavesdropping staff that I could trust, and told them to take Snow White upstairs, dress her in her oldest gown, and if the Princess wasn't downstairs scrubbing at that paint in five minutes I'd want to know the reason. Then I stumbled wearily to my chambers, collapsed in a chair, and stared at myself in the mirror. That child was going to drive me prematurely gray. Then, I suppose with a twinge of conscience, I asked the mirror: "Mirror, did Snow White purposely trip the servant?"

The mirror answered: "Yes."

If you've been listening at all to any of the tales spread about me, you ought to have heard that I own a magic mirror. However, it wasn't mine originally: it was hanging on the wall when I got here. I discovered the properties of the mirror one evening when I was all primped up for a feast, and, truth be told, feeling rather coquettish. I leaned toward my reflection and asked: "Mirror, O mirror: who is the fairest within these walls?"

I nearly fell over when a rather nondescript voice, male, I think, answered: "You, O Queen, are the fairest within these walls." There was an enchanted mirror in my own room!

I must confess, against my better judgment, my good sense, my conscience, my duty, and every other sensible, noble inclination, I became rather dependent on the mirror. It was handy ("Mirror, is the seamstress overcharging me?). It always told the truth, too, even when I didn't want it to ("Mirror, does this dress make me look fat?"). But I did not go before it every day asking who was the fairest one of all. I merely asked that question once out of curiosity. It wasn't me, by the way. I may be the fairest "within these walls," and more than that, "in the land" (which isn't saying much; I'm probably just cleaner than most), but some lady named Buttercup is the fairest of all. I suppose that in the region-wide race my golden hair, blue-green eyes, and rosy cheeks count for something, but in the worldwide competition, being rather tall and boney counts against me.

The mirror was also invaluable as a fact-checker when it came to Snow White, who was now kneeling on the steps down the hall, swabbing at half-dried paint, and singing some wailing ballad about "Oh, poor me, someday someone will come to rescue me from this drudgery." And do you know what? There was someone: that dunderheaded prince.

What can I say about the Prince that is purely objective? His official title is "the Prince of Easterdom," but it's really just fancy name to go with an average—or bellow, actually—estate. It's situated next to my old home. I knew his father, an old widower with a horrible beard whom I might have had the ill-fortune to be married off to, had I not had the good fortune to be entrance the King instead. I had met the Prince enough to recognize him if I saw him. Here, my attempt at neutrality ends.

The Prince was in town, (probably hiding from the creditors banging down the drawbridge at his estate), and he came raiding over the back wall for apples—my apples, from a tree which I had imported at great expense and planted in my private garden. He heard Snow White's "singing," followed the sound, and encountered Snow White scrubbing away. He gazed upon her, and apparently immediately fell in love. After bestowing a few "fair maidens" upon her, she returned his affection. When I came down the hall a few minutes later, her hand was clasped in his and they were the picture of romance. (Though, I do wonder if Snow White actually cared a cat's whisker about that dumb prince for his own sake…but then, who could?)

One version of the story circulated about me claims that I unjustly separated the lovers. Well, I didn't. I justly separated them. At first, far from being angry, I was quite pleased. While musing in front of the mirror, it had occurred to me that I really ought to be looking about for someone to take Snow White off my hands. The Prince would be an ideal candidate: he would be desperate for her dowry, I was sure, but he was also high enough in the official hierarchy to be a suitable match for the Princess. I was about to turn away and leave the couple to themselves, when I noticed the forgotten objects sitting next to the Prince: apples! My apples, the only ones in the region. Seducing my step-daughter was welcome, but thievery was not.

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

He leapt up and backed away—into the arms of one of my loyal (and brawny) manservants.

The Prince trembled. "Nothing, your majesty! This fair lady," gesturing to Snow White, "desired to partake of the apples and thus I obtained some for her."

"Oh, Prince!" Snow White whined, "I never did so…"

"Be quite!" I told her. Then, to the servant man: "I know just what to do with the likes of this one: toss him in the moat." The servant man grinned.

"Oh!" cried Snow White, and she attempted to faint.

"I spoke in hyperbole," I sighed, exasperated. Were the servants the only people in the place with a sense of humor? I turned to the Prince: "Get out of my sight." The servant man released him and he fled. Far from being an ungracious host, I extended an invitation to the Prince to return as I added: "And if you ever wander in here again, be sure to apologize for stealing!"

Inspecting the floor, I told the still swooning Snow White: "It looks like the paint is here to stay. Go to your room." She staggered to her feet and stumbled off.

That evening, I was feeling rather despondent. It had not been one of my nicer days. With no Humphrey there to comfort and compliment me, I turned to the mirror. "Mirror, who is the fairest in the land?"

"Snow White."

Well, that was new.

"Within these walls?"

"Snow White."

"Of them all?"

"Buttercup."

At least that was as it should be.

"Who is the second fairest in the land?"

"You, O Queen."

As with most contests, second best isn't so bad, except when the number one is a melodramatic twit. All through the feast, I gazed intensely at Snow White, trying to determine what would make her the fairest. I had always wondered what Queen Eleanor was thinking when she asked for those colors in a daughter. What if Snow White's lips had been black, her skin red, and her hair white? But all joking aside, Snow White did have pretty hair, even if her skin made her seem she was in a perpetual state of fright. Her rouge-red lips had always made her look ridiculously grown up as a child, but now she was an adult they were admittedly the fashion. She did have a better figure than me, too, and slightly nicer cheekbones, and pretty blue eyes. But could all that really make her prettier than me?

Suddenly, I checked myself. At this rate, I soon would be jealous of Snow White, and wouldn't that be humiliating? I ordered the minstrels to strike up a gay tune, and, contrary to what you might think, I did sleep well that night.

And now, to save myself some pain, I will simply state that the next day a message came from a village up the road: the King had fallen off his horse and had been severely injured, and I must hasten to his side. Unfortunately, he died soon after I arrived. Almost his last words were: "Iglaria, dear, take care of Snow White for me."

Well…even in my distressed state, I then and there resolved to take a very liberal view of what "take care of" entailed. Oh, not the type of "care" that requires a coffin, but if dear Humphrey expected me to let her weep in my arms while I comforted her with soft words, his ghost would be severely disappointed.

Of course, I needn't have worried in any case. That ungrateful child didn't even stick around for her own father's funeral! She ran away! Yes, she ran away. I did not send her off to be killed, as some say, although a sort of attempt was made at her life, but not by me.

In the ensuing investigation as to her whereabouts, a maidservant testified that, during my absence, Snow White had rushed into her room, all pale and shaking, had thrown on a cloak, and declared she was going for a walk. She walked, indeed: out of the town—a good five miles—and into the woods. There, a huntsman claims he mistook her for a deer and fired an arrow at her. He missed—for good or ill—and she fled further into the woods, "where it was to be hoped that the wild beasts had not ate her up, for no trace of her could be found" (said the official report from the searchers).

As far as I was concerned, Snow White could run away and welcome. I soon found out where she was, thanks to the mirror. She had run on for many more miles, until she reached the dwarf's village. There, she had broken into an empty house, eaten most of the food, and finally, pushed several of the tiny beds together and fallen asleep across them. When the owners of the house returned, they called the dwarfish brute squad. She was swiftly brought to trial, where, since she had no money on her to repair the damages, she was declared the owners' slave for the next six months. Don't you just love the dwarfish justice system?

Of course, I must confess that I didn't mention her situation to anyone else. She might have been brought home, I reasoned, and who was I to interfere with the path of justice? The dwarfs could have her, if they could stomach her. I still would have been made regent, whatever happened, since the Princess wasn't of age yet.

Now that I was a "ruling queen," I had a lot more responsibility, having to actually run the kingdom, and thus I had much less free time for personal amusement. But still, one of my first royal issues was an order for the engraving and mounting of a plaque next to the large splotch of dried, red paint on the stairs. The sign read: "Here on this spot, Barrel the Pugnacious met his bloody end at the hands of Queen Iglaria." Why not use an inconvenient decorative feature to your advantage? The servants thought it was hilarious, by the way.

I also had to deal with that twice-dunderheaded prince. That disgrace the nobility and his straggly band of followers rode up to the castle gate one day on horses so covered in ribbons and other frippery that they could scarcely walk. He (the Prince) came to formally present is suit for Snow White's hand. By now, I'd reconsidered the idea of having him as a step-son-in-law, as well as potential king (if Snow White returned, that is), so I sent him about his business.

But the Prince was back the next day, begging my forgiveness for stealing the apples. What he really wanted, I soon found out, was to search the castle. He was convinced that I had Snow White locked up somewhere. I decided to humor him, just so he wouldn't come back. The numskull searched everywhere, and left doors open everywhere, even in the dungeons! That was the worst. Several of convicts escaped! Oh, I can tell you that prince really made me mad. I finally told him point blank that if he and his entourage of deluded fools weren't out of my castle in five seconds I was going to declare his estate forfeit to the crown, cutting off what little living he had (and as acting sovereign, I could do that). As an extra preventive measure, I added: "Snow White has run away. Now why don't you go and be all chivalrous and noble and quest for her?" He followed my advice.

Soon, the six months of Snow White's slavery were up. But she didn't return to the castle, aching all over from hard labor, contritely begging my forgiveness, saying that she'd had no notion of what true meanness meant till she had served the dwarfs, as I daydreamed she might. She didn't come back at all. I inquired of the mirror, which said that Snow White was now staying as a fixed resident of the dwarf's village, not as a slave, but by free will. Well…that was certainly a turn of events! But for the time being, I had a new lease on life!

I forgot to inquire about her (as I had been regularly doing, true to my promise to Humphrey) for about a month after that. In fact, I almost forgot about her existence (ah! bliss), until a report reached me of a strange sight in a glade near in the dwarfish village. Travellers passing through spoke of a glass coffin situated there, and of the fair maiden resting inside, and of the dwarf's great sorrow for whoever she might be. I might could have ignored that simple rumor, were it not for the accompanying description of the maiden: "Red as blood, black as ebony, and white as snow." That I couldn't ignore. It was my official duty as Queen (and my personal duty to Humphrey), to inquire into the situation.

I decided to journey myself to see if this body really was Snow White. With a cohort of troops and a few miscellaneous nobles of importance, and garbed in black as a precautionary measure, I set off for the dwarf's village. As we were told, we found the glass coffin in a glade near the town, as well as party of seven dwarfs boo-hooing around it, and in it was Snow White.

I can't claim that I fell to the ground in an agony of grief upon seeing her, because it simply isn't true, as many people can attest. But I also can't say I was happy to see her dead. Gone, out of my sight, yes, but death is a whole other matter. Death is depressing.

The dwarfs hadn't looked up when we rode into the clearing, so I dismounted and approached them. I inquired how it came that she had died.

It was a simple thing that led to Snow White's undoing. The dwarfs own the only other apple tree besides mine, and they usually never give share the fruit, but they allowed Snow White to partake of one. She greedily took too large a bite (they didn't actually say that, but I surmise that was the case), began to choke, and the dwarfs could not save her. To my shock, they said this had occurred two weeks ago. "And she hasn't rotted yet?" I asked.

"Nay! One so pure an innocent as she could not rot," they replied.

That should have been the first warning sign. But I gamely carried on. "I suppose I ought to take the body off your hands and give it a decent burial."

"What? Take our Snow White?" the dwarfs shouted.

"Yes," I said, somewhat surprised. Wouldn't they want that? "She's going to need burying sometime, and I am her stepmother. And the queen, too."

"Oh, yes," they answered, and their voices became low and sharp and hissing. "We've heard of you, of your persecution of poor innocent Snow White and of your trying to murder her. Yes, oh yes, we've heard of you. How do we know you won't eat her like you once tried? Why, we know how you…" And they launched into a ridiculous tale—rather like the ones you hear now—of all the wrongs poor, poor Snow White had endured at my hands. I stared at them, speechless, throughout the entire fabrication.

You'd think, with my education, I should have known better. But I'd forgotten that, as inspiring as their justice system is, dwarfs do love a good tale. I'm sure Snow White told many a sob story of her bitter, tormented past, caused by her evil stepmother. I can imagine how she systematically working on the dwarf's sense of drama until they allowed her to stay…

At that moment, in the midst of listening to blockheads, who should show up but the king of blockheads himself: the Prince.

"Hail, O Queen!"

"Good day, O Prince."

"What doest thou here?'

"What are you doing here?"

"I am questing for Snow White, as thou badest me."

"Well, good sir, you've discovered her. She's over there."

"What?" cried he and immediately he rushed about the glade calling "Snow White! Snow White! O lady fair!" until I cleared my throat and pointed to her display case. He turned to it, gazed upon her still features, and then he did fall to his knees in an agony of grief.

In my official role as a monarch (with an audience in attendance), I stood gravely by, as was proper, and let him have his cry out. It lasted about a minute, then he stood up, good as new, and turned to the dwarfs.

"Good sirs," he said, "I beg of you that I might obtain the fair body of my lost love, Snow White."

Now that would be simply indecent, even for Snow White. "Gentlemen," I stepped forward, "I desire to obtain the body of my stepdaughter, Snow White.'

"Hmm…" the dwarfs mused, then they turned to the Prince. "What shall you do with our Snow White, hmm?"

"Why, place her in honor in the great hall of my castle, that all who come in might gaze upon her lovely form."

"You!" I mocked. "You're as crazy as those dwarfs, and more!"

"Hmm…" the dwarfs mused again, the turned to me. "And what shall you do with our Snow White, hmm?"

"Bury her," I answered matter-of-factly. "What else do you do with a corpse?"

"What? Bury our Snow White? Confine her to the cold ground for the worms to gnaw?" Their eyes widened in horror.

"Well, I can cremate her if you want," I offered.

They gasped in unison. "What? Consign her to the burning pyre for the flames to feast upon? No! Snow White shall go to the Prince."

I turned to my own entourage and shrugged. "Well, the dwarfs have given her shelter for the past few months, and I don't want to alienate them by forcibly seizing her body…would it be too bad if we just held a memorial service?" The nobles started debating, but in the mean time, I remounted my horse adding, rather loudly, for the benefit of those concerned: "But if they," nodding towards the dwarfs and the Prince, "want to go to the madhouse one and all, that is their affair."

No sooner had I situated myself in the saddle, than everyone was startled by a tremendous crash. I turned around and saw that those idiots in the Prince's train had dropped the coffin, which, being made almost entirely of glass, shattered into a million pieces.

"You fools!…" I began, when I was stopped by a hoarse coughing sound coming from…from the relics of the display case! We all stared, spellbound as the, as we thought, corpse coughed up a slimy, partially decayed piece of apple. She panted for breath, then opened her eyes and looked around. Snow White was alive! She saw the Prince first.

"Oh, Prince!" she cried joyfully. "I knew you'd come to rescue me!" He flew into her arms.

"Snow White!" cheered the dwarfs. "But you were dead!"

"Dear little friends," said Snow White, with sickening condescension, "had you not been listening to ought I had told you? I may have endured that which might have killed me, but the last of my destinies has yet to be fulfilled. While it is so, I cannot die."

"Hooray!" they shouted.

But then her eyes fell on me. "You! You tried to poison me!"

"What?" I exclaimed.

"You!" she repeated. "You planted that apple, probably one of your poisoned ones, in a second attempt to murder me! Murderess!"

"Murderess!" the dwarfs echoed.

"But why would I do such a thing?" I demanded. Well, actually, there could several reasons, I suppose, number one being that she was a complete twit, but Snow White didn't mention any of those.

"Because you're jealous of me!"

Here we go again…

"But why? What does that have to do with anything?"

Snow White raised her chin and attempted to look superiorly down at me. I was on a horse, of course, so it didn't really work. "Because you have always hated me," she declared.

"I have not always hated you…" I started (which was true), but then I made an impulsive decision. "Go on," I waved my hand. "I can tell you're wanting to say something more. Tell me what this is really all about. I certainly don't know."

"My mother was a great lady," Snow White began, in a ringing, theatrical voice, "and her dying wish, which she swore upon her blood, was that I would grow to be the fairest in the land, and that I would be wedded to a handsome Prince! My nurse told me of this, and through the stories she related, she shaped me for my high destiny. But for many years, my destiny did not seem to come to pass. My mother had a mirror, which always spoke the truth, and which was the one who told her of blood-swearing, and it told me that I was not the fairest, and that that one was you, a woman named Iglaria. How could this be? I was intended to be the fairest."

I couldn't help interrupting here. "Snow White, there's simply no way a child can be more beautiful than a grown woman. Even your mother said 'grow'…"

"Silence!" she cried. "And then you be-spelled my father, and he married you, and you knew of the magic mirror, and continually demanded it to repeat that you were the fairest. And yet you detected the spark of magic within me, and knew that I might one day grow to surpass you, and so you were most vicious to me…"

"Only because you were, too!" I protested, but then, it did seem suddenly silly: all those arguments with a mere child.

"But one day I did surpass you!" Snow White continued as if I hadn't spoken. "Three days before my sixteenth birthday, the mirror gave a different answer to you. Your evil eye was bent upon me all dinner, and I suspected what had come to pass. The next day, while you were absent…"

"The day your father died, you mean?" I interjected.

"…I snuck into your apartments, and the mirror then told me that my first fate had at last come to pass: I was the fairest! But I knew I must flee, for your jealousy would seek vengeance upon me. But I had not thought of the mirror, by which you might find me! Your huntsman's arrow missed, and thus you poisoned an apple, which upon eating, could have killed me, had not my mother's wish kept me alive. And now it has all has come to pass! I am the fairest in the land! I shall marry a prince! And I shall be queen of his kingdom, a greater one than yours!..."

At this point, the Prince had the good grace to look sheepish, at least.

"Um, Snow White," I said. "the Prince is only prince of Easterdom."

"Yes, I know!" carried on Snow White. "A mighty realm, one that shall crush your barbarous rule…"

"Snow White, Easterdom is the estate next to mine."

She abruptly halted her tirade. "What?"

"Did you tell her you were a prince, as in the heir apparent, of an actual kingdom?" I demanded of the Prince.

He flushed. "Nay, all I did tell her was that I was prince of Easterdom, the rest she did imagine herself. I…"

"What?" Snow White shrieked. "You're not a prince?"

"Well, he is, sort of," I told her. I was actually feeling sorry for this poor, deluded, foolish girl. "That is his official title. He's just not what people traditionally think of as a prince."

"Oh!" Snow White half squealed, half sobbed. She burst into loud wailing. "First you were the fairest in the land, and you made life so difficult for me, and now you're not really a prince!"

"Well, yes I am…" attempted the Prince.

"But not like my mother meant it!" she shrieked. "She meant for my life to be like one of nurse's stories! Where even if the heroine is cruelly treated she still gets a lavish reward in the end!"

"Snow White, this is all in your head!" I tried to shout above her noise.

"And I was actually glad that you were so mean to me, because I knew that meant more happiness for me in the end! And your jealousy just meant that…"

"Snow White!" I thundered, loud enough to startle her into silence. I took a deep breath. I suddenly felt very old and wise. And I felt that I must be as serious as I could be, and calm, and speak the sappy, inconvenient truth: "Snow White, I might have loved you if you'd given me the chance. I was sometimes…a lot of times, not the easiest person to get along with. I'll admit that (but then, neither were you)…" I took another deep breath. "But I am capable of love, and of being loved. I loved your father, the King. And he loved me. I did not "be-spell" him: he fell in love with me. I have no enchantments. Your mother did." And here I couldn't resist a little dig: "For all we know she be-spelled him…" I heard Snow White hiss in anger, and I stopped myself from continuing. I needed to say this, and insults wouldn't get me anywhere.

"There must be something in me worth loving, for me to gain the love of a man like Humphrey. I'm sure there might be something in you worth loving, but I certainly had a hard time seeing it. You certainly never exposed it—your own father passed away while you were fleeing into the woods from a made-up foe.

"I never set out to be an evil stepmother. You were told all these strange tales of magic and hardship and a 'high, lonely destiny' that was yours alone. And you neglected your ordinary, lower, day-to-day destiny, the one that involved the people around you, people who weren't jealous of you, never even showed signs of being so, but whom you, in your fantasy, forced into roles they weren't trying to play. You treated them with scorn, as merely passing scenery…" There was so much I could say to this child, but I condensed it into two final sentences: "And now, if you want to live the rest of your life wondering if the one love you have is only there because of some spell, be my guest. I'm leaving."

As I turned my horse's head, I know heard faint cheers from some of the dwarfs. Maybe I'd managed a suitably dramatic speech? Then I heard Snow White cry out to my retainers: "Don't any of you believe me? She's a murderess!"

"Well," said one of them, slowly, thoughtfully. "Her majesty may not have been the friendliest step-mother around, but then, you were never exactly the nicest kid in the palace."

"Yes," said another, "and I saw the Queen at his late majesty's bedside. It was a touching sight." Then they turned as well, and we departed.

I'll dispense with the journey home, the pacing back and forth which followed it, the revising my speech to Snow White again and again, the creating of a few insults I wished I'd added, the smashing of the magic mirror (I'd had enough of that nonsense), the invitation to Snow White and the Prince's wedding (as their sovereign, I would have had to attend, but luckily I caught cold and was unable). I'll just tell you the grand and happy news that I am now queen permanently. The Princess, though recovered, was declared by a council of lords to be ineligible for the throne due to insanity ("I tell, you she kept talking about some mirror…" testified one nobleman) and, unofficially, the fear of having the Prince as king.

I'm now on my way to have to be much happier ever after than before. In fact, I'm thinking of getting married again. With Humphrey gone, I'm a little lonely, sometimes, and there is a certain courtier among the masses that I do particularly like, and, unless I am much mistaken, he particularly likes me. So, if all goes well, wedding bells will ring and this time, I won't be saddled with a step-daughter who is the fairest—and the stupidest—in the land.

The end,

Queen Iglaria of Korona

Actual Author's Note: I wrote a version of this story on a creative whim one afternoon when I was ten. Obviously, it was not the story it is today. It was much more strictly humorous, and much more one-dimmensional. The plot was also rather different (e.g. the manservant hauling the barrel of paint played a much more prominent role, and the nameless Queen's ending conclusion was that "she didn't care what anyone thought of her.") I dusted off the story in high school and basically re-wrote it, and that's the version published here (edited for errors). But little details of the original remain. In fact, this entire line of dialogue is almost completely intact:

"Bury her," I answered matter-of-factly. "What else do you do with a corpse?"

"What? Bury our Snow White? Confine her to the cold ground for the worms to gnaw?" Their eyes widened in horror.

"Well, I can cremate her if you want," I offered.

...it still makes me smile. Ah, nostalgia!