Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not Pandora Hearts. Not Snow White in any of its versions. Not this story.
This is a translation of a story entitled Królewna Śnieżka (do try reading this aloud~) by soshi185, to be found in my favourites.
Spoiler warning is the standard one… Some stuff of Break's past.
(The fairytale fragment I took from Wikipedia.)
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Once upon a time in the middle of winter, when the flakes of snow were falling like feathers from the sky, a queen sat at a window sewing, and the frame of the window was made of black ebony. And whilst she was sewing and looking out of the window at the snow, she pricked her finger with the needle, and three drops of blood fell upon the snow. And the red looked pretty upon the white snow, and she thought to herself, "Would that I had a child as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as the wood of the window-frame."
When in a winter morning I look out the window and see fresh fluff covering the garden for the first time this year, I see her.
Snow White walks the alley amidst the descending flakes, sometimes raising a hand for them to melt on her white skin.
I know she isn't there. My mind is playing tricks on me, and in the garden the snowflakes dance with the wind. And yet the drifts suddenly turn ashen, as if dirtier from the mere memory of her. The girl in purest white.
When I met her for the first time, I couldn't tear my eyes away from her. Still at the same time I longed to, as though eyes of a sinner might soil her. Did she think so too? Unimportant… I will never look at her with both eyes again.
How beautifully does red look with white. She has no blushes as red as blood. There is only blood. Streaming down her hands. Spoiling the dress. And the white face.
Eye as red as blood in her hands…
She clenches her fingers around the blade of my sword, and red blood seeps from them.
She curls up on the cold floor, and white tears flow from her eyes.
Yet Snow White is still incomplete.
White.
Red.
Where is black?
I see her in my garden. Princess Snow White dances amidst snowflakes, and I don't know if it's only the blows of wind, or maybe her laughter.
There is one thing I know. The wish has come true.
White
Her skin, hair, eyes. Dress light as if of air. Tears pure in the vein of pearls.
Red
Her dance amidst the shower of blood. Movements slow and hypnotic. Drops streaming down her arm, seeping into her hair.
Black
Her delicate smile when she was taking my eye away. Joy in the eyes in which death was reflected. Beauty masking cruelty.
No one had such a black heart.