Youth
She approached me one day, same as any other for her: robes the color of bone fluttering behind her with every purposeful stride as her features composed themselves into a placid marble mask.
She came to ask what she had worried about every moment of her existence.
"Mirror, Mirror, on the stand." Her voice rang against the cold bare stone of the walls. An incantation she believed bound me to her service.
"Who is fairest in this land?" The same question she asked every night; the same inquiry and obsession that had ruled her from long before she found my mirror and hid it away from all eyes but hers.
"You are, my Lady. There are none who dare to match you." The truth indeed. I spoke what she wished to hear – what she had used all her power to demand – but nothing more.
Why would one like her care to hear the secrets of wisdom? What use would she have of hearing the benefits of virtue and honor? She who could ask anything – anything! – only desired to know such a simple bit of transient knowledge.
So I said nothing of what she could become, nothing of the choices she may make.
…Nothing of the wish that had been made that very evening by a hopeful woman as she sat beside a window.
A wish that may one day be of great interest to the "fair Lady."
But it was not her desire to know any of this and so I could do nothing but remain silent.
Ambition
The Lady entered the hidden chamber of my dwelling a scarce eight months later. She wore violet – a sign, a wish of her desires. For the woman who had made the wish on a whim eight months earlier – the wish I had predicted would interest my Lady – was dead.
The Queen had died giving birth.
And the Lady before my mirror believed she should be the replacement.
"Mirror, safe against the wall. Am I fairest of us all?"
"Yes, my Lady. All beauty pales next to you." Not entirely true that. For there was beauty that no human could possibly match. Thousands of sunsets, thousands of dawns reflected in still waters – none the same and all incomparably beautiful.
But among living mortals my ambitious Lady here was fairest.
So I did not lie.
Not exactly.
Beauty
Long months passes before she entered the dark chamber again. And then only to wrap my mirror in soft cloths-
A company of horses and carts traveled across fields and streams and rivers: the Lady leaving the estate of her father to come to the castle of the king.
-before the cloths were removed and my mirror was in another dark room, a chamber deep in the foundations of the castle where only the Lady would now go.
Many more months went by until she entered the chamber for the first time since her arrival. Her long robes were now the deepest purple, trimmed in blue.
"Mirror, I call thee from long rest." A faint smile of contentment caused her eyes to glitter in the candlelight. For the first time in all the years she owned my mirror her appearance matched her youth.
"Whom in this land is the fairest?"
"You are, Oh Queen." This time I did not have to deceive, or choose my words wisely. Inside and out, she stood before the glass beautiful.
"I do not think I shall need you again, Mirror. Perhaps I shall give you to the young princess when she is grown."
Perhaps, Oh Queen.
But perhaps not.
Only Barely
Years passed now. I watched the Queen as she grew older beside the King. I watched her watch the young princess – the result of a wish – as the girl grew older. I watched from ponds and puddles, from reflections upon armor and plates and windows, as green eyes grew thoughtful, then concerned, then began to dart to every reflective surface she passed by.
Slowly – oh so slowly – contentment began to fade. As the Queen began to grow less youthful, as paints no longer hid age, the old owner of my mirror was crawling her way back to the surface.
The princess grew more beautiful with each year that passed. She learned courtly manners and traditions from her various tutors, gentleness from holding and then playing with her little brother. She was nearing the Queen in her beauty.
True, the Queen was still beautiful – but now more regal, more poised, than the fairness of youth. But, she still wanted that youth – used creams and paints to keep the appearance of who she once was.
Finally, she made the journey to me in the darkness, deep below to her secret room. At last she stood before me in a dress of deepest green, desperation barely covering the jealousy in her eyes.
"Mirror, I come again to thee." A whisper, the incantation pulled from deep within after so long without use.
"Is the princess fairer than me?" her determination could have been endearing, her anguish heartbreaking – If I felt such things. But I can only observe, and answer the question asked.
"No, my Queen. You are fairer still." But only barely.
She collapsed into herself, tears of relief streaming down her painted cheeks. She was still the fairest of all who lived.
But only barely now.
Jealousy
The Queen returned every week to ask the same question: Is the princess fairer than me? Always I answered: no. But only barely, for the young princess was reaching the age when all children grow up.
So one day when the Queen asked me I had to answer truthfully.
"Yes. The princess is fairer now than thee."
Tears did not fall, then. No, her eyes froze – a cold light entered them, a vicious light, one that promised retribution to those who crossed it.
A light that had sparked the very moment the Queen had first looked into a mirror and noticed she was beautiful.
The princess had challenged that jealous spark. It would make certain she would do so no longer.
Hatred
The queen called a huntsman in, brought him to a secluded room where no ears could hear and no eyes but the reflections off her crown and the huntsman's knives could see.
She laid out a plan – lure the princess away, kill her and bring the heart back – and told the huntsman his family would never want for anything again. The huntsman – whose wife was at that very moment washing clothes in an icy stream – could only half-heartedly refuse and then accept when his own life was threatened.
So, he led the princess far out into the woods, to a small clearing for her to play in, a small pond in the center from the recent spring rains. He returned without the princess but with the story of a wolf – and a small box to give the Queen – who drug her away. He went to the secret room and gave her the box - holding a heart – to the Queen.
The cold light in her eyes dimmed but what replaced it was not remorse, nor even contentment, but satisfaction. Her rival in beauty was gone.
What only I knew was that her rival was not gone, but living still, beyond the woods and over the mountain.
A year passed and the Queen grew older, more stately and handsome, but more watchful of those around her. The princess continued to grow more beautiful. More gentle and humble.
It was inevitable, I suppose, that the Queen would take up her old habit once again with so many young woman growing up around her. She flew into my deep, dark room, scarlet robes like flames fluttering about her in her passionate frenzy. A wild-woman, gone mad with uncertainty and envy stared brazenly into the glass.
""Mirror, the princess now is dead. Whom is fairest in her stead?"
I could not lie. Yet I could not give her all the truth. Her insistence on rhymes, specific and lyrical, ensured it.
"None, my Queen." Confusion creased her forehead, pursed her lips. She thought a moment and spoke again, haltingly, fearing the truth.
"Mirror, the princess should be dead. Is she not – as I now dread?"
"The princess is alive, Oh Queen. She lives over mountain, beyond woods of green."
Anger burned within her eyes, hatred following close behind.
The cadence of her feet upon the steps sang of murder soon to come.
Over-Mountain
She undressed from her royal robes, donned a dress of brown and gray: removed from her face the youthful paints, let age-lined skin show in its place. She picked from her own wardrobe, then, a dozen laces for her waist: placed then in a basket and walked over-mountain with great haste.
The girl who answered to her knock was curious but not too bright.
She let the Queen come right on in, gave her a chair, and served her tea. The Queen in disguise thanked the girl, offered her laces, just once, for free. The girl accepted and up jumped the Queen, tightening the laces before she could breathe. She left the girl turning blue on the floor and ran back to the castle, before fall of night.
Rage
Again the Queen stood before my mirror, robes the color of old blood burning darkly in the flickering light. Predatory eyes gleamed as she chanted.
"Mirror, Mirror, shining bright: who is fairest now tonight?"
So certain of the answer.
I was all too quick to correct her.
"Beyond the woods and over the hill, tonight the princess is fairest still."
With a growl, the Queen prowled back up the steps.
Again
Again were the robes removed. Again were all traces of royalty put away. Again did she set out, before break of dawn, with combs to show instead of lace. Again did the girl open the door, with caution now, to ask the price.
The Queen offered to comb her hair, the princess turned, offered her head to her care. The Queen jerked her hand and the comb stabbed deep, hitting the spot to put her to sleep. The Queen placed two coins over her eyes, thinking, surely now, death would take home its prize.
Power
She flowed into the dark, deep room – a vibrant train of green slithering behind her – and raised herself, imposing and tall, before my mirror.
"Mirror, tell me – I command!" Power rang in her voice. Power fueled by necessity.
"Whom is fairest in this land?"
I really shouldn't have told her. Truth should never be used for these purposes.
Truth should never be blind and guileless before a monster.
But it was a straight question.
"The princess wakes now from her sleep."
She must have been expecting that answer.
The queen did not fly up the stairs in a violent mood. She wove her way around the room, eyes bright in thought. At last she stopped and a small grin showed her teeth.
It was then she flew – not up the stairs, but to the other door in the wall. The entire night she did not leave the room. With no windows, no mirror, I saw nothing but the faintest flashes of light.
I feel no fear, but were I mortal I would have been terrified that long night.
The Queen when she emerged was transformed. Not a disguise this time but the use of dark power to find her solution had drained her of her youth. She carried the basket again, filled with apples this time – the princess' favorite food from her childhood.
She hobbled across the room and glanced at me before the door out opened.
"This time, Oh Mirror, I will not fail."
Poison
In every raindrop I reflected the journey there by her undetected. She had to stop quite unexpected, her body weak and under-rested. After morning became noon and that passed by to announce that evening would be coming soon, the crone-Queen approached the cottage door.
At first the girl did not reply, fearful now of strangers, but with persistence the Queen did cry and finally the door did open.
She sweet-talked until there was no resistance and the girl accepted the apple half-eaten. Then with a single bite the curse did strike and the girl fell still as death. Away the Queen hobbled, into the dusk, fearing no retribution.
Fairest
One last time the Queen came before me, seeking her own satisfaction. She no longer stood tall and proud – now stooped over and frail from the price she paid.
Her soul stained red by hatred and murder, rags of her dress black as her sin, skin as white as death – she stood before the glass a mockery of the wish she would never know had been made.
"Mirror, Mirror, hear my plea." Her voice hoarse and strained. She coughed a few times before continuing in a wheeze.
"Is she fairer now than me?"
The desperate goal of all her life – to forever be fairest of all.
All in vain, for now there was nothing beautiful left.
She was no longer fair.
She was fairless.
But that was not what she asked.
"No, my Queen. You are fairer now than she."
Although Death is easily the most impartial, fairest thing of all, those taken are rarely considered to share the trait.
The crone-Queen wheezed out a sigh and shuffled back to the door.
It was the last time I saw her.
That night she met the fairest one of all.