Smooth skin crumbled to dust, the Queen was dead. Long live the Queen, Snow supposed. She had looked... surprised, in the end. Death had left her that much, even enhanced it. Surprised that she could be killed at all, perhaps, or that her stepdaughter had been the one to do it.

Snow looked at her golden twin in the mirror: the face of the fairest, the face of a killer. She was troubled to find no visible evidence of the change, and less invisible than expected. She had it in her after all, when she had no choice. But had not the Queen done the same, as she drained youth from the village girls to sustain her own?

Snow noticed an imperfection in the reflection, one that hadn't been there before. She watched aghast as her face sagged and melted, the mirror oozing into a pool beside the Queen. The surface bubbled and rose, taking eerily human form.

"Back, demon!" cried Snow, swinging her dagger. "Your mistress is no more!"

The mirror gurgled as if to chuckle. It sounded of drowning.

"Ravenna told you of the first Queen she replaced," its voice rang metallic. "She did not mention that the Queen was still alive when she was brought to the castle."

"That is nothing to me," spat Snow.

"Oh, but it is," said the mirror. "You see, the Queen had a golden mirror, and a thirst for pretty girls like Ravenna."

"I should have you melted," said Snow.

"You should." Another gurgle. "But you tasted death last night, and stole back your breath from prince and commonor. Even now they wander these halls, their light slightly diminished. Dare they suspect? How long should a Queen live?"