As always, big thanks to my amazing editors Drucilla and BlueShifted!

Happy Holidays, let's traumatize some children!

This is a story that I've held onto for a while, but it's also one of my stories that's gone through SO many changes since I first thought it up. And, considering what's happened to my other tales, it might continue to change! Who knows? But of course no matter what, I hope you enjoy it.

Never look in a mirror.

Never invoke her wrath.

Never love anyone.

The village had many rules, but these were the first ones ingrained in every child's mind. They were the first words little Minnie had learned, and every day she recited them at breakfast over tasteless porridge. Her father would pat her head, his quiet of her obedience, and then would leave for work without a goodbye. He worked on the crops with many other tired hands, trying to grow what they could out of a dying land. The touch of his hand was cold.

Breakfast was cold. Minnie's shabby hand-me-down clothes were cold. The rickety house was cold. Her mother would say, "You were born cold, you shall live cold, and you will die cold." So there was no point in complaining about it, as things would be this way forever. Minnie didn't complain by nature anyway. She was content with what she had – mostly because she had no idea there was any other way to be. When Papa went off to work, Mama kept Minnie inside and they did chores. Soon Minnie would get to go to school and meet the other children of the village, but Mama wasn't looking forward to that. Minnie didn't know why, and didn't ask.

So for the first eight years of her life, Minnie had no concept of the outside world. There were no windows to peek outside, they had been boarded up long before Minnie was born. All reflective surfaces were forbidden, it was part of the rule about there being no mirrors. If you could see yourself, then she could see you too.

The first day Minnie experienced life outside her house was all due to Mama's exhaustion. She had gone down for a nap, expecting Minnie to finish the rest of the chores. Minnie planned to, but as she swept along the hallway, her eyes glanced up curiously at the ceiling. There was a string with a wooden ball hanging from the ceiling – it dangled from a square shape, and there wasn't anything else in the house like it. Minnie had known of it always, but, being a good child, had never asked. Good girls didn't ask questions, and Minnie had always considered herself a good child.

Good, not perfect.

She finished sweeping, and with that done, the logic of a child told her that there would be no harm inspecting the string so long as her chores were done. She pulled Papa's chair from the dining room, working quietly and slowly as not to wake Mama. Once she was high enough, she gave the string a small tug. It took two smaller tugs to reveal an answer – the square flapped open, and a wooden ladder trailed down after it. Minnie hesitated, waiting to see if the sounds had disturbed Mama – and since it hadn't, she climbed upwards.

At first she was met with disappointment. There wasn't anything exciting or worthwhile here – everything was covered in white sheets and dust. She couldn't make sense of these strange shapes, even when she dared to peek underneath the sheets. The largest and most peculiar thing had a row of white and black lines, making her think of dirty teeth, and they made a pretty sound when she pressed down on the white ones. She might have explored further, when the shock of seeing something brand new distracted her.

There, off to the right side of the wall, was a window.

It was covered in dust and grime and the ails of time, but it was definitely a window. Minnie fled to the unusual sight, wondering why it was there – why any of this was here. It was upsetting to have all these questions because she knew in her heart she'd never get an answer. She pressed her hands to the dirty glass, and felt a chill from the outside. Minnie thought of going back and keeping this secret all to herself, when she thought she saw something moving outside.

Outside. What a strange, wondrous, frightening idea. Minnie bit her lower lip – due to the window's mess, she couldn't make heads or tails of what was moving out there, only that it wasn't staying still. Her eyes found a tiny latch in the middle of the window, and lifting it would allow the window to spread open. She had already gone this far, why not go further? Her heart beat faster as she undid the hatch, pressing the window open slowly, afraid it might break.

There were lots of things to process at once. The blue sky with white clouds, the wind on her cheek, the smell of dirt, the surprises were unending. The window not only led to the outside world, but to a small terrace that connected her home to the one next door. The wood had once been painted many bright colors, but now it was faded and chipped, with dangerous splinters sticking out. In the exact middle of the connecting bridge was a thick layer of dirt, but not the build-up of neglect – this was black and earthy, fresh from the farmland.

But the most surprising thing to Minnie was the little boy now staring right back at her.

Having never seen another child in her life, Minnie almost didn't know what to make of him. His clothes were much nicer than hers – there were no signs of wear or labored stitching, and the colors were ripe, bright red, particularly the scarf that covered up his mouth. He had a pile of books around him – seven, Minnie counted – and his fingers were coated in black dirt. Had he been the one to bring the dirt there? He blinked at her. She blinked back.

"Hello," Minnie finally said, politeness winning out over awkwardness.

"H-Hello..." the boy stammered, muffled underneath his scarf. He then tugged it down, trying again with more confidence. "Hello. Who're you?"

What an odd question. Who else would she be? "I'm Minnie."

"Oh." He looked down, then up, making a decision. "I'm Mickey. I'm the Mayor's son." He said this with growing courage, a title he wore proudly. "And one day I'll be the Mayor. That means I'll be in charge, and I can do anything I want."

"What are you doing now?"

"Planting seeds." Mickey glanced down at his left hand, which, since he first saw her, was tightly clenched. He clicked his tongue. "Can you keep a secret?"

Not many secrets were held in Minnie's household, but there had been enough to know what one was. We won't tell Papa we burnt his supper, shall we? "Yes." She then decided having a conversation with this much distance between them was silly, and made an effort to get down. She could hear Mickey starting to get up, ready to help but, but she managed to stand without any assistance and felt gratified at this accomplishment. She brushed down her dress – one that had been handed down through so many generations that it was more miracles than fabric keeping it together – and felt ashamed to be near a boy with such nice clothing. When Minnie looked back up, however, he wasn't watching with any judgment or disdain. He merely waited patiently for his guest, and with relief, Minnie walked over until she was sitting across from him, the dirt between them. "What's the secret?"

"I'm planting these." Mickey opened his hand, revealing brown oval-shaped seeds.

Minnie frowned. "So? They're seeds. Papa plants lots of seeds."

"These are special seeds." Mickey insisted, and once he placed them in the dirt, he pulled off a book from his pile. After flipping many pages, he found the right one, and held out the book for Minnie to see. "These are rose seeds." His finger tapped at the page's image, and Minnie's eyes widened. She had never heard of such a plant before, nor had she ever seen anything like the pencil drawing displayed before her.

"These are the petals," Mickey explained, grateful to have an audience, "And they're all red! Really red! The reddest red you've ever seen. And they smell really good too."

"How do you eat it?"

"That's the thing. You don't eat them."

Now this drew Minnie back, confused. "What's the point of growing them if you don't eat them?" Papa and the other farmers only grew plants that could be of use to the village. Why have anything else? It would be a waste of land and effort. Just like buying new clothes was a waste of money, when these rags did their job.

"Because they're nice to look at," Mickey laid the book out between them so Minnie could get a better look if she so desired, and she did. "A long time ago, they grew all over the place. Other flowers too! All kinds of pretty stuff. And people would put flowers in their clothes and their hair, to make themselves look nice too. And they'd put them in the house to make the house smell good. And then there's this thing called a 'bouquet.'" He turned the page, tapping another paragraph. "You get a whole bunch of them together, tie it with a ribbon, and give it to someone you love."

Minnie had been enraptured in the mental imagery of decorating one's self in fanciful colors and petals, imagining a dress that swayed in the wind and could possibly make someone like her pretty. But then Mickey had said that word, and with a terrified shriek, Minnie suddenly flew at him, slapping her hand over his mouth. "You can't say that word!"

Mickey sputtered underneath her hand, startled and indignant. "Mmmph!" He wrestled her wrist away, forcing her to sit next to him. "What word?"

"You know what word!" Minnie hissed, trying to keep her voice low. "It's in the rules! If you fall in that, she'll come and take you away!"

The boy snorted, turning his head away with his arms crossed. "Who? The Snow Queen? You actually believe she's real?"

"Of course I do!" And why on earth was he talking as if he didn't? "If you break the rules, the Snow Queen will take you away and no one will ever see you again!"

Mickey adjusted his scarf, and then leaned in, eyebrows raised. "Minnie... have you ever seen the Snow Queen?"

"No." But then, that was because she was a good girl, wasn't she?

"Have your parents ever seen her?"

"... No." They certainly would have said so, in order to keep Minnie safe.

"Me neither. And no one I've talked to has ever seen her. And you know why? It ain't 'cause of those stupid rules." Mickey drew up his chest, with the fearlessness of a person who had never encountered real danger. "It's 'cause she's not real. There's no such thing as the Snow Queen. The grown-ups made her up!"

Minnie felt all the weight in her body shift to the ground, her mouth hanging open. This was sacrilege of the highest order! Yet, to a child's mind, it made a disturbing amount of sense. "But... but why? Why would they do such a thing?"

"To make sure we do whatever they tell us to do," Mickey answered, casting a hateful glance at the window from where he came – unlike Minnie's, it was perfectly clean. "They keep us scared, so we can't do anything. But things weren't always like this!" He grabbed another book, slamming it down on his lap. "My old man hid these books, but I found them! They're from long ago! Back before there was a 'Snow Queen'. And there was all kinds of fun things people used to do! Dancing, singing, games... people grew flowers, and they had pets, and there was love! And when I'm the Mayor, it's all coming back!"

The lure of such fascinating new things compelled Minnie to consider his declaration as truth more and more. She couldn't make sense of most of what the page said, but the pictures had plenty of stories on their own. Men moving in odd fashions with big grins on their face, girls riding on horseback to race, and she kept moving closer to Mickey in order to read more – which alerted Mickey to the fact that his new friend was, upon closer inspection, very pretty.

"What's this?" Minnie asked, pointing at a new image, and when he didn't answer right away, she looked at him, confused. His cheeks had begun to redden, matching his scarf, and he blinked at her stupidly, foreign to his new feelings. "Oh! Are you sick?" The only reason a person's cheeks would change color was because of a fever, far as Minnie knew, and so she made the problem worse by coming in even closer to touch his forehead. "You should go lay down, I can make you some porridge!"

"I'M GOOD." Mickey didn't mean to shout it, and swiftly brought up his scarf in a desperate attempt to hide his face. He cleared his throat, trying to move on. "Um, ah... w-what did you want to know?"

Minnie pouted, not sure if she believed him, but was willing to let it go for now. She couldn't help but worry over him now, even if they had only met today. "This." Minnie pointed again, at the image of a man and a woman standing in front of an altar, holding up small circles.

Relieved to keep his mind and mouth busy, Mickey said, "That's a wedding! It's when two folks who really love each other make a promise to only love each other for the rest of their days. They wear rings, and throw a great big party everyone's invited to. Here, you might like this..." He turned the page, showing an elegant lady dressed all in white, her gown flowing for ages, flowers dolled up in her hair and sparkles in her eyes. "If a woman gets married, she's called a bride, and she wears a beautiful dress."

Minnie had never seen a more beautiful image in her little life, and her fingers traced over the dress in a sense of longing. What kind of special person did you have to be to wear something like that? She knew it'd never be for her, tried to be sensible about it, yet wanted it all the same. "She's lovely," Minnie murmured, feeling especially small and disheveled in comparison.

Mickey glanced down at the bride, then to Minnie, back and forth three more times. "How about this? When we get all grown-up, why don't you and I have a wedding?"

Minnie lifted her eyes, at first confused about what was being offered. "What do you mean?"

"What else would I mean? We'll have a wedding, and you'll be the bride, and I'll be the groom." He gestured to another image on the next page, with a tall prince-like figure in slim attire. "That's who the bride loves and all. And since I'll be the Mayor, it'll be the biggest, happiest, best party the village has ever seen." He was already picturing it, with things he'd only read about in the forbidden books – warm cakes and hot drinks, frilly ribbons lining the windows, music that made you want to tap your feet and grab a partner. Why on earth had everyone given these pleasures up? Was the grown-up's absolute need for power and control so great that it swallowed up everything else that could make someone happy?

Such powerful ideas were foreign to Minnie, and remained so – she still had trouble believing anyone would do a wicked thing for the sake of themselves. Her eyes and mind remained on the dress. "I don't know," it came as a soft mumble, because she did know, she did want to say yes. "Mama says I don't need new clothes. Mama says as long as I have what I have, I have enough." Anything extra would be selfish. Why ask for another blanket for your bed, when you wouldn't die of the cold with what you had? Why ask for another helping of breakfast, when you wouldn't starve with what you ate? Why ask to be held, when your own arms could do the same job?

"I'm not asking your Mama," Mickey replied defiantly, tugging down his scarf again as he wanted to be taken seriously. "I'm asking you. Do you want to wear a big pretty dress, and have a nice party, and love people?"

Minnie bit her lip, looking intensely into Mickey's eyes. What gave this boy so much confidence? Was it in the secret knowledge he gained? Or was it something he was naturally born with? He was very brave to say such things and believe such things, without any hesitance or help. Minnie could feel her heart beating in her chest – it was like envy, but in a pleasant way. She didn't know this was a feeling called "admiration". That this was someone she wanted to be like, that this was someone she could be like. Things... perhaps, maybe... Things didn't have the same way forever.

"I do," She finally said, unaware of the smile on her young face, unaware even more that the sight of it was the best thing Mickey had ever seen before and would ever see for a long time. He rather wished it was in his books, so he could look at it whenever he pleased. "I want to wear nice dresses and... and all those other magical things in your books. I want to wear a dress that's never been worn by anyone else before! And I want to wear things because they make me feel good, not just because it'll keep the cold away! And I want to know what love is! I want to love Mama and Papa, and even you, Mickey!"

"Then it's a promise!" Mickey enthusiastically held out his pinky, his thin tail flicking around. "When you and I are grown-up, we'll have a great big wedding, and you'll be my bride!"

"And you'll be my groom!" Minnie linked her pinky with his, and she was happy. Happier than she'd ever been since... she couldn't really remember. The two wound up dissolving into giggles before Mickey flipped through the pages, eager to show her more things they could do once their lives were free. They talked of gifts not repaid as favors, but as gestures of care and attention to one's likes – talked of crafting desserts made to win over something called a "sweetheart" - talked of dances where you could lean in and feel the heartbeat of your partner.

This went on for some time, until Minnie could hear her Mama shrieking in fear, unable to find her daughter. Minnie jolted upwards, surprised. "Oh... I'd better go back. Mama sounds worried."

"Aw, gee." Mickey was disappointed, but understood, closing the book on his lap. "I guess you better go."

"I guess so." She was as reluctant to go as he was, but after locking eyes for a few seconds more, she brushed down her tattered dress and walked back to the window. She gripped the frame, ready to crawl in, and gave Mickey one more look. She smiled. "Goodbye, groom." This didn't have to be a sad occasion. Now that she knew of this place, she could always return.

Mickey smiled back, his cheeks as red as the roses he was planting. "Goodbye, bride."

Minnie climbed inside the attic, closed the window, and retreated back to the ladder, at the same moment Mama had stumbled upon it. "Minnie!" Mama clutched her chest, unable to believe the sight in front of her. "What were you doing?!"

"I was playing with a friend," Minnie said once she was on her feet, seeing no reason as to why she had to lie. Maybe if Mama learned about all the amazing things from Mickey's books, she'd understand as well. "I never knew we had another room up there."

"Of course you didn't know! Why would you ever go up there?" Mama snatched Minnie's wrist, and then hurriedly slammed the ladder back up. "You must never go up there again, Minnie!"

The little girl's heart faltered, her eyes steady on the attic that was now sealed away. "But why? What were all those odd things under the sheets? They made all sorts of strange noises, and-"

"It's all junk!" Mama snapped, pulling Minnie in close, her eyes tight and hard. "Useless junk, the only good it will ever be is firewood! That's what we should do with it... You will not go in there again! That is an order!"

That hardly seemed fair, considering everything Minnie had just learned! "But... But Mama, there's a window up there! And there's another house, it's connected to ours! And there was a boy-"

"What are the rules, Minnie?" Mama cut in, her grip beginning to tighten.

"Never... But, Mama, the boy-"

"What. Are. The. Rules."

Minnie opened and closed her mouth, the proud spirit she had earned minutes enduring a painful wound. "Nev... Never look in a mirror..."

"Exactly. That's why you can't go up there. Forget all about that other house, and that boy. You'll see plenty of boys when you go to school."

The daughter couldn't understand this line of reasoning. Minnie's eyes felt hot, and her fingers rolled up into fists. "But... But... But Mickey said I can be his bride!"

It was if the word itself slapped Mama across the face. Her eyes went wide as saucer plates, and her voice was a quiet tremble. "What... did you say?"

"M-Mickey said I can be his bride, and I wanna be his bride!" Her voice came out loud, louder than she knew it could be, and her vision became blurry with tears. "I wanna wear a p-pretty dress, and have a party, and play music, and Mickey said he'll be my groom! He promised me! He says there is no Snow Queen! And if there isn't one, I wanna be a bride! Why can't I do that? I want to! I want to be Mickey's bride!" If there really was no Snow Queen, then there was nothing wrong with these beautiful dreams, and maybe there wasn't really one! Maybe there never was a Snow Queen, and if there wasn't, Minnie should be a bride! Why not? Why not, why not, why not?

Mama breathed slowly through her nostrils, slowly releasing her hold on Minnie's wrist. Her fingers curled up on her chest. "Minnie... go to your room. When Papa gets home, he'll decide what to do with you."

"There isn't a Snow Queen!" Minnie shouted, feeling the tears on her face and not caring how she looked. "There isn't! And I'm gunna be Mickey's bride!" Defiant to the last, she ran to her room, slamming the door, and let out the first of her sobs. It wasn't fair. Why wouldn't Mama listen? Why did it matter what Papa had to say? Well, they were wrong! They couldn't prove the Snow Queen was real! And she'd be the prettiest bride, and Mickey would make her happy! She laid on her tiny bed, crying and dreaming.

The sun had set by the time Papa came home and learned what he could from Mama. There was a bit of shouting from the hallway, but Minnie couldn't tell what it was about. Eventually the door opened, and Papa walked in, staring down at his daughter, and Minnie was suddenly aware of how tall he was, and how small she was. Mama stood in the hallway, wringing her hands. When Papa spoke, it was grave. "What kind of foolishness has that boy told you?"

Minnie wiped her face clean. "Mickey says there isn't a Snow Queen... no one's ever seen her." Then, with a mix of fear and hope, "Have you ever seen her?"

"You don't need to see to believe, child. She watches us always, and that boy will put you in her path if you listen to him."

"I'm not scared of her!" Minnie pushed herself off the bed, trying to stand and see if that made any difference in their height – it didn't. "I wanna be Mickey's bride!"

Papa grumbled deep in the back of his throat, closing his eyes, and when he opened them, he reached for Minnie. "Not scared of her, are you?" He held her by the hand, and walked with her out of the hallway. Minnie saw no reason not to follow along willingly. "We'll see about that."

Mama tracked behind him, much more upset than before. "Marcus, what are you..."

Papa ignored her, heading for the front door. "If you keep listening to that boy's nonsense, you'll ensure the wrath of the Snow Queen, and she'll take you away, and you will freeze. You think your dreams of being a bride can keep you warm?"

"I'm not scared," Minnie replied, but something in Papa's voice was beginning to frighten her.

Papa opened the front door – a harsh wind blew in, and the world was dark. "Let's see how long that dream of yours lasts. This is only a taste of what it will be like when you're with the Snow Queen!" He then pushed Minnie out the door, and slammed it shut.

Mama began to scream. "Marcus! Open the door!"

Minnie landed on her face in the snow, and was quick to sit up, staring at the closed wooden door. She could hear Mama still screaming, demanding that Papa let Minnie in before the girl froze to death, and Papa insisting this was the only way Minnie would learn. It had been cold inside the house – but this was a cold that was entirely new, and much, much worse. Minnie's arms quickly clutched herself, and she looked around, seeing flakes of snow falling from endless black. It was so dark she couldn't see anything else but the door, and in a child's mind, if you couldn't see it, it didn't exist.

So as far as Minnie knew, there was nowhere to go.

Minnie's breath came out in wisps of white, shaky, her legs knocking against each other as she shook. The snow was wet on her shoes, and it leaked in through tiny holes, soaking her toes. The snowflakes pricked her skin, and her teeth chattered, making a horrid noise in her ears. She held herself as tight as she could, bunching up as much as every muscle would allow, and it did nothing. Her eyes remained on the door, but she didn't beg to be let back in. No, this was awful... but! But. She wasn't dead. She was alive. So there! She could survive this. And if she could survive this, she could survive anything the Snow Queen did, if the woman was even real.

Minnie would be Mickey's bride and everything would be okay.

But everything was not okay.

The longer she stayed out, the worse it got. Pain began to crawl up along her legs, digging into her skin, like nails hammered into every inch. Her fingers became raw, and soon it began to hurt even holding herself. The chill began to invade her mouth and nostrils, sealing her up from the inside, making it so every breath in and out was torture. There were pinpricks along her eyes, making it difficult to keep them open. Her vision began to fade in and out until she wasn't entirely she even was in front of her house anymore.

"Papa?" Minnie could no longer hear her parents, and she leaned on the door, trying to knock. "Papa, I'm sorry! I... I believe you!" But there was no response. Fear escalated into panic. "Papa, I believe you, I swear! Let me in!" Still nothing, and her knocking became frantic, to the point of scratching at the door until her fingers were raw. "PAPA! THERE IS A SNOW QUEEN! THERE IS! I WON'T BE ANYONE'S BRIDE! LET ME IN! PAPA, PLEASE!"

A moan from Mama, and nothing more.

Everything was in pain. There was no escape from it. It hurt to breathe, to blink, to exist, and at one point she trembled so much so fell over into the snow... and then couldn't find the strength to get up. Snow rolled into her clothes, coating her with a new layer of agony. As the night continued, she would discover there was something worse than pain – numbness. Feeling nothing was worse than feeling pain. At that time, she could no longer keep her eyes open, and the world faded, and she couldn't remember what happened after that.

When her eyes did open again, her vision remained blurry, but she could say she was definitely inside again. The fireplace was roaring, and Minnie was covered in as many blankets and layers as Mama could find – Mama, who was screeching at her husband, "How could you?!" - while Papa sat quietly in his chair, smoking a pipe that no longer had any flavor. Minnie went in and out of consciousness several times, but the scene never changed.

She did not meet Mickey again until school.

She did not tell him of that night in the cold.

And she did not believe in dreams anymore.