A/N: Hello all. It feels great to write another fanfiction after a brief hiatus, especially for what I consider one of the best movies ever made. This is my first one dabbling in Snow White and the Huntsman but it has been rattling about in my head for quite a while and I decided to give it a go even though it has been quite a few years since the film came out. I believe the story is timeless so it works for me. A brief warning: there will be femslash between Snow White and Queen Ravenna in later chapters so if that is not your thing, feel free to leave the story; but if it is, then I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. And if you really like it, I would appreciate a review at the end because it certainly makes writing all the more fun.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. The plotline (without my minor adjustments here and there) and characters belong to their respective owners and I make no profit out of these scribbles apart from personal enjoyment.
There was a softness in the eyes of the child that staid the hand of the Witch Queen; something raw in the tears sliding down the pale cheeks, leaving small trek marks in the grease and soot covering the delicate flesh of the young face. How much of herself she saw in those darkened pools of jade flecked with amber. Herself in another lifetime where winter's chill was held back by the warm embrace of a mother's love and the summer days clung to her golden locks with the sweetness of honey and sunshine. Those eyes, holding her, captivating her, keeping her from passing the order of execution with a flick of her lacquered wrist. It held a strange disparity to her. She had killed children before; it could not have been an excuse since she had just sent the order that led her army to butcher every resident within the walls of the castle she had sacked. Every resident; except one: Snow White.
How the child had smiled at the new Queen on the day of the wedding. Radiance in a little glass shell ready to shatter at the briefest of breezes, and yet housing the entirety of the world's hope in the nervous fingers playing at the hem of the quaint skirt. How she had stood, petrified, in that small hallway before fleeing from her like a foal only to be caught by the iron jaws of the wolf moments later. And now there was only fear. And the child had cause to feel such terror; Ravenna held Snow's life in her perfect milky hands. But try as she might, she could not crush the fragile heartbeat, could not snuff out the light blossoming beneath the torn and tattered remnants of the girl's garments. Her brother, Finn, stood behind the tiny prisoner, awaiting her next command. Her clawed fingers curled around the hem of her nightdress, the white satin giving way easily beneath the force of her grip. She stood atop the stairs leading into the grey walls of the castle where the screams of the last remaining occupants slowly died away to the whispers of souls leaving the bodies. Her mouth opened, prepared to speak the words of doom; to condemn the innocent child to an early grave; and found herself saying instead, "Lock her away. One never knows when royal blood may be of value."
The girl did not struggle as she was taken to what would become her prison for over a decade. All she did was gaze up at the Queen's face with those eyes, questioning and confused. Ravenna growled at the clenching of her stomach under the touch of the molten orbs, suppressing the urge to wrench them out so as to assuage the warring emotions of guilt and anger. Over eight hundred years she had wandered the wretched world, bringing kingdoms down and kings to their knees before her without a hint of remorse. Cruelty was familiar to her. Cruelty had been her companion throughout the majority of her existence. So why? Why were such emotions resurrecting their rotted corpses within her blackened heart? The uncertainty in Snow's demeanor was only mirrored within the turbulent mists of Ravenna's eyes. She had said that the girl and she were bound what seemed like eons ago. Never had she felt the bond as strongly as she did standing in the courtyard surrounded by the dead and the dying as the smoke billowed into the night sky, blotting out the silver pinprick stars. Shaking her head she turned away, moving toward the room that she had dedicated to her precious golden mirror. The towering cloaked figure had grown familiar to her too. There would be time to think on the child's fate in the ensuing lull of shock that inevitably overtook the peoples of a newly conquered territory. For now, Ravenna had won, and she was keen on replenishing the magic she had expended in the seizure. The first of the few captives she had left alive was brought before her in light chains. The woman's face was comely, not exceptionally beautiful, but she would do for the moment.
~o()o~
The years passed in whispers to Snow White in her tiny segment of the North Tower; a dark portion of the castle once considered her home. Her girlhood had passed away in the confines of the small room that had been afforded her with its dank walls and crippled bed as the only furnishing. Snow wound a small string around a doll of sticks she had made to amuse herself, stitching the little bundle into a makeshift leg connected to the stiff torso. She had made it a habit of creating such friends as a child from the discarded pieces of firewood the guards occasionally threw into her cell. Summers had been the loneliest times, when the weather was considered too warm for a fire and she was left without any new materials. A ragged cloth lay to the side of her, ready to be made into a plain skirt to clothe the figurine. New clothes had stopped coming once her growth spurts had waned so each strip was a precious commodity. The stick people always fell apart so quickly, if she did not put the utmost care into keeping them sheltered from the damp or the rats. The sky was dark outside of the small window that acted as her only portal to the world outside of the prison room. A chill passing through the iron bars wracked her frail, dirty body with shivers. The dazzling flickers of light outside mirrored the faint sprinkle of light in Snow's eyes; her small fire a microcosm of the brilliant flames of the faraway stars. The crackle of the burning wood in the hearth brought her a little peace with its lullaby rhythm.
The grinding of hinges snapped her out of the sleepy daze she had been falling into. Her muscles tightened, causing her back to curl and for her legs to draw into her chest in a small fetal position against the shadowed wall to the side of the fireplace. The heat of the brick against her left shoulder was sweltering, but she dared not move away from the concealing alcove in fear of what, or who, had come to stand in the entranceway of her extremely humble living quarters.
Snow did not know who she had been expecting- there was rarely anyone who came into the oppressive vaults unless it was a change in the guard or the rare addition of another prisoner. Even then, the company was short-lived and most moved on to some unknown fate while Snow was forever cursed to watch and fade away between the three stone walls and the rusted bars leading into the corridor. Whoever she might have guessed it to be did not matter in the end, for she would never have been able to foretell the presence of her late night visitor gliding past the door on silent feet covered, like the rest of the figure's body, by a fluid cloak of silver. The person was smaller than the guards, more lithe and feline in the way that it surveyed its surroundings, almost predatory in the way it searched for something that apparently eluded it. The mantle fell away, uncovering fine strands of golden hair that loosely fell over chiseled shoulders and fine collarbone. The emerald irises burned with the reflection of the copper flames illuminating the Spartan expanse. The golden crown that had adorned her head on the night she had sentenced Snow to her life in a cage was no longer there. Even the morbid one
composed of a series of ebony quartz spikes that Snow had spied her wearing on the infrequent strolls the Queen sometimes took in the courtyard did not sit atop the fine silken locks. It had been the first time in eight years that Snow had seen the woman who had killed her father and had taken her freedom. She should have hated her. She should have rushed her and tackled her to the ground, clawing at her and smashing her head into the hard, cold floor for what she had done. Instead, all Snow felt was emptiness. She could have blamed all of the years of grey moldy nothingness for the hole in her chest where the anger and resentment should have colored her mind a crimson inferno, but her heart told her it was something else that kept her huddled in her small corner. Pity, maybe. An elusive connection between them that she could not name.
"I feel that you and I are bound," she had once said. Snow's heart increased its beat at the words, as it always did when she remembered them. Unwittingly she placed a hand over the thrumming organ, just as she had on that crisp winter's day when everything seemed so white and serene.
~o()o~
Upon entering the cold room, Ravenna's step faltered. Her eyes swept across the empty expanse, heart skipping a beat as the presence of the one she had come to see continued to remain absent. A shift in the darkened corner of the fireplace caught her attention, crystalline eyes falling on the half-hidden huddled figure of her captive. The innocence of the child had not left the fifteen-year-old maiden that she had become. Her newly flowered adolescence suited her; the waves of carbonate hair running down Snow's back and along her arms were dirty but held a vitality that drew a foreign pang of jealousy from the blonde; the curve of her face was still soft and delicate despite the years of malnutrition; full red lips, though chapped, teasingly pulled back in a gesture of nervousness. It was suddenly a little too much for the Queen to stay, but once again her bones were frozen by the girl's gaze. Those molten pupils looking at her, waiting to see what she would do next, to discern her purpose for coming to the vile little dungeon when she had never done so before in all of the years that Snow had been kept like an exotic animal.
Snow couldn't keep her curiosity checked. Not once had the beautiful Witch come to see her, whether out of guilt or antipathy or some other reason only known to the enigmatic older woman. The brother had, Snow remembered with a shudder. He had watched her, staring with unconcealed lust many a night, even when she had barely been over a decade old. The visits had become more frequent with each passing year until he appeared behind the bars more often than not now. But Ravenna had always stayed away, a specter of a memory lurking somewhere far beyond the walls of the North Tower which had served as a buffer between Snow and the Queen. Yet, there she was, standing stone still and returning Snow's gaze with a stoic expression betraying nothing.
Ravenna felt herself turned prisoner, held static by the green pools which had haunted her dreams since she had been taken to the wretched palace as a liberated prize. Opposite her, Snow could not seem to fathom Ravenna's unwillingness to do anything. The calm façade had shifted slightly, leaving an air of uncertainty, even discomfort in the way the Queen's head slightly lowered and her shoulders sagged from their rigid posture. The girl's guard rose with each passing moment, questioning the strange behavior of the Witch. Was it not Snow who should have felt disconcerted in the presence of her oppressor and the murderer of her father?
The younger girl's chapped lips opened slightly in a quiet inhale, allowing a slip of air to pass into her mouth, carrying with it the sweetened scent of the Queen to her taste buds. Milk and honey and… something else she could not quite place, but surely made the combination an intoxicating one. In a moment, she felt heady as though having drunk too much wine- reminding her of the serene summers when her father would sneak her a sip from his goblet when her mother had not been looking. This drunkenness was deeper than the faint buzz and loss of coordination she had experienced however. A thought crossed her mind, unbidden as much as it would have been disconcerting had it been thought under normal circumstances. Gazing up at the finely toned form underneath the sweeping robes of liquid metal interwoven with silk, peering into eyes as green as the sea at daybreak, Snow could not help but wonder what she would feel if Ravenna were to kill her right then. Would being murdered by a person who was the embodiment of a Greek Goddess made flesh be a better death than if it were to be done by some wretch in an alley amongst the mud and swine? Would the savory poison slipping into her blood and clamping over her heart hurt less with the finesse of the fingers giving it to her, with the eyes of mountain meadows as the last sight her eyes would see in this world? The answer should have been obvious. The crimes of the woman before her could not be erased by beauty or regality, no matter how divine they were. Yet, watching the soft rise and fall of the Queen's chest with her even breaths, listening to the rustle of fabric against stone as she inadvertently shifted her weight more evenly on her legs, Snow could not think it. There was only sadness for the loneliness outlined in the slope of the full lips and the pity for the loss etched into the depth of the glowing irises.
"It was your birthday today, was it not?"
The voice startled Snow in how familiar it was. She had not heard the other woman speak for years and yet, every syllable, every lilt in the slow, trepid pronunciation, was ingrained perfectly and eternally within the younger girl's throbbing heart. She knew the strength and cruelty hidden in the meekness of the soft-spoken words. Still, they did not frighten her half as much as she would have expected. It was more of a shock to converse with another human being after the solitude she had endured; in some of the darker months, Snow had feared that she had forgotten how to use her words at all. It could have been that solitude that had dampened her sense of self-preservation or something far more obscure that gave the young girl the slightest of inclinations that Ravenna was not there to harm her. Not trusting her larynx to carry her cracked voice, Snow settled for a slow nod in affirmation.
"I…" the Queen faltered. Her thoughts were silently thankful for the shoddy lighting in the dim room for it hid the embarrassing blush that had come to color her pale cheeks a foreign, fragrant rose pink. The sole other occupant looked to her from her corner of shadow with defiant expectation. Ravenna had heard the whispers of the small folk, told by the tongues of her soldiers and servants when they thought she was not listening; their whispers of the former Queen's inspiration in the naming of her daughter. Looking down at the adolescent girl boldly matching her in curiosity and cool brazenness, it made the older woman want to laugh. As powerful and terrible as she was, tall and severe with the long ornamented raven talons hooked over her fingers and the series of bird skulls lining the trimming of the black shift she wore under the argent satin that kept the cold from grazing against her arms otherwise bare, the petulant flower refused to wither. Or perhaps it was her newfound lack of self-assurance that had inadvertently given the girl a boost of courage. Either way, it mattered not. Clearing her throat with the sole intention of regaining whatever fortitude she had lost, Ravenna commanded in her silver-tongued manner, "A girl should not be alone, locked away on the eve of such an important day. The years leading up to your womanhood should be cherished and celebrated. Come, dine with me tonight. The evening is still young and my table is empty of guests."
Snow felt her stomach twine in a violent knot. She could not profess to know what the Witch was playing at; nor did she want to point out the fact that she had spent the last seven birthdays alone, locked up in the tower without so much as a decent meal to mark the day. All she could be certain of was that Ravenna was not to be trusted. Her father had made that mistake once upon a time and it had cost him both his life and his kingdom; it had cost her freedom. The invitation was more of a demand, brokering no arguments, so Snow found herself resigned to shuffling up from her curled position and coming to stand in front of the fire, bathing her features in black except for the silhouette of her cheek and the tip of her delicate nose. She then gave another nod; not that it had been necessary but purely as a conveyance of her readiness to face whatever torment the other woman had in store for her.
~o()o~
Ravenna floated down the corridors of the castle, ever the picture of poise and grace. She had shed the cumbersome cloak when they had descended from the airy passages of the icy tower and entered the heated interior of the palace. Snow's eyes could not keep from tracing the fine lines of the Witch's back, losing themselves in the slope of her shoulder blades and the sway of her hips as the tight-fitting obsidian dress swayed with each step and accentuated the shapely curves of the Queen's developed body. Stumbling over a bend in the carpet lining the hallway, Snow turned her attention to her surroundings instead of the enticing person leading her to an indeterminable fate. The torches lining every pillar cast menacing shadows along the bare walls in between and breathed spectral life into the suits of quartz armor that flanked the scattered doors leading into obscured rooms Snow no longer remembered. Each cold, helmeted face caused her to flinch away, bringing back images of blood and fire and screaming; a small hand stretched out to her then torn away as an invisible horse charged forward. Her thoughts drifted to another haunting scenario, though this one was not bathed in the crimson life blood pouring out of the people who had once loved her. The halls, made of sparkling marble, rang with the cries of children, their laughter tinkling in the breeze like silver bells; the stones on either side of the clumsy little forms running through the wide hallways were adorned with ghostly tapestries marked by vague resplendency. The candleholders had become blackened iron where they had once been pearl and white gold; the portraits her mother had adored no longer hung in their vibrant patterns and hues; the liveliness of the nobles and courtiers was lost to the silent bareness that was only broken by the soft clicks of Ravenna's heels as they echoed across the high, arched ceiling. The building held the similarity of a skeleton without the muscle and sinew that had given it life and identity. And, of course, the biggest change of all was strutting just two strides ahead of Snow, awash with glory that had not faded at all in eight years.
The Queen, sensing the pinpricks along her spine, turned her head slightly to take in Snow's poorly veiled stare directed at her back. She felt a hint of amusement each time the doe eyes widened and the girl's face blanched at every armor display, nearly fainting in her fright. When the Witch's piercing orbs met the skittish oxidized copper green of the girl, she immediately shied away with barely contained hysteria. The long, ebony locks hid away the gaunt cheeks under their thickened tangles. The antics of her little caged bird were strangely endearing, not that Ravenna had any intention of letting such softness show. What may have been a frugal moment of kindness could turn into something deadly much too quickly; she had used such meager displays of mercy to her advantage many times with less than pleasant effects for the person on the other end. Still, a soft smile graced the Queen's lips; one that had not had a place there since her early childhood. One that was sweet in its smallness, without a trace of malice etched into the pull of luscious skin. Her anxiety and anger were quick to remove it as she chastised herself for allowing such forbidden feelings to emerge from their repressed states within the depths of her deadened heart. The anomalous slip in demeanor was gone before Snow had regained enough of her own composure to look back up to where the older woman was leading her.
They reached the dining room not too long after. The elongated table was lit by a candelabra laid atop the velvet white cloth adorning the hard mahogany. Black and gold embroidery laced in twining vines and leaves along the edges until the ends were coalesced into four open morning glories of dark amethyst at each of the four corners. Atop the beautiful needlework, the table was laden with scrumptious meals fit to feed an entire entourage of nobles and servants. Succulent roast pheasant was basted in dark red wine, giving the skin a beautifully crisp glaze. Cranberries dotted salads of fresh greens, lightly sprinkled with transparent dressings. Fishes ranging from the pink freshwater salmon to the exotic saltwater scorpion fish with its many poisonous spines awaited the table occupants, cut open and steaming. Bowls of crème sat next to platters of strawberries, peaches, and small slips of chocolate. Two wild turkeys flanked the centerpiece: a boar almost as big as Snow herself that had been slowly cooked over an open fire. A crisp red apple was precariously balanced in the open jaws, propped against the protruding tusks which had had their ends filed down to two rounded stubs. The beady black eyes caught the flickering golden light of the multitude of tiny fires flickering on the wicks of the scented candles. The strong smell of herbs wafting through the cavernous room was overpowering, making saliva gather in Snow's mouth. Fountains of wine poured rainbow colors of the alcoholic beverage in the four corners of the room. A white quartz statue next to each stood with a tray of glasses lined with gold thread along the bottom and the stem. The two flanking Ravenna and Snow were in the shape of two servants, the faces and clothing carved so splendidly within the stone that they appeared to breathe in time with the candlelight. The two guarding the far doors were ravens with towering wings reaching to the ceiling above, the platters held securely in their golden talons. The eyes were milky white, but held an intelligence to them that warranted Snow to take a second look to ensure that they would not come to life and fly away.
Ravenna had moved forward, already coming to sit upon the chair at the head of the table, her back, as ever, turned to Snow. The message sent was a clear one: Ravenna held no fear from the girl, not even bothering to keep her in her sights. Snow felt slightly insulted by the sheer arrogance of the Witch, even if she truly was more than powerless against her. Stewing in her inability to do anything, the former princess could think of nothing to do other than to take the only chair left along the entire length of table; the seat directly to Ravenna's right. She was gifted with a wicked grin once her skirts were comfortably arranged around the cool iron and plush velvet. The cushioned chair she had been given seemed far more comfortable than the mixture of shiny obsidian and hard steel that carved out the Queen's. The armrests were flecked with tiny, sharp protrusions made to look like the ruffled feathers of a bird of prey; the plumage culminating in a pair of sloping beaks where two milky hands rested uneasily. The back of the chair was neither made of a softer material than the rest, nor was it adorned with a cushion as Snow's was. The metal had been shaped into a pattern of diamond grooves, rising high above the resident's head until it ended in a carving of a Raven in preparation of flight. The eyes were made of rare black amethysts which caught the light in a splendid shower of color to which the obsidian counterparts could not compare.
The prospect of food was a welcome one to the starved girl, but the sheer amount was enough to make her feel even smaller than before. She had become too accustomed to the limited space of the North Tower and the shapeless gruel she had been given at meal times. To be taken into such a high-ceilinged, vast expanse of a room, and then to be showed to such a lavish table; her heart spoke of caution and traps. The appetite suddenly died in her throat. The food looked frightening, promising poison or some grotesque spell that would turn her into some demented soul forever chained to the Witch Queen. The fountains of drink no longer poured soft white or heavy red beverages, but black ooze or crimson blood. The raven's blood, or maybe her own. Looking at the choices laid out before her, Snow could only helplessly curl her fingers around her silver plated fork and feel its weight as though it were Sisyphus's boulder. The candlelight illuminated her filthy skin, her dirty chipped nails, her sunless skin; and she felt the alien in her own home. Only, this was not her home anymore.
Sensing her hesitancy, Ravenna elegantly lifted her own silverware and stuck a strawberry to the end of it. "It isn't poisoned, I assure you," she said taking a bite. The scarlet juice painted her lips a filmy ruby, pronouncing the curve of the upper lip against the otherwise unmarked skin.
You are magic, Snow wanted to retort, it would not harm you. Instead, she obediently reached out to take another strawberry from the porcelain plate. The taste was like a dream, pliable and tart with the right amount of sugar to make the sensation pleasant. Her eyes fluttered closed to give her sense of taste the added attention it required, losing herself in the simple joy of something she had once taken so for granted.
When her eyes opened, she was startled by the unabashed way Ravenna was staring at her. Her cheeks flushed a color similar to the food she had just consumed, but she held the emerald gaze, refusing to bow down like she had in the corridors. If anything, her rebelliousness only earned her another sarcastically raised eyebrow. In a voice clearly emphasizing the underlying jape at Snow's distrustful demeanor, Ravenna teased, "Not dead yet?"
"Was I supposed to be?" It was the first time Snow had actually spoken. Her voice was rough, cracked from the dryness of her larynx and the dust trapped in her trachea. Still, the bite behind the words was satisfying. At least, it was until the Queen let out a most unladylike snort of laughter. Snow watched her, looking torn between fleeing for her life and asking whether Ravenna had lost her mind. Growling at the blatant lack of respect she was getting, she resigned herself to ignoring her amused companion and focusing on the food instead.
"You still have that spirit," Ravenna managed after her breathing had evened out. Snow did not feel it natural to describe the dying gasps of mirth as giggles, but they were a far cry from the cackles her nursemaid used to imitate when reading about the witches in her children's books. Had it been possible, Ravenna was even more beautiful when she laughed. There was something in her eyes that sparkled. Snow found herself wishing to catch whatever it had been once more, if only just once. The sting she had felt at being the butt of the joke had diminished with the unexpected show of warmth coming from a woman she had long since thought could not have displayed such human emotions.
Her manners caught up with Snow just as she was about to peel off some of the flaky white flesh off a nearby fish, one she did not know the name of but had a smell of lemon and the sea. She quickly retracted her hand, leaving the piece of silver sticking from the back of the ocean creature like a silver rib much too thick for the delicate vertebrae. Ravenna gave her a look of puzzlement until she practically squeaked, keeping her head lowered and her hands wrapped around her chest, "I forgot to say 'Grace.'"
The Queen's expression changed faster than Snow's racing heart was beating. A grim look faded into one of annoyance then a slight smirk quirked the corners of her mouth up. The smirk stayed, cold and twisted to the point that the younger girl wished she could tear her eyes away from the blonde's face. Unfortunately, her pupils only dilated in response to the dimming atmosphere. She did not know what she had said that had been so wrong. The impoliteness of her forgetfulness seemed too innocent to blame; she had been starving. Then the words themselves; the Queen truly did not seem one for piety.
"I-I apologize. I did not think I had said something to offend you," Snow attempted to remedy whatever it was that she had caused.
Ravenna's hand leisurely came up from her lap, palm up and fingers lazily extended to cup Snow's chin. The fifteen-year-old shivered from fear and the electricity that ran through her veins at the junction between her jaw and the skin of the satin hand touching it. Melted emeralds held her eyes as her face was raised from its shell of hair until the candlelight chased away the remaining shadows along her cheeks and the hollows of her eye cavities.
"You did nothing," the softness of the voice compounded with the warmth seeping into her from the hands that had appeared so lifeless before caused Snow's eyelids to flutter closed, leaving only a small gap between her eyelashes so she was still able to see the Queen as she let the horrible smile fall away. Snow strained to here the whispered continuation of Ravenna's thought, "It has been a long time since I have heard someone speak those words."
Snow waited, anticipating that there was more to her companion's reaction, an underlying memory that birthed such dislike for the simple ritual. The trepidation behind Ravenna's eyes was made apparent by the way her body tightened reflexively. Her hand slid out from under Snow, tracing along her neck before returning to its mistress's skirts where its fingers twirled with the material in an absentminded nervous tick. Though she felt a pang of loss with the break of contact, Snow schooled her features to keep the mildly concerned look. She felt that worry would be more welcome than the abnormal desire curling in her stomach, especially when Ravenna seemed to be wrestling with something inside of herself.
Finally, with a resigned sigh, the blonde motioned toward the forgotten fork, "Eat. I would not want the food to grow cold whilst you listen."
Though food was the last thing on her mind at the moment, Snow did as she was bid. The second the fish hit her tongue, the girl's stomach reasserted itself in her priorities. Etiquette and religious motions forgotten, she began to practically inhale everything within an arm's distance. Her eyes never left Ravenna despite her vigorous intake of the feast.
"When I was a young girl, perhaps close to the age you were when we first met each other, I lived in a small village. We were nomadic, living where there was fertile land and plentiful hunting. My mother was a revered medicinal woman; she could cure most anything with the knowledge given to her by our ancestors," tears pricked the corners of Ravenna's eyes. Snow felt torn between sitting still and reaching across the gap between herself and the Queen with a comforting touch. She was uncertain as to how Ravenna would take such a gesture, so she continued with the few bits of food remaining on her plate. "We held to the Old Ways, Pagan was the name we were given by the Roman kings that took possession of the land. Their ways were not the ways of the Goddess we worshipped, nor any of the other gods who were infused with the land and our blood. They prayed to another, the One God and his son. The priests coming and going could be heard singing their hymns in honor of the sacrifices this man had done.
"We were wary, but our people moved too often to be bothered by the missionaries and they were happy enough leaving us 'savages' alone. It was not until winter that I came to know the Roman god. The months of snow and ice were harsher that year than they had been for longer than I had been alive. We were forced to settle in a small valley made by a dried shallow lake. Everything was white; the sky, the forest, the mountains except for small patches of black where the granite struck out too sharply for the snow to land. They came out of the mist. With their dark horses and leather armor, smelling of blood and fear," Ravenna's eyes had become near obsidian, creating the mirage of two large pupils and no muscle between the white and the abyss of her inner soul. Her body shook lightly, looking like water that had been newly disturbed, but her voice kept calm and level, as though she were recounting an event that had befallen some stranger. "His crown was made of bronze, though it had tarnished to the point that it did not shine and looked just as dull as the wool cape wrapped around his broad shoulders. He was big, a bearded giant riding an even bigger destrier.
"Some ran, but they were cut down easily by the riders. No man can outrun a horse, and for certain cannot defend himself against steel when without a weapon. My mother did not run. She held me in her arms as she slid the dagger across my palm," Ravenna held her hand up, facing Snow so that she could just barely make out a hairline scar running across the otherwise flawless skin. "'Your beauty is all that can save you Ravenna,' I remember her saying, 'This spell will make your beauty your power and protection.'"
Snow was captivated. The fear held in the memory was palpable, sharp as a sword. Her heartbeat mirrored the Queen's, the blood curling at the center of their chests in a mighty pressure as Snow watched the dreamlike film over the Witch's eyes pull back. Light reflected off of the jade ingots of Ravenna's irises as they returned to their usual size and the blackness within them waned.
"By fairest blood it was done," Ravenna murmured, half to herself, as she sat back, exhausted against her chair.
"He took you and your brother away," Snow knew it was so, but she felt that only by hearing it come from Ravenna's lips would the story be truly complete.
"And wed me to him, once I had come of age," Ravenna affirmed. But I learned of my powers soon after that, and I swore that I would avenge the death of my mother and of my people."
Snow looked down at her plate. She wanted to cry for the broken woman sitting to her left, but she also wanted to scream bloody murder at the unfairness of it all. Ravenna had lost her family, but had it truly made it right when the Queen had come to steal Snow's. She had lost both her father and her mother, less than a season apart. Pity and rage welled up within her, battling for dominance over her heart until it felt close to bursting.
Her appetite had vanished over the course of the Queen's story and Snow's own mixed feelings about it. She twirled the fork between her napkin and her pointer finger, hoping that the silence fallen between them be broken, but also afraid to be the one to break it. A servant appeared from a door hidden in the wall to take the empty plates from them. Just as he was reaching for the boar, the Witch's hand struck out in a halting gesture. Her voice was sharp, nearly causing the man to lose his footing and drop the platters stacked precariously on his right hand.
"Leave the apple," she said. The fruit was plucked out of the jaws of the swine and put delicately on an embroidered kerchief which had been underneath the heavy dish holding the main course. Ravenna turned her attention back to her guest, motioning to the red delicacy, "It is one of the few that still grow on the tree within the castle. It is yours, if you want it."
Snow looked at the small, imperfect orb. It was big, but still smaller than the ones that had grown when her mother, the late Queen, had still lived. But, with her death, everything else seemed to lose much of its vigor, so Snow had not expected anything else. Still, the look of the apple was almost too much for her; images of William and the fragile pink and white blossoms falling around them in the springs of her early years, when she had not known what cold and darkness were and every day seemed a gift from above.
"No," the word was said rather harshly and the girl was quick to amend it with a polite, "Thank you."
If the Queen was in any way disappointed, she did not let on. She stood, primly, the layers of her shift swirling around the length of her legs in sweeping porcelain folds. Her hand beckoned, indicating that Snow should do the same. She inwardly cringed at the prospect of having to abandon the small stirring freedom she had been given, her heart shrinking as she pictured the grey stone walls that silenced all trace of color and life from her prison. A glimmer of hope swelled in her chest as they turned down a corridor that most certainly did not lead to the northern section of the castle. Her footsteps grew lighter with each twist they took away from the offending stairway leading up and up into the gloomy reaches of the dungeons. And then they deadened. Before her, kept tidy and clean but otherwise completely unchanged, was her bedroom. Snow did not understand why Ravenna had deemed it important enough to even remember which quarters had belonged to her all those years ago, but to have the place cared for and preserved was beyond surprising.
"You can sleep here tonight, and if you do not try to run, tomorrow night and the nights following as well."
Before Snow could speak a word, Ravenna turned and began the arduous navigation of the mazelike halls to find her own lodgings, leaving the stunned brunette alone. The torches dimmed with the Queen's retreat, leaving Snow standing in a sort of autumn twilight. Her eyes flickered away from the spot where the blonde woman had been before turning a corner and disappearing from sight to the grand four-poster bed that she had once slept in. The sheets smelled of fresh spring flowers even though it was late fall, and were woven with gold lace to contrast the earthly greens and browns of the linens and comforter. Her hand traced the curtains tied against the smooth wood. Their fabric was light so as not to conceal the morning's arrival, but thick enough to keep the chill and bugs away were she to forget to close the large paneled windows across the room. An empty closet sat against the side opposite the bed, missing her old dresses, but otherwise as familiar as her own face. A solitary moth laconically flew from the shadows of the wizened wood, drifting through the room until it found the door and proceeded out toward the lights of the corridor. Snow took one of the torches and found a matching pair of candlesticks on two bureaus set up next to the head of the bed. She then returned the fiery stick to its brazier and settled on the shapeless goose-feather mattress. Her thoughts lingered lightly on the state of her clothing, but sleep soon overtook them and she curled up in the sheets, dirt and grime and all, for the most gratifying rest she had experienced in almost a decade.
P.S. I hope to update regularly though the schedule depends on how quickly I can revise the chapters. Leave me a review, even if it is to tell me how bad you think this story is. Criticisms lead to better writing after all. 'Til next time.