Tears of frustration blurred my vision as I walked at a pace barely below a run, my hands balled into fists. This was not a good day. I felt like screaming and running away and punching something simultaneously. And I never punched things. I could ruin my nails!

"Adelaide?" I heard Daisy call from somewhere to my left. "Are you okay?"

I didn't answer. Instead, I just started running blindly, head down. I was probably going to run into something, but I didn't care. It couldn't hurt more than my heart did right now.

"Ow!"

Okay, that hurt more than I expected. It felt like I'd slammed into a brick wall. Groaning, I peeled my face off the thing I'd hit, which turned out to be…. a brick wall. Go figure.

Taking a step back, I realized I was at the EAS library. A few inches to the right, and I'd have hit the door. Great aim, me.

I yanked open the door and slipped inside, eager to be alone.

With every step in, the pain in my chest diminished. By the time I was three shelves deep, I was finally able to stop crying. With a final angry sniff, I leaned against the side of the fourth shelf and slid down to the ground, hugging my knees.

Today had started out bad and gotten worse. I'd been late to school, gotten in a fight with my friend because I'd copied her homework one time too many (Seriously, what was her problem? It wasn't like I'd ever need to know math!), left my lunch at home and had to eat disgusting tuna salad from the school cafeteria, and then been grounded by my dad for using his credit card on Amazon without permission (Not my fault! If he'd just given me a credit card like I suggested, I would have been able to pay for that manicure set easily.). By the time I got to EAS, I was in a horrible mood, and seeing that horrible Landon girl and her snotty little nerd friend sitting with Chase Turnleaf by the Tree, laughing and talking without a care in the world had been the final straw. I couldn't keep myself from breaking down.

I'd been able to deny it for a long time, but finally, I couldn't ignore the possibility that Chase had a crush on Rory Landon. It was totally ridiculous-I mean, she had a chin the size of Mount Everest (or Rushmore, which one's bigger?), zero fashion sense, and basically just nothing going for her. I mean, sure, she was a decent sword fighter, and had that whole destiny thing, but who really cared?

Apparently, Chase did. He was always hanging out with her, laughing with her, giving her sword training. It was unbelievable. Back when I still wasn't sure, I'd decided to corner him at the EAS ball and do a little sneak investigating, but then their little Triumvirate had snuck off to Iceland or whatever! Just my luck.

I needed music. Badly. Digging my iPod out of my shirt pocket, I popped in my earbuds and set it to shuffle.

And of course, it landed on midway through the stupid song that I hated but somehow never deleted.

If someone said three years from now

You'd be long gone

I'd stand up and punch them out

'cause they'd be so wrong…

I punched the off button, but it was too late. The stinging in my eyes returned and redoubled. I'd never thought Chase would leave. We'd been friends for like forever, and he'd been all mine. That floppy blond hair and dimpled grin, that sense of humor and those amazing ten-foot-jumps, and he'd belonged to me…and then Rory Landon ruined my life.

I didn't know how she'd done it. Chase had hated her when she first came. I knew he had! She'd totally overreacted to our hilarious jokes, smashed cake all over us, and been a total jerk-and then, for some reason, Lena, that epically boring encyclopedia with glasses, had invited him on her Tale. And somehow, while they were gone, those three, especially Chase and Rory, had bonded. UGH. And now he sat with them at lunch and sparred with Rory every chance he got and totally lost his sense of humor and never talked to me. Ever. It sucked!

Admittedly, a very very very VERY tiny little bit of this might be my fault. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to tell Chase that I had a crush on him back in sixth grade. But I'd been desperate. It had seemed like I was losing him.

And then I really had lost him.

Mom was right. Boys of a certain age don't want to hear that they're cute. Even extremely tall and swoon-worthy ones with big blue eyes and great cheekbones…

Rory Landon thought her life was hard? She had nothing on me.

Growling under my breath, I climbed to my feet. Music clearly wasn't going to cut it. I needed something different to distract me now. Something…drastic.

My gaze landed on the shelf of books.

Well, why not? It was definitely drastic. And totally nerdy, obviously, just like something that Lena girl would do, but no one was going to see me. One time geeking out wasn't going to hurt me.

Stepping closer, I ran my fingers over the spines, fingering the titles. My hand stopped almost involuntarily on a slim volume bound in leather that was the precise blue of Chase's eyes-something that simultaneously attracted and repelled me. Pushing down the tiny ache in my chest, I resolutely pulled the book down and flipped to the first page.

The Snow Queen stared back at me.

I yelped. I couldn't help it. I could hear Chase's voice in my head, laughing, taunting. Scared of an illustration, Addy? He'd called me Addy before, used the nickname whenever I did something stupid or messed up. Before Rory Landon.

Okay, so it was just an illustration. But it was a scary illustration. Scary good, too. Better than a photograph, the detail was so incredible. You could see each strand of hair in her flowing mane, each snowflake swirling around her, each freckle on her face….

Wait, since when did the Snow Queen have freckles?

They were pale, but they were definitely there, dusting her cheeks like powdered sugar in a Pippi Longstocking-esque way. If they hadn't been on someone so terrifying, they would have looked adorable.

Except…she didn't look so terrifying, not here.

It wasn't just the freckles. It was her whole face, her whole body. Her expression, her posture. She was in the middle of a raging snowstorm, flakes flying furiously as the wind whipped her hair, but she didn't look savage like in the other pictures I'd seen. In those,, she was beautiful in a cold, desolate way, like a field of empty ice. Beautiful like the gleam of a dagger or the colors of a mushroom cloud. Hollow, empty, yet destructive. Her eyes would say I could strip the skin from your bones and smile, and you would be helpless through it all.

There was none of that here, none of that gleeful rage, that distant, frigid amusement. She had always been the Snow Queen to me, a legend, a nearly impossible monster.

She didn't look like a monster here. She looked almost normal, despite the storm and the weird clothing and the desperate need for blush and bronzer. She looked almost human.

What's a book like this doing here?

She wore a long cloak of midnight-blue velvet, like a cross between Narnia and a back issue of Vogue, and her ever-present crown of icicles. But she wore them differently than I'd ever seen before. Her shoulders were hunched a little, and her gloved hands drew the cloak around her so tightly. The crown was tipped forward on her head. The first overall impression that came to mind was a little girl playing dress-up in her mom's clothing.

That wasn't right, though. They might have looked a little awkward, but they fit, and she wore them with confidence. But her pale lips were curved into a smile, gentle and a little sheepish and filled with mirth like at a private joke. I'd never seen that before, either.

Her eyes were enormous, almost too big for her face, and they seemed to be looking directly at you. With those eyes and that grin, her expression seemed to say, Isn't this silly? I look ridiculous, don't I?

"You look great," I said aloud before I realized how stupid it was. Talking to a picture in a book? Now I'd really lost it. Maybe geeking out can hurt you.

You're very kind to say so.

An even louder yelp shot out of my mouth as I stared down at the page below the illustration. It had been blank a few seconds ago, but loopy cursive text now twined across the page.

"S-s-snow queen…." I stuttered, my mouth going dry. My hands were trembling, almost too hard for me to hold the book. "Um, Solange? Um….hello?"

What's happening what's happening oh crap what on earth is happening?

Hello to you too, Adelaide Radcliffe.

"H-how do you…."

I have watched you, my beautiful girl.

"Stalker," I muttered, before realizing that I might have just sassed the Snow Queen.

Funny as well as lovely and talented.

Funny? Talented? I was tempted to look around and see if she was talking-writing-whatever- to someone else. No one had ever called me those things before. No one complimented me on anything but my looks. Of course, those were pretty special.

Adelaide, do you believe what you have been told about me?

What the heck? Of course I did. I knew about her. She was a mass murderer, a sadist, the most evil villain ever born.

That was what I'd been told. That was what I'd always believed.

But how did I know that? What proof was there?

What if they'd been lying all along?

I looked at the illustration, the sad, beautiful, human Solange, staring back at me, staring into my soul.

"I don't know."

They do not do you justice, my brave one. They belittle you. They force you to fight when you wish otherwise. Yet you excel in the battle you hate. You try so hard for them…and what do they give you in return?

I could swear I felt my heart stop. How does she know? How could she know that?

Trying to slow my breathing, I wiped the back of my hand against my forehead, and it came back damp with sweat. Ugh, gross. Why was it so hot in here?

The Canon chooses champions like Mildred Grubb, like that Rory Landon. They think strength is only found in warriors, in brute force and masculinity. They miss what's right in front of their eyes, the potential that lies in the truly strong.

It was oddly bright, too. This place didn't even have windows! What was happening? A light malfunction?

Adelaide, look up.

I looked up.

You're not in EAS anymore, Addy.

Walls of books had been replaced by towering sheets of glass. Instead of training dummies, goblins and trolls were hurrying back and forth, grunting eagerly to each other. And instead of Rumpy, with his wrinkly old frown and his what are you doing? Get away from there, girl! , there was Solange, hands out in a gesture of welcome and teeth flashing in the sunlight, announcing grandly as she walked towards me, "Charlotte Adelaide Eleanora Radcliffe, I have a story to tell you."