Beauty is all too often the deciding factor between love and hate.
The shine of hair that surpasses that of a friend, turning childlike love into teenage hate,
the smile that is often mistaken for love, leading to marriages that will invariably crumble as wrinkles and grey hairs sprout forth.
the figure that courts dangerous lust on an innocent, and the wide eyes that portray innocence upon the wicked.
Dear Snow White thought that perhaps her step mother was protecting her by dressing her in rags. Giving her a slate of her own; the chance to have a personality above her intense beauty.
She assumed she was not given the allowance to bathe was to dirty and hide her gleaming pale skin, perhaps to even force a blemish or two.
She thought she was worked half way to death each day to rough her hands and face and try to beat the silkiness from her palms.
She was hidden from the world because she was still to beautiful for them to see her as a person - rather than a pretty ornament they could shatter at will, her Stepmother said.
She was always told that if she was beautiful then that was all she would ever be - her stepmother said so, swore to her she was helping.
She had no one else to tell her other wise and believed it without question.
So when people dared remark upon her looks she grew scared, and she would run to her, and her beloved step mother would do all she could to take away her beauty,
"Scars -" She used to say "are obscene." and she wouldn't cry as she would slice and burn him because she was thankful, she was helping, she was good, she was kind, she was beautiful and - as much as she thought so - she would not say so for fear of insulting her, praising her mind and her talent and her aptitude for everything outside of vanity.
"Beauty -" She used to say, "is not a privilege."
and she would always look so sad when she did.
And Snow White knew it was because she was plagued with beauty just as she was.
