The whole story is from the stepmother's POV.
Disclaimer: Snow White is not mine.
I still remember the day the Queen died.
It was a beautiful winter's day, with snow settling into the thatched eaves of the houses in the village. Cold, yes, but still beautiful. I had come into town with my mother for an early lesson in the fine art of selecting ribbons and bargaining.
Not the way I would have preferred to spend the afternoon, but still peaceful enough. That is, until the messenger thundered into the town square with the accompanying guard and read his announcement off a sheet of parchment. Within minutes, the whole town was in an uproar, with wild rumours flying around from one person to another.
You see, we had just received the news that our seemingly infertile Queen had died in childbirth.
I heard so many snippets of gossip that day on this matter as my mother and I brushed past the crowds and back to our carriage, all thoughts of ribbons forgotten. Some believed that the Queen had indulged in dark magic to produce the heir; some thought that she had been murdered and this was a convenient cover-up. Others believed the child was not hers, it was her trusted maidservant's.
I still do not know the real reason behind her death, nor the birth of the heir. At that point of time, however, what occupied my mind was my mother's plans to prepare me as a bride for the recently bereaved king.
My mother had calculated well. Knowing the King's great attachment to his former Queen, she had predicted that it would be several years before he would seek out a queen again. With a bit of luck, he would remain single until the year of my coming-out.
This afternoon was followed by ten years of grooming – grooming to become Queen. The year of my coming-out was a whirlwind of balls, gowns, bonnets, dances, flowers. At the end of it, I was proclaimed by many to be the fairest maiden in the land, and this attracted the attention of our King.
It took two more years of courtship and sly advances on my mother's part, before he actually asked me to marry him. And then I became Queen.
I was only nineteen at that time. Nineteen, a scant six years older than the princess. Or as she was known better – Snow White.
I had my first glimpse of her at the dinner thrown in celebration of our marriage. I only saw her fleetingly, but the image was engraved in my mind ever after. Hair so dark it was almost blue, black eyes and lips as red as blood set in a deathly pale face. I had, of course, heard rumours, but I had never really believed them. After all, how could one have such unnaturally pale skin, the colour of snow?
As I settled in to my new life, I noticed several... incongruities about my new stepdaughter. Snow White never joined us for any meals – in fact, I barely ever saw her around the castle. She always seemed cloistered in her room, scarcely even meeting her own father.
Another thing I found rather worrisome was the mechanical behaviour of some of the servants, particularly the servants tending to Snow White. I never noticed even a spark of emotion in any one of them, their eyes were always eerily blank – sometimes it felt as if they weren't even alive.
On the passing of a few weeks, I started to see more of her. She never announced herself; I learnt to distinguish her appearances only by the uneasy feeling of her dark eyes boring into my back. We exchanged very few words, only when it was unavoidable.
I remember a particular incident when I lost my temper with her for the first time. I walked upon her with a servant boy in a rather compromising position – she kissing his neck, he with a rather dazed and uncomprehending look on his face. They broke apart on my approach, and the boy hurried off, but I still remember being rather startled by the smear of blood on his collar. As it happens, I tried to talk to her, but her continual indifference pushed my temper over the edge and I ordered her to do some kitchen work as punishment.
One of my family heirlooms that I had always been proud about was a mirror, passed down in my family across several generations. It had the ability to assess the beauty of the viewer. For me, looking in the mirror was always a very satisfying affair. This may sound arrogant, but wasn't it natural, when it proclaimed me the most beautiful in the land?
I invited Snow White into my chambers once, in an attempt to improve my relationship with her. As usual, her attitude bordered on apathy towards me, but I noticed a spark of interest in her eyes as she beheld the mirror. However, she didn't step before it, not at that time.
Meanwhile, I discreetly tried to find some intelligence on her, but it was difficult. The people she was around all day – her servants – were no good; they were polite, but refused to impart anything about her, not even when I resorted to bribery.
While I was thus occupied, I noticed another smear of blood of one of the maidservants' collars. I tried to get a look at it circumspectly, and was rewarded for my efforts when she bent down and the material shifted. Under the cloth, there were two ragged wounds on the side of her neck.
After that, I began noticing the same gashes in most of the others. At the same time, I also received news from the gossipmongers of the city. There were whispers of blood, snow and dark, dark eyes. And dare I say it... the undead.
The next day, I silently went to her quarters, staying in the shadows. I waited until I saw a servant enter and then stationed myself outside the door, listening to every word that was spoken. There wasn't much, all I could hear was a hungry sucking sound which continued for several minutes. Unable to bear it any longer, I knocked on the door urgently, and pushed it open.
What I saw that day will forever haunt me. Snow White stood at the centre of the room, her face buried into the neck of the servant boy standing beside her. She held his head almost tenderly. But that illusion was shattered as soon as she looked up.
Her teeth had lengthened into fangs, her normally pale face was vibrantly flushed, blood dripped down her front from her red lips... and from the servant's neck, where I saw those ragged, ubiquitous gashes.
I don't know whether this has ever been done before, so if it has, I'm not plagiarizing anyone's work. This idea just occurred to me when I was re-reading Dracula. I'd love to hear your feedback, so please review!