Author's Note: After seeing "The Miller's Daughter" on "Once Upon a Time," one of my favorite shows, I was captivated by the character of Cora. I knew I had to write her story, because every evil has its source. And the legacy of the woman who made the Evil Queen evil...was she really all bad? Or were her ambition and love misguided?
So this is Cora's story. Some of it is canon, some of it I will need to fill in the blanks, as the show has not yet covered those periods of Cora's life. Please enjoy. ~ladykikyo1792
Prologue
She sticks her foot out, and I stumble to the ground, the sacks of flour spilling everywhere. White dust covers my already dirty clothes, and I can feel everyone's eyes on me- though no one really sees me. This is made even more evident by the fact that they address her, the simpering chit in her pink gown, and ask "What happened?" as if they didn't notice the event themselves. Her haughty response, "The peasant fell...as they do," rings in my ears. As if she herself hadn't tripped me for her own vain amusement. As if she herself wouldn't have fallen if I'd done the same thing to her.
"Are you all right?" the king asks.
On instinct, I reply, "Fine!" and shake my hands, trying to regain some dignity in a vague attempt of cleaning them of flour and dirt. I'm unsuccessful in my efforts, and I know it will take hours to get rid of this filth from my already ragged clothes.
"Not you," the king retorts, and he glances at me perfunctorily before inquiring after the girl, "Eva? Are you all right, Eva?"
"Well," the little bitch replies, "She ruined my slippers." Primly, she lifts her satin gown to display a dainty set of slippers, encrusted with pearls, a small portion of one covered by a faint outline of flour. Those slippers are hardly ruined. If she even rubs them with a little water, they'll be good as new. Hell, if she doesn't want them, I'll take them. The slippers are finer than anything I've ever owned, and if I remove the pearls, I can feed myself and my drunkard father for a year- and the slippers will still be beautiful.
But Eva- I guess that's the girl's name -is intent on humiliating me to the best of her ability, and she continues to act as though I have done her a grave injury.
The handsome man beside her, wearing the sashes of royalty- the prince? -interjects, "I don't think the girl meant any harm."
I pull myself to my feet, thanking the gods that finally one of the royals has some sense. I'm not sure why he's trying to protect me, but predictably, the others ignore him, and predictably, the king is harsh in his punishment for a crime I didn't commit:
"You shall receive no money for the flour, and you will apologize to Eva."
At his words, I'm incensed, "Apologize!? The wench tripped me!" I can hardly believe this is happening. What do I have to apologize for? Her spoiled actions, which while may have amused her for a moment, have cost me meals for the next two weeks?
"Curb your tongue," the king admonishes me, "This is Princess Eva from the Northern Kingdom, our honored guest. She's a very important woman." At the king's introduction, Eva shifts, the better to show off her impressive gown, flawless white gloves, and glittering tiara. She raises her chin, and instantly I recognize a woman who has never had to work in her life, a woman who receives everything she wants because it simply falls into her lap. She has a charmed existence, and expects everyone to facilitate that- and of course they do.
Except me.
"She's a girl," I say derisively, and I sneer at her. I fight for every day I'm alive, and while my hair's a tattered mass and hers is upswept, and I'm in dirty, old rags and she's in a brand new gown, worn only once, I know I'm a better woman than her. My father has done nothing to help me, and yet I still love him and suffer to keep us both breathing. She is so bored by her pampered lifestyle she takes her pleasure in hurting someone she doesn't even know.
What kind of woman has the world and does that?
At my words, Eva's shocked. She swallows, and it's clear this is one of the only times someone's ever called her out for her cruelty. She doesn't seem to know what to say, and for the first time, she sees me as more than a girl in rags. I am her equal, despite my origins, and if no one else here knows that, she does.
"Who are you, miller's daughter?" the king demands, "What's your name?"
I am more than a peasant to them now. I have defied the laws of nature and blood that separate royalty and commoners, and I present a special breed of problem. I questioned the order.
I raise my chin, imitate Eva, and announce with all the dignity I can muster, "Cora."
My name has no title, only itself to declare my person. It is not enough. While I have a face to these royals, I am still beneath them, in their minds. Born into dust, covered in dust, and bound to end in dust.
"Then kneel, Cora."
I do, though it kills me inside. I fold my knees as gracefully as I can and kneel in the dust where I was born. Still, I do not bow my head. I will not allow them that privilege.
"Now, apologize."
I tilt my head at the king and remain silent, unwilling to reward the bratty Eva for her actions. Angrily, he responds:
"Apologize! Or this will be the last bit of flour we will take from you. There are other millers out there."
Despite myself, hunger wins out over dignity, and I say stiffly, "I beg your pardon, Princess Eva." Each word is like a knife slicing over my skin, and I have to force them out through gritted teeth.
Eva knows she has won; she has made me kneel before her, and she offers me a smirk that I want to slap off her pretty, powdered face. The powder is expensive, and I want to smear it and destroy it- or perhaps show her she can achieve the same, affected look with flour for a lot cheaper, if she would only kneel in the dust like me.
"Stay down until we have passed," the king commands, then pronounces, "You are where you belong." He sweeps away, Eva at his side, courtiers following like devoted puppies. Only the prince looks back at me for a moment, but then, he too departs to follow Eva.
I have left her mind, and she will not remember me. To her, I am expendable, and I am as easily forgotten as a rainy day.
I'm not expendable, I think angrily, I'm better than her. And for a second, she knew it. She understood that.
I am better than her. And in that moment, I vow that I will make them all remember me. They will all recognize me, and for more than an instant. I will rise out of this dust and they will acknowledge me as an equal. I will have a legacy to my name, and I will need no title to be known in this land.
