The troll glowered from his work station, the cold woman in a white gown overseeing the finishing touches to his creation. Before him a silvery mirror glimmered in its steely trim. In its depths a darkness could be seen that caused the troll to shiver, not out of fear of his creation, but as a result of its purpose. How it froze his insides and tied them in an icy knot, oh the horrors it reflected. He continued fixing the stand to the mirror, the ornate steel matching the trim.
"Stop," The white clad witch said, her voice as cold and foreboding as the mirror. The troll froze and raised his stony hands, fear shooting through his body. Previous disobedience has resulted in the destruction of the mirror, and his consequent extension of contract. How he loathed the contract, sealed at midnight with the blood of a newborn calf and the feather of a griffin. The witch's mother, after sparing the troll a bloody fate at the hands of hunters, and in return requested a single wish be granted. At the time, and faced with being turned over to local religious leaders, it seemed an easy task. Give her daughter the thing she desired most before the girl married. Divined through the witch's methods and his own magic, the troll found this one object rooted at the innermost sanctum of the girl's heart. The mirror.
The woman lifted a slender hand to the trim, and traced the flowery carvings. The troll's heart leapt in his throat. Would she smite it with her magic and force him to begin from scratch with only hours to complete a mirror that had taken the better part of the last decade to perfect? Her nails grazed the face of the mirror, their reflexion dimmed by the mirror's dark core.
"It's perfect," The troll gave a sigh of relief, feeling the weight of the contract release him from her power. He quickly escaped the prison he had been confined to, the bride too consumed by the mirror to witness the stocky creature stumble into the open meadow surrounding the tower. The troll breathed the scent of the poppies that grew around the stone spire, their red blossoms lazily swaying in the breeze. How sweet their blooms were! Given time to recover his exhausted magic, revenge on this woman would be nearly as sweet.
Years passed, and the woman and her husband were blessed with a beautiful baby son. Like his father, a crown of russet locks crested his soft head, and, like his mother, he wore a pair of green eyes glazed by an icy grey. The father held the baby in his arms, warm brown eyes gleaming with unbridled joy and pride. Beneath the fluffy auburn moustache, he smiled and whispered promises of happiness and success. His wife looked on, her glittery green eyes distant, her face wrought in a frown. Despite having birthed her son no more than a week ago, the reality of the child felt far away. The boy could never be as beautiful as she. With her husband cooing over the dozing boy, the lady rose up and stalked away from the warm fire, retreating to the deepest reaches of the castle.
Reaching the top of a spire, the woman breathed a sigh of contentment at the sight of the familiar room. Untouched by her married life or child, the spartan room held her most beloved object. In the center of the room, her mirror stood, its silvery trim polished and its face without a blemish. Taking the golden comb from its nearby stand, she began raking it through her chestnut hair, humming a long lost lullaby as she fell in love with the sight of herself in the mirror's shadowy reflection.
She stopped suddenly, seeing the cloak form that stood tall in the corner of the small room. The woman spun around, her eyes piercing through the figure.
"Leave, before I-" She reached for the slender wand that sat on the stand near the comb. Before her fingers could grace the magical weapon, the being spoke, its hypnotic words reverberating throughout her body.
"Thirteen years of serving,
thirteen years of strife.
Thee has become a mother
and a wife,
Yet still your youth preserving.
That mirror, that mirror,
a curse to all,
reveals to you the coldest of all.
Your heart is frozen,
but your happiness won.
So here I curse your last born son,
your own fate you have chosen.
A flame to melt your icy heart,
a fire to tear your life apart.
A flaming arrow in the dark,
piercing the breast of the turgid meadowlark."
Green light emanated from beneath the figure's cloak, growing steadily throughout the verses until the woman was blinded by its brilliance. With a snap, it dissipated, leaving her alone in the dark room. Turning she cried out in horror, the top of her mirror chipped, a small piece of the smokey glass on the floor. The woman collapsed, and held the fragment of glass in her hands. She seethed, anger boiling through her body and leaking into the sliver of glass, molding it in her heated hands.
She was broken from her stupor as her husband called from her below, the woman unaccustomed to the hint of fearful urgency in his usually confident voice. Entering the study, she saw what had stolen her spouse's gusto. On the floor her firstborn son lay, his hands reaching up to the ceiling above, licked with small green flames that danced through the air above him.
The woman began to cry.
For my followers, I apologize (I'm a horrible author I'm so sorry I put you through this). I needed a written break from The Price of a Life, a change of scenery. For new readers, welcome! I have no idea how often this story will update (and as my former followers can attest) if I set a due date for myself, it will never be fulfilled.
As for this story, I am such a sucker for an evil, irredeemable queen, but the evil step-mothers of old have faded from our memories. The closest recent evil mother would be Mother Gothel, second only in my list of favorite manipulative Disney parents to Count Frollo. At the same time, I'm getting a little bored of Disney's "surprise villain" trope. Yes, they do it well, and there's nothing wrong with it! But, goodness, I miss the aura of a vile, awful character on screen that we know immediately will be The Villain. If it must be a "surprise" for the protagonists, then the painful, gut wrenching irony of watching the villain interact with them should impact the audience. I also feel, especially in contemporary media, the concept of a mother is too soft, caring, and gentle. This is just personal opinion. Mothers can be cruel and selfish and cold, and not everything they do is in their children's best interest.
This is just an idea I've been toying with for a while and thinking about lately, I'm curious to see where it will go. Enough of my rambling, the second chapter is in the works, go read something else if you are so inclined.